Page 174 of Breaking Rosalind
“Give us our freedom,” she murmurs.
My heart lurches at the thought of releasing Rosalind and losing her forever. “That’s the one thing I can’t do, pet. Once I set you free from your employer, you will belong to me.”
“Then your apology means nothing.” She turns her back to me and faces the fire.
The chill in her voice makes me pull her against my chest.
“One day, you’ll come to realize that belonging to me isn’t a sentence. You’ll be free to do whatever you want. If you don’t want to live in the mansion with the family, I’ll buy you any kind of home you desire. We can have our own space. Be a family. It’s all yours.”
“As long as I spend the rest of my life with you?” she grinds out.
“Would that be so bad?”
She shoves me off her and scoots away from me on the mattress. “Go to sleep.”
Frustration pounds through my skull, and I release an angry sigh. “Someday, you’ll understand that you’re not a caged bird, but a phoenix waiting to rise from the ashes, and I’m the man who will set you free.”
“Freedom in captivity. Isn’t that an oxymoron?”
“You’ve lived your entire lifeunder someone else’s control,” I say. “If it wasn’t the bastard who got you pregnant, then it was the Moirai.”
“What makes you different?”
“Because I won’t use and discard you. I want to make you happy. I want to protect you. I want to give you the world.”
Turning back, she looks at me. I see a flicker of something beyond the reflection of the flames. Curiosity, perhaps, with the faintest hint of hope.
Silence stretches between us for what feels like an eternity, broken only by the crackle of the fire. Her shoulders rise and fall with each deep breath, but she doesn’t respond. She also doesn’t turn away.
This is not a rejection.
Maybe, I’m finally getting through.
SIXTY-NINE
ROSALIND
Hours after returning to the Montesano mansion, I’m still on a high from my departure with Miranda. Cesare didn’t even have to tell her to give me a hug. She did it all on her own, even though it was brief. The last time she looked at me without resentment or recoiling was before I shot Mom.
That connection, that moment of love, was more effective than Cesare’s attempts to tether me to his world.
I watch him from one of the leather armchairs in his black-and-white bedroom. He’s standing at the window overlooking the garden, scowling down at his phone. His muscles strain against the fabric of his fitted black shirt, a clear sign of his tension.
His phone has been blowing up with messages since we stepped off the plane. It isn’t business, because he hasn’t texted back or returned the calls. From the way his features shutter with suppressed rage, I would guess the sender is a former girlfriend.
None of this is my concern, but I can’t help but wonder what kind of woman is capable of crawling so deeply under his skin.
“Why won’t the Moirai just accept Roman’s cash offer?” he asks for the second time.
I take a sip of my water and sigh. “Would you hire a firm of assassins known to accept bribes?”
He scowls but doesn’t answer.
“Most of our targets are men and women too powerful for the average criminal to kill without consequences.”
“And?”
“In this world, power equals money. If a target can offer us twice what the client paid, then doing business with the Moirai becomes a risk.”