Page 181 of Breaking Rosalind

“What do you suggest?” I ask.

“I’m going to text him, arrange a meeting, and shoot him between the eyes,” Cesare growls.

“That won’t work.” I rise from the tub.

He whirls around, his eyes narrowing. “How would you know?”

Panic explodes across my chest. The bathroom is suddenly too warm, and the air too thick. Cesare must never know Miranda is the daughter of a man he despises.

Holding my features into a neutral mask, I reply, “High-ranking men like him don’t meet enemies without backup, otherwise there would be no need for assassins.”

He hesitates, his jaw flexing, as though battling with some kind of decision.

“What?” I ask.

His expression smooths. “How would you like a job with the Montesano family?”

“I’m not leaving one secret society to join another,” I mutter, eager for him to return to the subject.

“Help me take out Tommy and Matty Galliano.”

My heart skips several beats. The answer is an emphatic yes, but I need to play it cool and leverage this into something advantageous for Miranda and my future.

“I’m already helping you take down the Moirai,” I say. “What are you offering in return for the Galliano brothers?”

“Five hundred grand,” he replies. “A piece.”

I huff a laugh. “You’re joking.”

“A million.”

My pulse quickens, but I paste over my excitement. “That’s the going rate for a high-ranking target, but you’re asking me to take out the don of New Jersey and his consigliere.”

“What do you want, then?” He folds his arms across his chest and glares at me, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.

“My freedom,” I say, looking him square in the eye. “And two million each.”

Cesare falls silent, his jaw working in a slow grind. He’s affronted that I suggested leaving, and I can practically see the gears turning in his head.

I would kill the Galliano brothers for free, but even a million dollars would set up a nice college fund for Miranda and buy us a small family home. We don’t need anything lavish. I could get a job as a personal trainer or teaching self-defense.

After what feels like an eternity, he gives a single nod. “Deal.”

“I’m going to need more than a one-word answer.”

He clenches his teeth. “A written contract?”

“Repeat back our deal in your own words.”

His cold eyes harden, never wavering from mine, and the veins in his temples pulse. I can only assume it’s at the indignity of being asked to recite terms he finds repugnant.

“You will help me kill Tommy and Matty Galliano,” he grinds out, each word sounding pained. “In return, I will pay you two million dollars for each and grant you your freedom.”

“And Miranda?” I ask.

“Miranda’s too,” he says through clenched teeth. “Do we have a deal?”

I hold out my hand. “Deal.”