Page 258 of Breaking Rosalind

“Cesare?”

“That’s right,” I say with a nod. “We found you with the tracker on your earring.”

Her bound hands drift toward her ear.

I rush toward her with a pen knife and cut through the zip-ties around her wrists. “Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head. As I work on the ties around her ankles, she asks, “Is Rosa here?”

“She’s waiting for us in my yacht.”

Miranda scrambles away from me with a panicked yelp, her eyes widening.

I turn to find what she’s looking at, only to find Matty standing at the other end of the cabin, holding Gunther’s gun.

“Good boy,” the old bastard croaks, his sweaty face flushed, his eyes gleaming with naked desire. “Now, I’ll take my pretty girl.”

ONE HUNDRED THREE

ROSALIND

Vehicles advance toward the marina in a long procession. If I had to guess, Tommaso has tracked the location of his brother’s limousine and wants to mount a rescue.

The yacht bobs, and the sea breeze blows through my sweat-dampened hair. I plant my feet on the gangway and force my stomach not to lurch.

Benito points his gun between my eyes. “Explain to me why I shouldn’t fill you with bullets,” he says in a voice so cold that my skin breaks out in goosebumps. “Because the Galliano brothers still haven’t called off their hit.”

I grind my teeth and inwardly kick myself for assuming Benito would be reasonable. While Cesare’s anger burns hot, this bastard’s fury is cold.

“Three reasons,” I say. “Because Cesare won’t be pleased to find you’ve hurt me. Because you’re going to need a trained assassin to help you fight off those Galliano thugs. And I can disarm you and your doppelgängers, leaving you without a way to fight in the upcoming battle.”

A bullet flies overhead, making all four of the men surrounding me turn their attention back to the cars. Men in black pile out of their vehicles, lighting up the marina with gunfire.

“Move.” I shove Benito’s clone aside with my Uzi and fire at Galliano’s goons.

“Cover her,” Benito yells over the sound of gunfire.

I hold back the I-told-you-so to focus on the immediate threat. Two of Benito’s men step in front of me and flinch with the impact of bullets hitting what I assume to be kevlar vests.

Bullets scatter from the tip of my rifle. I sweep from left to right, sending Galliano’s men scattering. Some fall to the ground, others dive behind vehicles for cover.

The air is thick with the sounds of screams and gunfire, but it’s all muffled by the roar of blood between my ears. This is a waste of time. Cesare is out there alone, facing an unknown number of opponents, and Miranda is in peril.

I need to end this gunfight.

Now.

More members of Benito’s crew join from different directions of the marina, and what’s left of our enemies retreat to their parked cars.

A distant chop of helicopter blades echoes through the air, gradually getting louder. I stare up at the white aircraft, a knot forming in my gut as it approaches the marina.

“Is that the police?” I ask.

One of the men who gave me cover pulls out a pair of binoculars and peers up into the sky. “It’s unmarked.”

I turn to Benito. “One of yours?”

His jaw clenches. “No.”