Page 107 of Breaking Rosalind
Britt presses a plastic item into my hands that I immediately recognize as night-vision goggles. I slip them on over my head and allow my vision to adjust.
We’re inside a huge chamber spanning at least a thousand square feet. Metal tubing snakes along the walls, connecting massive vats. Stacks of wooden barrels reach toward the high ceiling, reminding me a little of the library at my old academy.
“What in the prohibition?” Britt whispers. “This has to be an old-fashioned distillery.”
“The Montesanos were the founding mob family in New Alderney,” I whisper back as we navigate the maze-like pathways. “I had no idea they brewed underneath their mansion, but it means there has to be a back door where they smuggled out the booze.”
She grunts her agreement.
For the next several minutes, we examine the walls for any signs of another door, a hatch, or a chute. There’s no way Cesare’s great grandfather allowed his henchmen to carry barrels of illegal alcohol through the house or out the gates. If we’re lucky, we’ll find a disused tunnel leading to a point lower down on Alderney Hill.
The water and energy bar kick in, infusing my body with renewed strength. Escaping the Montesano stronghold is the opportunity I need to be free of the Moirai. Gunther will assume I’m dead, and I’ll be free to join Miranda in our out-of-state hideout.
With any luck, the other assassins took out all three brothers, so there’ll be no-one to come after us for revenge.
Britt coughs, breaking me out of my thoughts. “Found something.”
“What is it?” I rush around a stack of barrels to her side.
She stands in front of a wooden panel covered in dust and cobwebs and reaches for a small crowbar. “Let’s give it a try.”
My heart flips. It’s tall and wide enough to fit a barrel. Even if the exit below is blocked, we’ll find a way out. I hold my breath as Britt wedges the crowbar into the crack and tries to pry it open. The wood creaks and groans, and the wooden panel gives way, revealing a metal door with a cross-shaped keyhole.
“Shit,” I mutter.
“No problem.” Britt reaches into her backpack.
Heavy footsteps resound down the stairs, filling the chamber with a thunderous echo. Every fine hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
“Rosalind!” Cesare bellows.
Terror grips me by the throat, and my stomach sinks like a concrete block. How did that crazy bastard survive the shooting?
I turn to where Britt is picking the lock, my heart pounding hard enough to break through the metal door.
“Focus on opening the hatch.” I rifle through her backpack and extract a gun. “I’ll handle him.”
“What are you doing?” she hisses. “Stay hidden.”
If Britt found this hatch, then so will Cesare. I can’t allow us both to get caught.
“One of us has to be free to take care of Miranda,” I whisper. “Besides, you’re the tech whizz. I’m the better marksman.”
“I swore to pay you back.” Her voice breaks. “I owe you my life.”
“And I told you we were even. Then take care of Miri. And get rid of her phone because she’s in contact with that maniac.”
She’s about to protest when I step away, leaving her to continue picking the locks. Britt has done enough for Miranda and me already. There’s no way she could handle this psychopath’s brand of torture.
“Rosalind,” Cesare growls.
I creep along a stack of barrels and peek out to find his shadowy figure disappearing behind a large crate. He holds his phone with one hand, using it as a flashlight, and in the other he grips a gun.
Silence stretches across the abandoned distillery, broken only by the defining thud of my pulse. I wait for Britt to open the door, while dreading the reappearance of Cesare.
If the triple hit failed, then it means the assassins have either abandoned their mission or are dead. I no longer need to fear Gunther’s retaliation if I kill Cesare. His death is the only thing standing between me and my freedom.
“Rosa,” Britt whispers, just as Cesare jumps out from behind a nearby stack of barrels.