Page 263 of Breaking Rosalind
“Offer a place in this family, working or not,” Roman says. “And I want to meet my niece.”
“Miranda is our step-sister,” Benito says, not sounding sure.
“Our step-cousin, since she’s our stepfather’s niece.”
I leave them both arguing about the technicalities of our family tree, my empty stomach roiling with dread. Emberly isn’t the only one capable of escaping mafia strongholds. By the time I reach my room, Rosalind and Miranda might be gone.
ONE HUNDRED FIVE
ROSALIND
I cradle my baby in bed, something I wasn’t allowed to do when she was born. Miranda smells of orange blossoms and vanilla, scents that I will cherish for the rest of my life. After nearly losing my daughter, I will never let her go.
Last night was a blur. My thoughts were already clouded with the all-consuming concern for Cesare and Miranda. I forced back my water phobia to cross the marina, only to find Matteo still standing, and it was like a punch to the heart.
Knowing he was on the same boat as Miranda sent my mind into a tailspin. Gunshots rang out before I could even scream, and Matteo fell backward into the sea. Seconds later, Cesare emerged from the boat’s interior and spat on his floating body.
I couldn’t even feel relief that he was finally dead until Miranda rushed to his side. It was only when Cesare pulled her into a hug and shielded her eyes that I could finally exhale.
She broke away from Cesare and cried in my arms, and the whole world disappeared. It was just me, my baby, and Cesare standing together in our little bubble.
We left Benito and the others to harpoon Matteo’s corpse and drove straight back to the mansion. Miranda was too exhausted and stunned to talk about her ordeal, so we let her sleep. Now that she’s stirring, she’s going to want some answers.
“Are you awake, baby?” I whisper.
She pulls back from my embrace, her eyes still half-lidded. “Yeah,” she says with a shudder. She swallows hard, her breath quickening as if she’s reliving last night’s horrors. “It feels like I’ve woken up from a nightmare.”
My throat tightens. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
She shakes her head, her eyes squeezing shut. “He was nice during the school trip. I thought he was a member of staff I hadn’t met. I feel so stupid.”
“It’s okay, baby.” I rub soothing circles on her back. “You weren’t to know he was an imposter. But please tell me if he did something to you.”
She exhales a shaky breath. “He just tied me up and said a lot of things about you. Are they true?”
Dread coils in my stomach and winds its way around my chest. There’s no Cesare here to act as go-between or smooth over the bitterness of the truth. Every cowardly instinct screams at me to wait for his return, but Miranda gazes at me through pleading eyes.
Stop.
I’ve faced my worst fears—Matteo and the risk of harm coming to Miranda. It’s time to stop delaying the truth.
“What did Gunther say?” I ask.
“That he recruited you when you were my age,” she says, her voice flat. “And he trained you as an assassin.”
“What else?” I ask, my chest squeezing so tightly that I can barely form the words.
“He says you were his best student and you murdered lots of people for money.” She pauses, her huge eyes searching mine. “Is that true?”
My mouth dries, and I swallow back the lump in my throat. Her gaze burns through mine with a desperation that clutches my heart.
“Yes,” I murmur. “I met him at an academy in New Jersey with Britt. We were both outsiders whose families didn’t want us home for the holidays. Gunther offered me something I desperately needed at the time.”
“But why would you agree to be an assassin?”
“There was someone I wanted to kill.”
“Our parents?” she rasps, her head bowing.