Page 155 of Breaking Rosalind
Since Miranda stayed up half the night enjoying hot chocolate and snacks, I refuse Cesare’s offer of breakfast and insist we leave the mansion at once. That should reduce the chances of him changing his mind about helping my daughter and stuffing me back in the basement.
Adrenaline surges as we descend the marble staircase and walk through a grand entrance of high ceilings lit by chandeliers. I’m so close to leaving captivity that I can almost taste freedom.
Cesare’s hand clenches around mine, his grip punishing. Every instinct screams at me to pull away, to elbow him in the gut. I endure for the sake of Miranda and keep my gaze on the huge double doors that lead to our salvation.
My first step out into the open makes my knees buckle as I’m overwhelmed with the mingled scents of flowers, freshly cut grass, and juniper. Birds twitter, and a breeze rustles through the leaves of the trees surrounding the mansion’s courtyard.
Miranda bounds down the stone steps, turns in a circle and gasps. “This place looks even more awesome in daylight.”
I offer her a tight smile. The Montesano mansion is one of the most beautiful buildings in New Alderney, with its Roman architecture and the ivy growing across its limestone exterior. But underneath its elegant facade rests an underbelly of horrors I never want her to witness.
An armored car waits in the courtyard, and a driver exits and opens the back door. Without waiting for permission, Miranda steps in. My stomach lurches. I taught her better not to enter strange vehicles.
As I follow her, Cesare grabs my arm and leans in close. “Remember, she thinks we’re a happy couple.”
“Is that why you’re gripping me hard enough to cause bruises?”
“Do you know what happens to ungrateful pets?” he growls, his voice so deep that it rumbles through my bones and makes my skin tingle.
“Is it any worse than the pussy roulette, the initials carved into my skin, or the time you sewed up my labia?” I whisper hiss.
With an annoyed grunt, he releases my arm and follows Miranda into the car.
I squeeze my eyes shut and exhale a long sigh. Nothing good will come from antagonizing Cesare. I know that intellectually, but I’ve spent years trying to stop blaming myself for not resisting Matteo.
The first time I confided in a counselor about Matteo’s inappropriate touching, she promptly reported it to my mother, who slapped me for trying to ruin her marriage. Her reaction emboldened Matteo to invite his lackeys to join his sick games.
At the time, I blamed myself for trusting the wrong person. Years later, I blamed myself for not reporting it to the authorities. When I joined the Moirai, I learned that the Galliano family owned the police and were already getting away with bigger and more heinous crimes. That’s why I hatched a plan to save Miranda from what I’d suffered.
Fighting back is my retribution for the years I spent being powerless.
“Come on, Rosa,” Miranda’s sweet voice pulls me out from my past.
I roll my shoulders, suck in a deep breath, and remind myself to play along with Cesare, at least until I’m sure Miranda is safe.
When I step into the car’s interior, they’re both sitting on opposite seats, chuckling over an oversized computer tablet. Cesare explains the workings of a karaoke program with technology to improve the singer’s voice, and Miranda gazes up at him with enough adoration to make my stomach churn.
I lower myself into the leather seat beside my daughter and observe their interactions, looking out for any signs of impropriety.
“Does it work for any song?” Miranda asks. “How does it know where to put the auto tune?”
“The AI already knows which note goes with which lyric,” Cesare replies. “Go on, try it.”
Miranda shoots me a nervous glance, as though she thinks I’ll disapprove. “I-It’s alright. I don’t really like singing.”
Cesare scoffs. “That’s not what you said last week when you sang for two hours straight.”
The car’s engine purrs to life, and my heart shrinks at the thought that Miranda finds my presence stifling.
“Go on,” I say with what I hope is an encouraging smile. “Have fun.”
When she hesitates, Cesare selects one of her favorite K-pop songs, pics up a microphone, and presses another in Miranda’s hands. The music starts, and as soon as he starts to sing, she joins in.
My smile falters, my chest tightens, and my lungs stop taking in oxygen. Flames flicker in my gut at the sight of Miranda completely at ease with a psychopath when our relationship feels so stilted.
I want to pull her away from Cesare and scream that he’s an even worse murderer than me, but I’ve never seen her so relaxed and happy. When she smiles, even the corners of her eyes crinkle. Anyone looking from the outside would think I was the interloper, and they were the ones connected by blood.
Cesare’s gaze meets mine, and he reaches out a hand and pulls me over to his seat and wraps an arm around my waist. “Come on, pet. Don’t be shy.”