Page 108 of Breaking Rosalind
On instinct, I shoot him square in the chest. He stumbles and lands on a rack of bottles before shooting upward.
As I’m about to turn around to join, a heavy weight slams on my head and everything goes black.
FORTY-TWO
CESARE
The bullet hits my protective undershirt, saving me from a deadly shot but none of the pain. The impact explodes across my chest, and I stumble backward into an iron rack.
My blood boils. Cold venom fills my veins. Everything I learned about Stockholm syndrome is bullshit. My own pet tried to put a bullet through my heart.
I shoot at a high rack, smashing through its frame. Just as Rosalind tries to make her escape, a barrel falls from the top, knocking her out cold.
My phone drops to the floor with the flashlight facing the ceiling, lighting up a dour-faced blonde. She hesitates for the second I need to land a shot in her chest and falls back behind the stack of barrels.
That’s the bitch who locked up Miranda.
I stalk toward her with my gun leveled. The distillery fills with her heavy footsteps and breathy whimpers as she tries to slither away.
When I reach Rosalind, I kick away her gun, tear off her goggles, and turn off my phone’s flashlight. She’s unconscious, but I’m not taking any chances.
My priority is the accomplice. I want to know how she bypassed the biometric security, tracked down my pet, and discovered the location of great-grandfather Paolo’s distillery.
An intrusive thought whispers that he’s not my ancestor, but I tell it to get fucked. Nature doesn’t mean shit. I was nurtured to be a Montesano.
Rounding the corner, I find the blonde stumbling along the wall of barrels with a hand over her chest. The other clutches at the racking system, trying to keep herself upright.
“Tell me how you bypassed our security in exchange for a quick death,” I say.
“Fuck you.” She darts to the side and disappears into a hatch.
“Shit!” I chase after her, finding her vanishing down a chute.
How the hell did I not know about this extra breach in our security?
I fire round after round into the chute, determined to kill her before she can escape and move Miranda. Seconds later, a heavy thud tells me she’s reached a barrier at the bottom.
If she survived the gunshots, I doubt she’ll have the strength to break out of the tunnel. I slip the gun in my pocket, pull out my phone and fire a text outlining the situation to our head of security. He’ll find a way to extract the blonde and dispose of her carcass before it causes a stink.
Gil calls back, and I answer in one ring. “We’ve found the shooter,” he says. “The gate staff held back everyone who came without ID and we’re still hunting down runaways. I can’t find Roman, so you’ll need to question the assassin.”
“Where are you holding the suspects?” I walk back to where Rosalind lies on the floor, unmoving.
“There’s six guys holding them at gunpoint in the ground floor storage room.”
“Fine.” I scoop her up and arrange her over my shoulder. “Increase the guard. I’m bringing over my little assassin.”
Minutes later, I walk into a room where a group of guards have their weapons trained at a huddled mass of guests and waiting staff, each bound with zip-ties. One of the armed men is Joe, whose bullet wound I healed.
After depositing Rosalind on the floor, I turn to him. “Make sure this one doesn’t escape.”
He nods. “Sure thing, boss.”
I lean in close and whisper, “Watch her carefully. Note who makes eye contact with her or starts any kind of conversation. She’s a known assassin.”
Joe frowns, casting her another glance. Nothing about her face or delectable body says she’s deadly, but that’s Rosalind’s superpower. She will lure you in with her extreme beauty and strike at the most unexpected moment.
“Cesare.” Gil appears at the door. “Over here.”