Page 142 of Breaking Rosalind
“Eat your fucking pasta,” I say through clenched teeth.
“I’d rather eat you,” he replies.
Benito’s head snaps up, and he glares at his younger brother. I can’t tell if Cesare is displaying his ownership of me or taunting Benito for not having a date. Either way, he’s using me to provoke his brother.
“Can’t you just behave like a normal person for once?” I whisper.
“Is that why you’re so obsessed with me, pet?”
“I’m not.”
“You haven’t touched your food or the wine. Anyone would think you were pining.”
“Pining for my freedom,” I hiss.
When Roman rises from his seat and escorts his date from the room, Benito sets down his phone. He leans forward in his seat, his brows furrowing.
The housekeeper leaves with a murmured excuse about tiramisu, and the dining room falls into a tense silence, broken only by Cesare’s heavy breathing.
He peppers kisses down the column of my neck, each press of his lips infusing my skin with sparks. Shifting in my seat, I glance across the table at Gil, who stares at me through dark eyes.
Benito shakes his head. “I’m not surprised you can’t get a word out of the assassin, if that’s your method of torture.”
As if encouraged by his disapproval, Cesare pulls me onto his lap. His arm clamps around my waist while his hand cups my breast. He nibbles my earlobe, making my eyelids droop.
Gil leans forward, his gaze hooded, while Benito’s face is a mask of rage.
“What point are you making with this display?” Benito asks.
“Rosalind is mine,” Cesare says. “No one interrogates her but me.”
Gil shakes his head and sighs.
“What?” Cesare snaps.
He turns to Benito as though asking for permission to speak.
“Where were you last night?” Benito asks.
“Interrogating assassins. Tending to my pet. Why?”
Benito turns to me. “Is that true?”
“Don’t speak to him.” Cesare pinches my nipple, making me hiss through my teeth.
Benito’s features harden. “Was he with you, Rosalind?”
Cesare rolls my nipple, and I let my eyes flutter shut. The darkness is a welcome distraction from Benito’s penetrating gaze. Hours ago, Cesare cut me out of my bandages with an urgency that made me think he was another man. I’m beginning to feel like a bone being fought over by two ruthless dogs.
“Why the fuck are you so invested in my comings and goings?” Cesare asks.
“Allegra was found dead in the parking lot behind the bar,” Gil says.
Cesare releases my nipple, his body stiffening. My eyes snap open, and I inhale deeply. I recognize that name from the research I did on the Montesano family. Allegra Reggio manages the bar next door to the Phoenix, one of the few legitimate businesses the family held onto after the death of their father.
Ex-employees I questioned mentioned rumors that Allegra and Cesare were buddies who got high together and fucked, but I never once saw them together.
Benito and Gil glare at us as though they think we both committed the murder. Cesare’s arms wrap around my waist, his heart pounding hard enough for us both.