Page 117 of Breaking Rosalind
“Boss.” One of the men holds up a palm. “You’ve got to understand?—”
Gil stands between them with his arms folded over his chest. Next to him is the housekeeper, who adds herself to the human shield.
“Take the girl and leave,” Gil says. “Unless you want me to tell Roman that you’re siding with an assassin.”
Cesare flinches, looking like he might shoot Gil. I still don’t understand what the fuck is going on in his twisted mind, but I need to stop this a potential gunfight.
I raise a hand to his shoulder, capturing his attention. “Can we go?”
He gazes down at me, his face a mask of rage. I haven’t seen him this angry since he realized I was an assassin. My muscles tighten as I wait for him to lash out, but he stalks out of the room, carrying me out like I’m his quarry.
He walks in silence through a pale hallway of marble floors. Armed men and staff part ways for him, their murmured greetings filled with fear and respect. Nobody seems surprised he’s dressed like a BDSM executioner and carrying a semi-conscious woman.
Tremors reverberate through his body, a physical manifestation of his pent-up rage. The hand beneath my thigh tightens in a way that makes me think he’s making sure I can’t escape.
How the hell do I manage his temper? He’s exactly the kind of psycho who would keep me by his side forever by removing body parts.
I’d better talk fast before he threatens to amputate my legs.
When his fingers twist around my hair and yank back my head, I finally look him full in the face. His skin is flushed, with every vein around his temples bulging with the force of his fury.
He glares down at me, his teeth bared, his eyes shining with madness. He’s still fuming because the housekeeper and Gil interrupted his violent tirade. In a minute, I’ll be locked in a basement dungeon with him and his instruments of torture.
“Cesare?” I whisper, trying to muster up words of reason.
“Don’t speak,” he growls through gritted teeth. The muscles in his jaw clench tight as he fights to contain a hurricane.
My jaw clicks shut.
I slide a hand up his bare arm, trying to soothe his temper, but that earns me a sharp tug of my hair that fills my scalp with lightning bolts of pain.
“No one gets to hurt you,” he says through clenched teeth.
A breath catches as I wait for him to voice the unspoken part of that sentence. His eyes are fixed on mine, the intensity of his gaze leaving every inch of my skin tightening with goosebumps.
The air crackles with electricity, and tension mounts as he breathes through flared nostrils, seeming to build and build. Now that we’re alone, the target of that fury will be me.
He steps into a stairwell, letting the door behind him swing shut and muffle the activity from the hallway. A moment later, the light flickers off, encasing us in the dark.
As he descends the steps, he finally completes his sentence, “No one gets to hurt you but me.”
Shivers run down my spine as he confirms my worst fears.
I’m about to face the repercussions of the assassination attempt on his brother, as well as my failed attempt to escape.
And there isn’t a thing I can do about it while I’m injured.
FORTY-SIX
ROSALIND
Cesare carries me through a maze of hallways separated by security doors. Any other time, I would wonder if this underground labyrinth extended beyond the grounds, but I’m far too concerned about facing the consequences of my escape attempt.
The air thickens as we pass entrance after entrance of what might be cells. Finally, he stops at a door that opens into a stark white infirmary.
With an unusual amount of care, Cesare lays me on a cold, metal gurney and secures belts of woven nylon around my chest and waist. Once again, I feel like a prisoner, only this time, the environment is sterile.
Unforgiving lights glare down at me from the ceiling, making me squint. Another restraint tightens around my thighs and as he attaches the final one around my ankles, I sink against the cold metal with defeat.