Page 189 of Breaking Rosalind
“Problems?” I ask.
“It’s nothing.” He shakes his head, his features smoothing. “Are you satisfied that the mercury nitrovolucite will penetrate the Moirai’s lower levels?”
“Yes and no,” I reply.
“What does that mean?”
“We’re going to need someone to place crystals at strategic points along floors three, six, nine, and twelve, to create a domino effect.”
He gives me an eager nod. “Britt?”
I shake my head. “She’s already left town.”
“Then who?”
“There’s a man who was in the academy the year above me, who disappeared with half the class during the graduation run.”
He leans forward, resting his chin on his steepled fingers. “I thought leaving the Moirai was impossible.”
“This guy is special. They say he joined already fully trained and had already completed a hundred missions by the age of fourteen.”
“Child assassins?” Cesare shakes his head, his nostrils flaring. “I’m not surprised he left them.”
“He’s always at the graduation runs, picking off the weakest candidates.”
“Killing them?” he asks with a frown.
“Saving them,” I reply, my mind dialing back ten years. “Xero appeared at my graduation run when I was trying to pull Britt out of a pitfall trap. Someone tried to kill her, and she broke her ankle.”
Cesare nods, his eyes narrowing.
“It was chaos. I was fighting off other candidates while pulling out my friend and then Xero chased them off with a gun.”
“But you didn’t run?”
“I took advantage of the opening to get my friend,” I say with a shrug. “Xero offered to take Britt, but she refused.”
His brows rise. “Take her?”
“People who fail the graduation runs end up indebted to the firm for the cost of their education. Her injury would have added to the amount she owed, so he offered Britt a place in his gang.”
“Why did she refuse?” Cesare asks.
My emotion surges, gripping me by the throat. I glance to the side, fighting back the urge to cry. Everything about my daughter’s conception and birth still hurts, as does the time we were separated. Most nights, I couldn’t sleep, not knowing if she was safe, not knowing if Matteo was sharing her with his twisted lackeys.
“What is it?” Cesare asks.
Forcing down the lump in my throat, I meet his gaze. “I told her my plans to take Miranda after I graduated, and she wanted to help. We completed the graduation run and walked through the finish line together.”
“Sounds like a good friend,” he says, his eyes softening.
“The best.” I take a long sip of my spirulina smoothie, barely tasting the creamy concoction.
Cesare picks up his burger and takes a bite, looking contemplative. We eat without speaking, and I appreciate the silence he’s giving me to control my emotions.
My recent captivity has left me more sensitive than ever. I don’t have the mental bandwidth to rebuild the protective layers I usually keep around my trauma. It’s worn down, leaving me vulnerable and exposed.
I pick at my salad, tune in on the soft background music and the hum of the barista’s machine, trying to refocus on the subject. Cesare is uncharacteristically patient and eats his mushroom burger without complaint.