Page 241 of Breaking Rosalind

“Call her.” He shoves the phone into my hands.

“And say what?” I ask.

Tommy’s breath quickens, and his body makes an excited shudder that makes my stomach churn. Someone needs to put this mad dog out of his misery. Him and his pedo brother.

“Get me some of that benzo,” he snarls.

I clench my jaw, trying to contain a roar of triumph. Now isn’t the time to celebrate. I need to stay calm. One wrong step could ruin everything.

Tommy clicks his fingers. “Gun.”

One of the men passes him a pistol, which he presses between my eyes. The cold metal barrel pushes into my forehead, making my breath quicken. On the inside, I’m roaring with laughter, but I hold my features into a neutral mask.

“Call Isabella,” he says, his voice cold. “Tell her to deliver all the benzo she’s got to the St. Dismas Medical Center in Hamlet, New Jersey.”

“She’s more likely to deliver poison to New Jersey than Benzo,” I hiss.

Tommy pulls away the gun, his jaw dropping. “Of course.” He scratches his temple with the barrel. “So, where?”

“Locker 101 in Braye Airport,” I say. “It won’t attract suspicion because it’s in New Alderney, but it’s near enough to New Jersey for one of your men to pick it up without getting caught crossing Montesano turf.”

“Do it on speakerphone,” he says, his breath quickening.

I call Christian’s burner phone and ask to speak to his mother. Fabric rushes through the speaker as he hands over the phone.

“Cesare?” she asks. “Congratulations. The explosion is all over the news.”

“Thanks,” I say with a weak chuckle. “This line isn’t secure, but I need a favor.”

She pauses. “What is it?”

“That special formula you make for Christian. How soon can you courier everything you’ve got to Braye?”

“An hour,” she says, her voice tight. “Any particular location?”

“Airport locker 101?”

“On it.” The phone goes dead.

“Courier?” Tommy says, his nostrils flaring.

I cock my head, feigning confusion. Dr. Cortese never said anything to me directly, but Roman mentioned that Tommy seemed more upset at the loss of her than the loss of the income he was getting through the meth lab. There’s no fucking way I’ll allow another innocent woman to fall into his scaly hands.

“How will I get back my Isabella?” he wails. “You could have at least ordered her to send Christian. He would make the perfect hostage.”

My breath shallows at the reminder that I’m related to this psychopath in more than just blood. Kidnapping a child is exactly what I did to Rosalind.

“At this rate, Rosalind will die of hypothermia,” I say, my voice trembling with rage. “Move us to a warmer room.”

Tommy looks confused for a moment before slapping his head. “Right.” He turns to one of his men. “Take the boy upstairs. I want him in the room furthest away from Emberly.”

My jaw drops.

He’s taken Roman’s crazy balcony woman?

NINETY-SEVEN

ROSALIND