Page 243 of Breaking Rosalind
He nods.
A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow. While Gunther is a despicable human being, he didn’t make a move on me until after I turned eighteen. But he threatened to turn Miranda into a Lolita assassin, which means he won’t wait long before putting her to work.
“I asked Tommy to send her away to school.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “There are so many things I want to tell you, but the room is probably bugged.”
My eyes flutter shut, and I breathe hard and fast to increase my metabolism. Even if it only cuts short the drug’s influence by a few minutes, that’s a few minutes less time Miranda will spend with Gunther.
The next man to open the door will find himself incapacitated and disarmed.
“Keep breathing,” Cesare says, as though reading my thoughts.
He intertwines our fingers, and I nod.
“I’m sorry.”
I crack open an eye. “What for?”
“I had no idea we would be walking into a trap.” He grimaces. “And if you knew the truth about why Matty was targeting me, you might have warned me not to go without backup.”
“Don’t.” I shake my head. “I was also hiding secrets.”
The click of locks turning in the door breaks our moment, and Tommaso barges in with a small entourage of goons in black suits. Beneath his leather overcoat, he wears a white turtleneck with matching gloves.
I tense, my weakened body quaking with fury and disgust. Tommaso pauses in the middle of the room, allowing the man holding a courier package to approach.
Cold panic explodes in my chest at the thought of its contents.
If Gunther has delivered Miranda’s finger…
“Good news,” Tommaso says. “Isabella sent us a shipment of benzo.”
Dread slams in my belly like a roundhouse kick, and I flinch. There’s only one reason why they brought that drug. I can’t afford to spend the next few hours too high to function. My muscles tighten as I prepare to bolt.
Cesare rises off the bed and charges at the man holding the box. “You promised not to inject her with any more of that shit.”
“Seize him,” Tommaso says with a smirk.
Two men rush forward, grab Cesare off the mattress, and pin him against the wall.
Another walks to the man holding the box and extracts a vial and a syringe. He strides toward me, loading it with clear fluid.
Panic seizes my lungs as I hyperventilate, my eyes widening. “No,” I rasp. “Not again.”
Tommaso crosses the room, his teeth bared. “Be thankful you’re not screaming in a funeral pyre, because that’s exactly what I plan for you the moment Cesare tires of your sloppy cunt.”
“Fuck you,” I hiss.
He sneers down at the sheet covering my body and scoffs. “I don’t pick my fucks from the gutter, unlike my nephew and brother.”
“Don’t come near me,” I scream, my voice hoarse. Even as the words leave my lips, I know I’m wasting my breath.
“Silence the bitch,” Tommaso says.
“Let go of her!” Cesare roars from across the room, but one of the men holding him back clamps a hand over his mouth.
The man with the syringe approaches the mattress, his face an impassive mask. I kick out as he bends over me, but my limbs are too weak to make any kind of impact.
He swats aside my feeble defense, takes my arm in an iron grip, and slides the needle into my vein. Cool liquid seeps into my bloodstream, sending shivers through my body as it numbs and suffocates my senses.