Page 39 of Breaking Rosalind
The only time I want to hear from him is as a name written on my paycheck.
SIXTEEN
CESARE
I stand in front of Roman in Dad’s old study, still feeling off my game from the effects of the sedative. My head pounds from the blow with a blunt object, my throat burns from that bitch’s garrote, one side of my face is encrusted with dirt, and my hair is tangled with twigs.
Her little stunt bought her a few hours head start, and by the time I combed the grounds to find her, she was gone.
We don’t know if she escaped with the men who moved my playroom to the basement or is still on the grounds, biding her time for the right moment to slit our throats.
Roman sits behind his desk, his fingers steepled, features etched with fury. Leroi just left after imparting bad news. One of the people he was supposed to have killed resurfaced at the club last night and will cause the family a shitload of trouble. And the crazy woman from the balcony is smashing up her new room.
Everything’s turning to shit, and I’m taking the brunt of Roman’s displeasure.
“Explain to me how you got your ass handed to you by a woman half your size,” he says, his voice dangerously low.
“She’s an assassin with the Moirai,” I reply.
His brows rise. “Did she tell you that?”
“I worked that out by myself, but yeah, she confirmed it.” I tell Roman about Gunther, who I reached through the New Alderney Times switchboard, but he’s stone-faced by my deductive capabilities.
Benito probably already poured poison in his ear, which is why he’s so unimpressed.
He stares up at me through eyes as dark as Dad’s, and I hold his gaze, despite the way my insides want to squirm.
This is worse than failing to become a surgeon. Worse than being locked in a room and having to go cold turkey.
“You led an enemy through our gates,” Roman snarls, completing that thought.
“I didn’t know?—”
“You could have fucked her in the Phoenix or taken her to one of your playrooms across the street,” he barks.
He’s right. I should have known better. Something about Rosalind drew me in. Maybe because I saw her with Leroi so often. Maybe because she acted so unimpressed. She wove her web like a black widow spider, and I fell right into her trap.
There’s no running away from the fact that I’ve fucked up.
“Did you get the name of her client?” Roman asks, his voice pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Capello.”
“Which one?”
I shake my head. “She didn’t know.”
“And you didn’t press her?”
“That was the plan until your removal men showed up to dismantle my playroom. While I was transporting her to the house, she escaped.”
Roman slams his fists on the table, his eyes blazing. “Stop trying to shift the blame and fix this mess.”
“Fine. I’ll call her boss at the Times?—”
“Rosalind’s little sister came to Leroi’s apartment, demanding her whereabouts.” He slides a piece of paper across the desk. “Leroi says she was wearing a Tourgis Academy sweatshirt. You’re going to use the sister as bait to lure Rosalind back.”
“I’ll drive down there now.”