Page 213 of Breaking Rosalind

I open my mouth to scream, but it fills with the doctor’s blood. Spitting it out, I yell, “You were supposed to be overseas. If I’d known?—”

Cold intestines slap me in the face. I can’t turn my head because my hair is welded to the raft.

Waves bob up and down from beneath, keeping me afloat while the doctor hovers down. His iron circle upends my raft, tipping me into the freezing sea. I gasp, but saltwater fills my nostrils and clogs the back of my throat.

Zombie Britt swims up from the darkness, her teeth clenched. Black bubbles rise from her lips as she screams, “You left me to die, now I’m going to leave you to drown.”

Hands grip my shoulders and shake me out of my nightmare. My eyes snap open, and I’m lying on my back, staring up at Cesare’s concerned face.

The morning sun drifts in through the curtains, adorning the ceiling with streaks of orange. My heart pounds so hard that its reverberations reach my fingertips. My sinuses still sting with the phantom sensation of burning saltwater, and it takes a second to realize I’m awake and haven’t jumped into another dream.

“You were screaming,” he says, his voice soft. “Was it a nightmare?”

Twin waves of grief and guilt crash over my psyche, threatening to pull me under. I squeeze my eyes shut, loosening tears. “Britt was there, accusing me of leaving her to die.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” he says, his fingers threading through my hair. “Nobody is responsible for what happened to her but that deranged doctor and your boss who signed her death warrant.”

“Tell that to my conscience,” I mutter.

“You need closure.”

I crack open an eye. “Closure?”

He draws back and sits up against the headrest. My gaze skims over the skulls on his chest before I meet his eyes.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“When you lose someone you love, only two things will help you move on. The first is a funeral, and the second is revenge against the man who killed them.”

My breath stills. “Are you talking from experience?”

“We weren’t invited to my mother’s funeral,” he mutters. “And I never had a chance to deal with the man who persuaded her to get a worthless boob job.”

“What about the surgeon?”

Cesare bares his teeth. “He tripped and fell on his scalpel. Multiple times.”

“But that wasn’t enough,” I say.

“I won’t rest until the Galliano brothers are dead.” He turns to me, his eyes softening. “Go downstairs, stab the doctor to avenge Britt, and I’ll drive you to the crematorium, where you can say goodbye to her properly with a burial.”

Sucking in a breath, I try to push down a swell of emotion threatening to consume my sanity. Dread pools in my gut at the thought of seeing Britt’s dead body, and my insides twist into painful knots.

“Maybe later,” I mutter.

“Rosalind…”

“It’s too soon.” I shake my head, trying to sift through my muddled thoughts. “I just can’t.”

“Then let’s go to the basement?—”

“Do you have a gym?” I ask.

His brows pull into a frown. “Shouldn’t you know the answer to that?”

“Because I scoped out your house and its grounds?” I ask with a bitter laugh. “There was a limit to what I could see with all the doors and windows locked.”

“Why do you ask?”