Page 116 of Breaking Rosalind
What he asks next makes my breath still.
When nobody replies to his question, he bellows, “Who. Did. This. To. Her?”
My heart tries to break free from my chest and skid across the floor tiles. Cesare must be furious that someone ruined his revenge. He sure as hell doesn’t care if I get hurt.
“She tried to escape,” a male voice blurts. “She broke through the zip-ties, grabbed a gun and shot Marcello?—”
“So, you smashed in her face?” Cesare growls.
The sound of a gunshot makes me flinch. I crack open an eye to find the scarred man clutching his arm. Cesare turns a slow circle, dressed only in a pair of black pants and a leather apron, waving his pistol.
“Who else touched her?” he yells.
My heart jumps to the back of my throat, pounding harder and harder while my mind scrambles for an explanation. He just shot one of his own men. An employee who was protecting the interests of his family.
What the hell is Cesare doing?
“Answer me,” he yells. “Or I’ll shoot every motherfucker in this room.”
The men all speak at once, each trying to escape punishment by blaming their colleagues. My breath quickens as Cesare points his gun from one to the other, his demeanor becoming increasingly manic.
Now would be an excellent chance to execute escape sequence two-eight-three, which enhances discord among the enemy.
There’s no point even entertaining that thought because I’m not loyal to the Moirai. I need to focus on my own survival. My eventual escape.
Another gunshot has my eyes snapping open. A huge man wrestles Cesare from behind, holding his shooting arm toward the ceiling. It’s the family’s most trusted bodyguard, Gilberto Agostini, also known as Gil.
Gil’s muscles bulge through his suit jacket as he grapples with Cesare, but the smaller man’s strength is almost inhuman. The pistol fires again, bringing down a rain of plaster.
Flinching, I curl inward, only to aggravate the gunshot on my shoulder.
“Cesare Montesano,” yells a shrill voice from the doorway, “What on earth are you doing? You will bring chaos to the family!”
I turn toward the exit, where a black-haired woman walks in, holding a pistol. I don’t recognize her face from any of the profiles, but she’s dressed like a housekeeper.
Cesare stops fighting Gil, who steps back and releases his shooting arm. I hold my breath, waiting for Cesare to use this opening to attack one of his men, but he slips his gun back into the waistband of his pants.
“Better,” the woman says.
I close my eyes again, needing more time to process. Cesare flew into a rage because I got hit, even though I fired on one of his men while trying to escape. Even though I shot him square in the chest.
It can only mean one thing:
He doesn’t want anyone to get in the way of his revenge, which is going to be epic. Last time, I tricked him into drinking oxypentanol, and he punished me for days then abducted Miranda when I escaped.
A heavy weight rolls around my empty stomach, making my guts tighten and churn with dread.
What I did to him last night doesn’t even compare.
Heartbeats later, Cesare walks to my side and scoops me off the floor. The bullet wound in my shoulder flares, making me hiss through my teeth.
“What is it, pet?” he asks and clutches me to his chest.
“Gunshot,” I rasp.
His entire body stiffens, and he turns back to the man clutching his arm.
“Did you shoot my pet?” Cesare says, his voice so dangerously low that all the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.