Page 233 of Breaking Rosalind
Four if you count Matteo pointing a pistol at me from the bed.
Before I can formulate a plan, the guard from earlier crashes through the door and lands on his back. The man holding me adjusts his grip into a chokehold, while another orderly pulls out his gun.
Cesare storms inside with a gun, only for his face to fall the moment he sees the orderly point his weapon at my head.
Matteo chuckles. “Cesare, my boy. I knew you would come for me if I laid a trap.”
My throat tightens as I’m forced to watch Cesare take in the full extent of my miscalculation. Those asshole orderlies selling us the information were working for Galliano all along.
Seconds later, a trio of guards burst through the door, each pointing a gun at Cesare’s back and blocking our escape.
This is more than just a trap. It’s an ambush.
Matteo crawls out of bed, baring his brilliant white teeth. “And you even brought me a gift. The little bitch who threw a grenade at me and my men, killing four of them and leaving me covered in third-degree burns.”
He rips off his gown, revealing an incision held together with sutures and covered in transparent film dressing. Surrounding it is a network of deep, textured scars, remnants of past burns that crisscross his chest, abdomen, and upper thighs.
Any triumph I might have felt from causing him so much pain disappears under a weight of crushing dread. Cesare is about to discover the identity of Miranda’s father.
“I was good to you, Rosalind, yet you threw my kindness into my face,” Matteo says, his voice breaking. “Every day, I look at the mess you made of my body and think of the ways I want you to die.”
Alarm rings in my ears, loud enough to block out the rest of Matteo’s hateful words. This is more than just an ambush.
One glance at Cesare’s shocked features says he’s worked out that Matteo is my former stepfather.Cesare’s chest heaves as though the air is devoid of oxygen. He stares at me, his eyes wide, his features slack with betrayal.
“Rosalind,” he rasps. “Is it true?”
Matteo points his gun at Cesare. “Don’t tell me the manipulative bitch got to you, too?” He cackles. “You inherited your taste for treacherous brunettes from me, son.”
Son?
My breath hitches.
It’s only a figure of speech. They’re technically step-uncle and nephew.
Cesare lurches forward. “Let go of her.”
One of the trio of guards drives the butt of a pistol into the back of his head. Before Cesare’s knees hit the linoleum, Matteo fires a bullet between the guard’s eyes.
The huge man crumples to the floor, his colossal bulk crashing atop Cesare. My blood turns to ice as a cold realization hits me in the gut.
“I told you all to keep your fucking hands off my son,” Matteo roars, and my jaw drops.
Cesare crawls out from beneath the fallen guard. His eyes are dazed, but blazing with fury. I look beyond his attractive features, remembering how much of an outsider I once felt when he was with my daughter and finally understanding why.
Cesare is Matteo’s son.They’re brother and sister.
Bile rises from my throat as everything slots into place. Cesare’s mercurial temperament reminds me so much of Tommaso’s, as does his proclivity for violence. Then that eerie calmness he gets when he’s pushed beyond his limits is all Matteo.
My lips part with a question, but I refuse to give Matteo the satisfaction of knowing I’m in shock. Instead, I slip a hand into the seam of my skirt and extract a stiletto dagger.
Matteo tears the electrodes off his chest and shuffles toward Cesare. A knot forms in my stomach as the monster of my past comes closer, but I steel myself to keep my gaze steady.
“Are you hurt, son?”
Shudders run down my spine, and I gag within the orderly’s chokehold.
“I am not your son!” Cesare rises to his knees, his face a mask of disgust, and launches a punch straight into Matteo’s gut.