Page 229 of Breaking Rosalind
My jaw tightens, and my hands curl into fists. I didn’t think he would follow me demanding answers. Those words of love were supposed to be a momentary lapse.
Ignoring the guilt twanging at my heartstrings, I meet his gaze. There’s no doubt that he’s hurt, but leaving was self-preservation.
His face looms inches from mine, every detail of those handsome features etched with fury.
“Cesare,” I say with a sigh.
“No, Rosalind,” he snaps. “Don’t act like I’m the one who’s being unreasonable when you walked out on me after I bared my soul.”
My heart sinks into my stomach, bringing up a belly full of acid. I swallow it down, along with a bitter retort. “You forget we have an arrangement.”
“Don’t act like you feel nothing, because I know there’s more to us than this truce. I love you, Rosalind?—”
“Stop,” I say, my breath quickening.
“Why? Because you don’t want to admit to being in love with me, too?”
Pressure builds up like a tea kettle. The word love whistling through my ears. His accusation presses down on my lungs, making it impossible to breathe.
“Do you know who else used to manipulate me with that word?” I blurt.
“Your father?” he rasps.
“Stepfather,” I reply.
Fury blazes in his eyes, causing them to bulge, and his face twists into a mask of venom. “You’re comparing me to that disgusting pedo?”
“Does everything have to revolve around you?” I snap.
He flinches. “What does that mean?”
“I’m trying to explain to you why I had to walk away, and you’re offended that I’m triggered by empty declarations of love because they remind me of him.”
His nostrils flare. “They weren’t empty.”
Anger pulses through my veins. Sometimes, Cesare is so hard-headed I want to beat my point into him with my fists. Lashing out at him would probably only lead to another wrestling match and end up in sex.
Sucking in a deep breath, I switch tactics. “How would you expect me to respond if Dr. Daniel dropped the same words?”
His lips part with a protest, but I speak first. “Because he held me against my will, injected me with drugs, and cut off my clothes. I spent less than an hour with him, but I lost count of the weeks I was your captive.”
“I never wanted you dead,” he growls.
“How was I supposed to know that? I know you’re sorry for what you did, but apologies can’t take away the scars.”
I push against his chest, but he stands in front of me like a wall. Ignoring the urge to strike out, I step out from beneath him and create a little distance.
He grabs my wrist. “Where are you going?”
“St. Dismas Medical Center. I have an assassination to complete. Are you coming?”
We don’t exchange a single word on the journey to Hamlet, New Jersey, even though the tension is suffocating. Cesare grips the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turn white.
I can’t even disappear into an exchange of text messages with Miranda because she’s on a school trip on a remote spot within Helsing Island’s many nature reserves. Instead, I watch the scenery pass by in a blur of greens and browns and yellows.
Matteo used to say that once you’ve forgiven someone, you should never bring up their past mistakes. It’s the type of bullshit philosophy he spewed to avoid accountability.
I hate thinking about that abuser or even acknowledging he’s Miranda’s father. Now that Gunther and the others are no longer breathing down my neck, I can finally finish the job I started with that grenade launcher.