Page 110 of Breaking Rosalind

“Your choice of sexual partners is limited to your employees,” he says through ragged breaths. “Is that because you can only get it up with women under your control? Is that what you did with Rosalind?”

Is this asshole trying to goad me into flying into a rage and giving him a quick death?

“What else?” I ask, my voice tight.

“You have a drug problem. It’s why you dropped out of medical school.”

I clench my teeth. That bullshit is in the past. “Anything else?”

“The reason you’ve never had a girlfriend is because the only woman you ever loved was your mother.”

“Where did you learn that?”

He raises a shoulder. “The file.”

“Whose file?”

“The one Rosalind kept when she gathered intel on your family.”

Betrayal floods my senses, stinging my sinuses and filling my senses with the scent of blood. Did she overhear that bullshit from Leroi or the shit-talking guards?

“According to the files, you’re the Montesano family’s weakest link,” he says with a dry chuckle. “Roman was unreachable on death row. Benito was unreachable because of his impeccable conduct. You, on the other hand, would stick your dick in anything under the right circumstances.”

“And what would those be?”

He huffs a laugh. “Not too bright, I see.”

“Interesting,” I say, my voice sounding far away.

“What?”

“The distraction technique,” I reply. “All you assassins use the same tactics. Do you even have an ounce of personal flair, or are you running through a checklist?”

His jaw clicks shut.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” I say. “You’re going to stop talking about Rosalind and making her punishment worse.”

He flinches. “She’s alive?”

My lip curls into a smile. “What did your intel say I would do to her?”

When he doesn’t speak, my smile turns into a cheshire grin. “What’s wrong, shooter? Cat got your tongue?”

I wait several heartbeats for him to say something taunting, but he remains silent.

“Are you working out that the information you memorized might be wrong? That I’m not a hot-headed, drug-addicted manic who will kill you for speaking out?”

His Adam’s apple bobs up and down.

“That would be partially right,” I murmur.

He stares into my eyes, his pupils dilating. I nod, recognizing the rush of adrenaline that comes with the fight-or-flight response to anxiety. This asshole is realizing that he can’t goad me into cutting his throat.

“You shot my brother. Then you had the nerve to brag about fucking my pet. I’m sick of hearing your voice, so I’m going to make sure you can’t speak.”

He sucks in a sharp breath.

“That’s right.” I trail the scalpel down to the edge of his mouth. “I’m going to take your tongue.”