Page 175 of Breaking Rosalind
He grunts. “They only give half a shit about the hostages.”
“If you’re saying that because of the ceasefire, you’re wrong.”
“What’s that all about?”
“They only agreed to stop attacking because they’re buying time for the next graduation run.”
“What does that mean?” He sinks into the arm of my chair and drapes his arm around my shoulder.
“My boss is in charge of the Montesano mission, and he’s lost all his key assassins. All the other teams are busy with their own jobs, so he’ll have to wait for new recruits.”
At his blank look, I set down my glass and explain how the Moirai works. It’s something I didn’t completely figure out until recently because its practices are shrouded in secrecy and deceit.
“Everyone directly involved with the killing is either an analyst or assassin.”
He threads his fingers through my hair. “Got it.”
“The Moirai don’t take on recruits from the outside world. They recruit runaways and scout potentials from boarding schools outside New Alderney and then take them out of their classes for specialized training.”
Cesare scowls. “Let me get this straight. They pluck kids out of schools?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. They target kids whose parents don’t invite them back for breaks because they’re the ones who won’t be missed.”
He slides his fingers out of my hair and strokes my neck. “That’s how you joined?”
“Yes.” My voice thickens. “But that’s not the point. Gunther has a manpower problem that can only be solved after the next round of eighteen-year-olds graduate.”
“And when is that?”
“Depending on how many assassins get promoted overseas, the last Friday of the quarter. And promotions are euphemisms for dying or getting lost on the job.”
He stares at my profile for several moments until my skin burns. I sit still, endure his scrutiny, and ready myself to deflect the inevitable question.
“How could your mother not notice you weren’t at school?”
“We have a tiny window to take down the Moirai at its weakest,” I say, my voice tightening. “Now isn’t the time to dredge up ancient history.”
He cradles the back of my head and leans close, his lips grazing the shell of my ear. “You’re deflecting, pet.”
“Leave it.” I rise off the seat and walk to the window and stare out across the lawn.
At this time of the afternoon, the setting sun casts long shadows across the manicured lawn. Gardeners tend to the flowerbeds with holsters attached to their overalls. I focus on the workers to take my mind off the past. When that doesn’t work, I shift my attention to the stone pathway leading to the swimming pool.
The limestone building is bathed in an orange light that gives it an illusion of warmth. It seems like a lifetime ago since Cesare brought me there for a one-night stand. Beyond the limestone columns and floor-to-ceiling windows are signs of movement. I wonder what they did to the pool house after they moved Cesare’s BDSM furniture to the basement.
“Have you ever spoken to anyone about what happened?” His deep voice intrudes on my musings, making my shoulders stiffen.
“Britt knows,” I reply. “And we fixed it.”
Cesare growls. “That’s not what I mean.”
“That subject is off limits,” I say through clenched teeth.
He rises off the armchair and appears behind me, his body heat warming my back. “You need to talk about it to someone, pet.”
“Perhaps, but that person isn’t you.” I turn around and meet his harsh blue eyes. “I could never open up to the man who held me captive for days and forced me to endure all kinds of torture for his amusement.”
His features pinch, but he doesn’t speak, because he knows it’s the truth. Every time I tried to negotiate, he laughed. He continues staring, his gaze boring into mine, silently urging me to continue.