Page 34 of Breaking Rosalind
“No. I saw the window open, and the shrubbery move, but there was no sign of the woman.”
“What are you saying?”
“Whoever she works for must have supplied her with an advanced form of anti-surveillance clothing. Have you found out the name of her firm?”
“We were getting there before you interrupted,” I reply.
Benito's lips tighten. “How the hell did you bring an assassin of that caliber into our home?”
I flinch, my blood heating with resentment, already sick of the double standards. Sometimes, I wonder if they know my secret because I’ve always been the family scapegoat.
Every mistake I make is amplified until it becomes the original sin. The rest of them can screw up and get the benefit of the doubt.
“Did you ask Leroi the same question?” I growl.
He doesn’t reply because the answer is obvious. Benito wouldn’t dare question Leroi or ask why our cousin, the trained assassin, couldn’t recognize a colleague in disguise.
“Rosalind was Leroi’s fuck buddy for months until he discarded her and found someone else. Was it wrong to assume he’d already checked her out and made sure she was harmless?”
Benito's pinched expression fades, replaced by something less judgmental, but there’s still no sign of an apology.
I fold my arms across my chest. “So, it’s okay when Leroi fucks up, but I get called out for doing the same?”
“What have you found out?” he asks.
“Still working on her,” I say with a smirk. “She has a high tolerance to pain, so I’ve had to get creative.”
“You’ve had her for long enough. What’s taking so long?”
Annoyance simmers beneath my skin, itching to explode in a hot rush of fury. Benito is an asshole whose only vice is being condescending. Instead of fucking away his troubles like any normal man, he lives to be a perfectionist and a critic. He belittles everyone yet can’t even see his own shortcomings.
Shoulders squaring, I close the gap between us and glare into his arrogant face. “She drugged me with something that made me black out on and off. Part of that time, I was wandering around the grounds, off my head on her sedative.”
Benito frowns.
“You remember seeing me under the balcony, right?”
He gives me a hesitant nod.
“I was drugged, incoherent, and with no memories of the night before and you didn’t notice I needed help?”
He runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. “I had my hands full. The police were at the gates with a warrant to arrest the woman who was trying to throw herself off the tower.”
“We all make mistakes, brother. Part of being a better man is acknowledging your own fuckups.” I clap him on the shoulder.
He pulls away, his features morphing back into their usual stern self-righteousness. “Roman wants you to move your... equipment to the basement.”
“Why?” I snap.
“He needs to turn the pool house into an art studio.”
My jaw clenches and I curl my fists. “I’ve used that space for years.”
“Roman’s special guest needs it,” Benito says with a huff. “And she’s more important to us than a woman you’re going to kill.”
I can’t argue with that. Roman has the dirty job of romancing that crazy balcony woman out of hundreds of millions of dollars’ worth of her late father’s assets. Rosalind’s interrogation can take place anywhere.
“When do you need us out?” I ask.