Page 275 of Breaking Rosalind
His eyes widen a fraction, but he hides the surprise with a shake of his head. “You’re my lioness. Strong, fierce, and protective of her cub.”
I laugh, feeling so giddy that I cup both his cheeks and arch up to capture his lips. “Fine, I don’t mind being a lioness. I love being thought of as fierce.”
“What else do you love?” he murmurs into the kiss.
“This again?”
“I never get tired of hearing it.”
“I love everything about you, Cesare Montesano. The way you fight, the way you fuck, the way you love.”
“So, you love me, then?”
“Don’t push your luck.”
He hauls me up, so I’m sitting on his lap. “You love me. Admit it.”
“Fine.” I give him a peck on the lips. “I love you and I’ll never leave.”
His breath catches and he wraps his arms so tightly around my back that it feels like he’s trying to meld us into a single being. I rest my head against his, basking in our closeness.
Life couldn’t be any better. I spent years being the victim, followed by the villain. Now, I’m the victor. From this point on, I’ll be the heroine of my own happy ending.
EPILOGUE
ONE YEAR LATER
CESARE
Rosalind wipes a spot of blood off my cheek before smoothing down the lapels of my suit jacket. She wants me looking pristine for what will be my official first day as Tommy’s replacement.
It turned out that the scaly bastard had survived the helicopter crash and spent the next six months deep in hiding until he resurfaced to abduct Emberly.
Roman shot out his kneecaps and went charging in to save his woman. While my big brother was on his knees begging Emberly for forgiveness, I transported Tommy to the dungeons.
That was three months ago. In that time, Rosalind and I took out his sons and his most loyal lieutenants, leaving us in charge of New Jersey.
“Perfect,” she says with a smile.
I push open the door, letting out a gust of frigid air. This is our coldest basement room with similar atmospheric controls funeral homes use to preserve dead bodies. We both walk inside to find Tommy sitting in his bubble.
It’s a six-foot-tall perspex sphere with small portholes for food and the tube that delivers warm air. As usual, he faces the wall, so he won’t look at his brother’s corpse.
My birth father’s body rests on a rack, staring sightlessly, frozen in the stunned moment of his death. I almost wish I hadn’t filled him with bullets the night we went out to save Miranda. I wanted his suffering to last longer than a few hours.
Rosalind was satisfied with his ending. She says the months he spent recovering from the explosions and the years of pain following that were enough to fulfill her need for revenge.
Our cousins, Aria and Elania, embalmed Matty’s body and applied just enough makeup to cover up his pallor, but after a year, he looks more like something dredged up from an ancient tomb.
“You’re looking well, Uncle,” I say to Tommy’s back.
He isn’t. The bastard is emaciated and covered in scars and burns similar to his brother’s. Some of them came from the first explosion and the rest from the helicopter crash. The vertebrae of his spine are visible through skin resembling a transparent wound dressing, making him look a cadaver.
“Did you find her?” he croaks.
“You told me she was buried under Jane Doe,” I say through clenched teeth. “But the headstone said Jane Hoe.”
His shoulders sag, and he dips his head. “You should know what it’s like to be a former addict. I wasn’t in control.”