Page 146 of Breaking Rosalind
I return to the stove with the snacks.
“Do you think you can handle this, love?” I ask.
She huffs. “You think I’m too young?”
I chuckle. “Well, I didn’t say that. It’s just that…”
“What?” she snaps.
“You’ve led a sheltered life. They don’t teach you this sort of thing at school.”
“I’m fourteen, not four,” she says, her voice rising with indignation.
“Alright, then. Take hold of this.” I hand her a cast-iron pot.
“It’s heavy.”
I chuckle. “Of course it is.”
“Now, what?”
I continue instructing her on how to prepare the hot chocolate, making sure to give lots of praise. Guilt claws at my chest for using Miranda as a pawn to hurt her older sister, but Rosalind has given me no choice.
The Galliano brothers won’t call off the hit on us until they’re both dead. Now that they’re in hiding or surrounding themselves with armed guards, killing them will be impossible.
Which is why I need Rosalind to tell me how to take down the Moirai.
Miranda completes the hot chocolate and pours it into two steaming cups.
“Blow on it,” I say. “Then have a taste.”
She does as told, then takes a tiny sip. The moment the sweet chocolate hits her tongue, she moans. “It’s so good.”
“Told you,” I say with a laugh, and dip a piece of biscotti into her cup. “Now, try this.”
We continue like this for several minutes until the conversation changes to sleeping arrangements. I turn off the phone, noting that Miranda hasn’t asked about her sister. This time, I understand why. The poor kid must feel like Rosalind’s captive. I’m probably the only person who’s ever given her a taste of freedom.
After settling Miranda into an upstairs guest bedroom, I walk up to the tower room. Noise echoes across the stairwell, making me wonder if I’d overlooked something while tying Rosalind’s restraints.
This is the first time since her escape that she hasn’t been drugged, and I was too much in a hurry to rescue Miranda to bother with wrapping her in bandages.
My heart pounds as I mount the steps, not knowing if I’m about to walk into a tempest.
When I unlock the door and ease it open, I find the four-poster collapsed into a chaotic pile of torn fabric and metal. Rosalind faces away from me, swinging an iron rod at the French doors. My black shirt hangs off her smaller frame with the sleeves folded over at the wrists.
Thank fuck Sofia swapped out the windows for unbreakable glass after the incident with the madwoman on the balcony. Otherwise, Rosalind would have escaped.
When I push the door open, it creaks, making her spin around. She glares at me through wide eyes, her lips pulled into a snarl. The sight of her in my clothes goes straight to my cock.
“You bastard!” she screams.
My heart pounds. I haven’t seen her this excited since our primal scene behind the pool house. Stepping inside, I ready myself for her attack. “Why did you break through your bonds? Is something wrong, pet?”
With a war cry, she charges across the room, brandishing the iron rod. “I’m going to kill you for touching my daughter!”
FIFTY-SEVEN
CESARE