Page 255 of Breaking Rosalind
CESARE
I step off the yacht with medical supplies and more weapons strapped to my bulletproof vest than Scarface. The sea breeze whips through my hair that’s drenched in sweat from nerves and running around.
Now that I’ve secured Rosalind behind a maze of locks, I can finally focus on saving Miranda.
But first, I need our father.
I jog to the limo and open the back door, finding Matty Galliano lying in the seat opposite his dead henchmen, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The patch of blood from his abdominal wound covers nearly his entire safari jacket and matching pants.
His eyes flutter open. “Cesare,” he rasps. “Have you come to finish me off?”
“You’re not dying until we rescue my sister.” I pull out a group of syringes I filled earlier. There’s morphine for the pain, tranexamic acid to control the blood loss, modafinil to make him alert, diazepam to control his anxiety, and our special blend of meth to give him a boost of superhuman strength.
His eyes widen. “But I’m bleeding?—”
“Save your excuses for later,” I snarl and inject him with the first syringe.
Matty’s eyes roll backward with a groan, but I don’t give a shit. This pedo bastard only needs to stay alive long enough to confront Gunther.
After the fifth injection, I lift his carcass off the seat and drag him onto the dimly lit marina. It’s deserted this time of the night, with only our steward waiting beside the yacht. My skin crawls at being so close to this piece of shit, but I sling his arm around my shoulder and walk him toward the speedboat.
He glances around, his breaths labored. “The drop off point was a warehouse. Where are we going?”
“Gunther is keeping her miles away from the mainland. Now, stop asking questions.”
Matty’s feet falter, but I march on with his half-dead weight, not stopping until I’ve reached the speed boat and thrown his carcass onto its back seat. As he grumbles something incoherent, I slam a life jacket over his head and fasten it around his chest.
He grimaces, his voice hoarse and strained. “Cesare, I’m in no shape to face an assassin.”
“Stay put, don’t piss on my seats, and stay quiet. The drugs will kick in by the time we arrive.”
Ignoring his whimpering, I turn away from him to start the engine. Behind us, the steward unties the ropes securing the boat to the docks, and with a lurch we’re accelerating past the yacht and into the pitch-black water.
The engine rumbles in sync with my frantic pulse. I stare out into the void, seeing nothing. The only light comes from the boat’s dim headlamps and the moon’s silver glow reflecting off the water.
By now, Rosalind should be out of the brig and have broken out of the infirmary. She might be too furious to trust that the vial I left for her containing the benzo antidote, but at least I’ve gotten a good head start.
I glance over my shoulder for signs of an irate little assassin, but see nothing but the fading lights of the marina. She’s probably worked out by now that I’ve locked every door leading to the exit.
The wind roars in my ears as the speedboat cuts through the waves. I glance at my phone’s GPS screen, confirming that Miranda’s position remains unchanged. With a swift adjustment of the helm, I steer the boat toward her coordinates.
This could be a trap.
I shut down the intrusive thought. Gunther doesn’t want Rosalind back. He handed her over to Dr. Daniel because he wanted her dead. The warehouse is the trap, not the location at sea. Gunther is probably hiding in the middle of Rosalind’s phobia because this is the last place she would look.
Movement from the corner of my eye makes me reach for the gun. Matty climbs into the front seat, now powered by the cocktail of drugs.
“I’m not a rapist,” he says. “I didn’t want to fuck your mother, but Tommaso said a beauty like hers would change my tastes.”
My nostrils flare, and it takes every effort not to tear out his throat. “Talk about her again and I’ll put a bullet through your skull.”
“Well, I didn’t rape Rosalind,” he adds.
I grind my teeth. “No, you married a single mother so you could groom and abuse her child. That’s just another form of rape.”
“Like father, like son.”
My grip tightens on the helm. Matty’s taunts won’t bait me into a brawl, not while my sister’s safety hangs in the balance.