Page 125 of Breaking Rosalind

Meanwhile, his goons continue to train their guns on me, and my breath stills as the driver skitters out and holds open the door. At this moment, I can almost understand why Rosalind killed her own parents. If her father was anything like this despicable creature, I would also blow him to pieces.

Galliano is about to reach the door when he pauses. “Who was that pretty little girl?”

My fury reaches a boiling point. I hiss through my teeth, trying to force back the explosion. Reacting would only make Miranda a target. A target of a psychopath determined to do anything to create a rift between my brothers and me, including murdering innocent women.

Holding my silence, I school my features into a mask of boredom.

“My men and I are having one of our special parties on Friday,” he says, his eyes twinkling. “It’s an intimate gathering of like-minded gents who enjoy sushi off the bodies of young women. After dinner, they serve as our dessert.”

My jaw clenches.

He nods toward the plane. “How old is she? Thirteen, fourteen? She’s exactly my type.”

Blood pounds through my ears, and they begin to ring. I can’t tell if he’s goading me or if he genuinely thinks I would be interested in someone as young as Miranda. Either way, I can’t let anything slip.

“Call off the Moirai,” I say.

He flashes me a familiar-looking grin. It’s the too-wide smile everyone says makes me look like a psychopath. Seeing it on Matty Galliano makes me think they have a point.

“Come to the party and I’ll think about it,” he says before scooting into the limo.

Breathing hard, I wait at the top of the stairs for his car to disappear behind a hangar. He may not have said it out loud, but he just threatened an innocent girl.

I turn back into the plane, where the pilot stands outside the cockpit, clutching a wheeled suitcase.

“Take me to Braye Airport,” I snarl.

He rears back before regaining his composure. “But sir, we’re not clear for departure. We’ve got to refuel.”

“Then refuel and get us out of here.”

The pilot gulps before giving me a curt nod and disappearing into the cockpit, leaving me alone with my seething rage.

Moving to another airport reduces the chance of being followed by Galliano. It also gives me time to think. He only caught a glimpse of Miranda. He won’t know her face, her name, or where she lives. Hopefully, he’ll think I’m a sick bastard like him, who treats young girls as disposable.

Once I’ve carried out my next phase of revenge on Rosalind, I’ll return Miranda to her school with a stern warning not to leave its grounds until the Galliano brothers are dead.

FORTY-NINE

ROSALIND

I twist and thrash within the wheelchair, my body aching to break free of the suffocating bandages. The metal frame beneath me creaks and groans under the strain, waking some of the other assassins, who fill the dudgeon with muffled cries.

They’re asking me to rescue them, the way I burst through a window in Paris when Axel botched his mission. The way I once had to shoot a target in the back because Greta had been overpowered. The way I saved nearly all of them in the ten years I served as backup to less skilled operatives.

I strain against my restraints, even though the bandages cut deeper into my skin with each futile attempt.

If I wasn’t gagged, I would scream with frustration. We could have worked together upstairs, broken through the zip-ties, overpowered those guards and escaped.

Now...

Now, I don’t know what the hell will be our fate. Cesare set up this dungeon to look like one of Miranda’s horror movies. Everyone is trying to fight their bonds, except Axel, who looks like he’s barely clinging onto life.

That tender moment in the basement infirmary was bullshit. Cesare was only pissed because someone else got to damage his toy. The moment he considers me healed, he will resume his sick games.

When the other operatives stop struggling and stare at a point over my shoulder, I turn my head as far as the bandages allow. Two pieces of fabric on either side of my face restrict my vision like blinkers, so I can’t see what’s made them freeze.

But I sure as hell can guess.