Page 136 of Breaking Rosalind

He’s breathing hard and heavy, as though seeing me flounder is exciting. Cesare always wanted to see me break, but the man unwrapping me could be anyone.

I make another muffled scream.

He reaches behind my head to unbuckle the gag and pulls it from my parched lips. I gasp for air, my tongue tasting of leather and rubber.

“Cesare?” I croak, my voice hoarse.

“Calm the fuck down.” He tears off the blindfold.

Bright lights burn my eyes, and I blink several times until my vision adjusts. When I see a familiar outline, my chest loosens with relief, which gives way to despair.

It’s Cesare, not some other man looking to sexually assault a helpless woman. What’s more concerning, is that I’m happy to see him. It means my mind is slipping further into Stockholm syndrome.

If I’m not careful, I’ll forget my identity and start seeing him as a savior rather than a captor. I might forget that he’s put me through unspeakable amounts of horror and start seeing them as acts of love.

“Stop fighting me, Rosalind,” he says.

I flinch at his use of my name. “What’s happened?”

“You can’t stay tied up like this,” he mutters. “Too dangerous.”

“What do you mean?” My gaze darts around the darkened room.

“No man gets to touch you but me.”

My stomach lurches at the thought that another man could enter this part of the basement and subject me to worse. I stare up at Cesare, my heart sinking at the realization that he’s now become my protector.

“I thought these dungeons were secure,” I rasp.

“My brother thinks he can do a better job extracting information,” he says, sounding urgent. “He’s not like me. He hates women. If you don’t speak, he won’t show you mercy or leave you undamaged.”

“B-Brother?” My mind jumps to Roman Montesano, who just spent five years in prison for the brutal murder of a woman.

“Give me something,” he says, sounding urgent. “Or I won’t be able to keep him away.”

The lump in my throat throbs in sync with my rapid heartbeat. I’ve never seen Cesare look so desperate. He cares for me in his own twisted way. Or at least he cares about being the only man who gets to cause me pain.

I gulp. “What do you want to know?”

“How do we hurt the Moirai?”

My tongue darts out to lick my dry lips, and I buy time to work out how to take advantage of the crack in his facade. If he cares for me, even just a tiny bit, then I will leverage that to escape.

“I can tell, but I want a few things in exchange.”

“Name them.”

“You’ll set me free.”

He grabs a handful of my hair and jerks my head to the side. “Never.”

“Then you’ll help me hide Miranda and leave her the fuck alone,” I yell.

He releases my hair, only to grab my chin and force our eyes to meet. “What is this fixation with taking her away from where she’s comfortable?” he snarls. “Why are you determined to make that girl miserable?”

My breath quickens. I can’t tell him the truth. It would be like handing him a loaded gun. “Why are you so obsessed with my sister?”

“You belong to me,” he says with a hint of a smirk. “By extension, so does Miranda. Now, speak.”