Page 259 of Breaking Rosalind
My heart races, my palms moisten, and I resist the primal urge to scream. “There was a long-range weapon in your armory. If that chopper heads out to sea…”
“Carver,” Benito barks. “Go.”
Carver sprints up the gangplank, leaving three of us staring at the approaching helicopter. Behind us, speedboats race out to sea in search of Cesare. My heart pounds so hard that its vibrations reach my fingertips.
If this is another Galliano attack, then Cesare and Miranda are in trouble.
“Cesare Montesano,” a familiar voice says over a megaphone. “Release Matteo or I will nuke your yacht.”
Two of the men snicker, but I feel sick. Not because I believe Tommaso has that kind of weaponry, but because he sounds high on drugs. That man is capable of any level of destruction.
We stand in silence, watching him approach.
One of Benito’s men grabs at the Uzi. “I can take out its fuel tank.”
“And earn us all a fiery death?” I shoulder him aside.
The helicopter flies over where we’re standing and advances over the sea, gaining on the speedboats. Moments later, heavy footsteps hurry down the gangplank. It’s a young man holding a missile launcher.
“Someone, give her a jacket,” Benito says.
The four men all gape, their gazes raking over my skimpy halter neck, miniskirt, and heels.
“Now!”
Seconds later, I’m wearing a jacket and balancing the missile launcher over my shoulder, aiming its tube at the disappearing helicopter.
“This had better have heat-seeking capabilities or we’re screwed,” I mutter.
Benito stares down his nose at me like I’ve delivered the worst kind of insult. “The Stinger has a radar-guided seeker capable of tracking and intercepting airborne targets.”
I pull the trigger before he completes the sentence, and the missile surges out of the launcher, trailing white smoke as it speeds toward the helicopter.
“Come on,” I whisper under my breath. “Come on.”
The helicopter veers to the right, but the missile slams into its tail, sending out a shower of debris and sparks. Thick smoke billows out from the helicopter before it also falls into the sea.
Exhilaration surges through my veins, flooding me with a rush of euphoria that makes my knees buckle. The relief is short-lived, replaced by a creeping dread that wraps around my chest like a noose. We might have defeated the Galliano henchmen, but I still need to overcome my phobia.
Benito turns to me, his brow raised. “So... You and my brother.”
My nostrils flare. Is this an extension of his hostility from that awful family dinner? “What are you saying? That I’m good enough?”
His gaze sweeps down my hooker outfit and suppresses a grimace. “You’re his perfect match. Just keep him out of trouble.”
“Jet skis, sir,” yells a voice.
I turn to the empty space beside the yacht, finding a pair of vessels barely larger than motorbikes bobbing on the water. Nausea hits me in the gut, and I sway on my feet. I hand the missile launcher back to one of his men and grimace.
“Problem?” Benito asks.
“Water and me don’t mix,” I mutter.
“That’s why Cesare left behind a highly trained assassin,” he says, his brows raised.
I stride toward the jet skis, terror mounting with each step, until my lungs can’t take in any air. This isn’t the time to freeze. If Gunther is out there with allies, then Cesare will need our help.
We reach the jet skis, where one of his men hands us both life jackets. Benito mounts one and holds out his hand. “You’re with me.”