Page 211 of Breaking Rosalind
He unlocks the gates, and we continue down an unlit driveway flanked by weeping willows whose branches shift in the breeze to reveal glimpses of tall mausoleums.
Rosalind hasn’t spoken since our conversation with the doctor. I can tell she blames herself for what happened to Britt, but she should be turning that vitriol to the Moirai.
“What else can you tell me about this man?” I ask.
She rubs her temple. “There are so many rumors. Some say he picks off weaker candidates to join his group of rebels. Others claim he runs a rival organization.”
I rub my chin. “Did you believe Dr. Daniel?”
“If Xero wanted to destroy the Moirai, one of his contacts would have poisoned the air supply. Or the water. I think he wants to target its leaders.”
“Hmmmm.”
“Oh, and another thing. Don’t be surprised when you see his face.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“His mugshot went viral on social media.”
I snort. “What for?”
“Tearing out someone’s heart.”
A man steps out from behind a tree and stands in the middle of the driveway with his arms folded over his chest. I’m tempted to rev up the engine to teach him a lesson, but that might ruin our chances of finding the Galliano brothers.
I ease off the gas, letting the car come to a stop inches from where he stands. Despite the brightness of the headlights, I still can’t see his face.
The man unfolds his arms and points to a path between a row of mausoleums on the left.
Rosalind unfastens her seatbelt and reaches for the door. By the time I turn off the engine and pick up my gun, the man has already disappeared into the shadows.
“What is it with assassins and their secrecy?” I mutter.
The walkway is so dark we have to illuminate our path with our phone’s flashlights. At the end is a limestone mausoleum built like a Roman temple, with pillars stretching up to a portico roof.
I only know all this architectural shit because Dad used to boast that great-grandfather Paolo commissioned the mansion to look like a villa he grew up around in Salerno, Italy. Cool story, except I’m not related to Dad or any of his ancestors.
My veins contain tainted blood.
That thought is cut short when the mausoleum door creaks open, revealing a darkened chamber lined with vaults. After stepping inside, we descend a staircase leading to a vaulted corridor that stretches at least fifty feet.
I lean into Rosalind’s side and whisper, “Been here before?”
“No, but I know Beaumont City was originally a mining town before they built the catacombs,” she replies. “They must have used this space to store the bodies of people who couldn’t afford graves.”
“Charming,”
We continue in silence to the end of the corridor, where I push open yet another door that leads to a lit room. My nostrils fill with the smell of blood, making them twitch.
I step further inside first, holding a gun to find a man in black, hunched over a stone platform. On it lies a trembling man, his head is covered by a hood. In the corner is a stone sarcophagus containing a squirming figure, wrapped up in chains.
Unlike the man, she’s fully clothed, and I’m almost certain the remote control on the bench is operating the sex toy that’s making her moan.
“Since when do Moirai assassins pair up with targets?” he asks, still giving us his back.
“I’ve left,” Rosalind says.
He picks up a machete and slams it down on his victim’s arm, cleaving it in half. After tossing the limb onto a pile of dismembered body parts, he shifts to position the machete over the man’s leg.