Page 79 of Breaking Rosalind
Operatives can survive three minutes without air, three hours in extreme heat or cold, three days without water, and three weeks without food. My heart sinks. If I can’t manipulate Cesare into slipping up, then I need to find another way to break free.
It’s me who needs to evolve. I need to cast aside the dry lectures and study Cesare for new weaknesses and test different approaches to gain his trust.
“Tell me the name of your client again,” his sharp voice slices through the silence.
“Capello.” I turn to meet his gaze, but he’s focusing his attention on squeezing the mop head.
“Which one?”
“Frederic is dead, so the contract would have died with him,” I say.
“Then who?”
My throat tightens. Gunther never once told me the name of our client. I had to overhear it through conversations with the assassins he deemed worthy of highly paid missions.
Cesare glances up, his eyes narrowing, his fingers gripping the mop so tightly his knuckles turn white. “Don’t test me,” he says through clenched teeth. “Don’t even think of holding back or making any demands.”
The threat hangs in the silence like a sword, or perhaps the inappropriately named Lucrezia. Everything from the coldness in his eyes to the sneer on his lips suggests that if I don’t answer, he’ll make me wish for death.
My survival instincts force me to improvise.
“One of his relatives who didn’t die in the massacre must have contacted the firm to carry out the hit,” I say.
Cesare’s mask cracks, and he throws his head back with a cackle so maniacal that the fine hairs at the nape of my neck stand on end.
What the fuck did I just say to set him off? This man keeps me off balance with his unpredictable reactions. His laughter echoes off the walls, making every molecule in the air tremble.
I inhale a sharp breath through my teeth, my muscles tensing. “Did I say something funny?”
The laughter ceases, and he regains control of his features and turns to me, his eyes glinting with malicious triumph.
“We captured Samson last night,” he says. “He’s being tortured to death.”
“Oh.” I exhale, releasing only a fraction of my tension. Gunther didn’t tell me Frederic Capello’s older son had survived the massacre. I just assumed our client was a more distant relative.
This changes everything.
Cesare no longer has a reason to continue his interrogation. The Moirai Group will keep the Capello deposit, since there are no survivors left to pay the final invoice for the triple assassination, and I can return to work.
He raises his brows, prompting me to speak.
My tongue darts out to lick my dry lips. “As soon as the firm knows Samson is dead, they’ll call off the hit.”
He closes the distance between us, still gripping that infernal mop. Water drips from its sodden fibers, leaving a puddle at his feet. I remain still, forcing myself not to shrink, as my mind puzzles through the most tactful way to phrase my request.
“If every member of the Capello family is dead and can’t start any new contracts, then you and your brothers are no longer targets,” I say.
“Correct.” He rocks forward on the balls of his feet, his eyes dancing with delight.
“The Moirai Group knows I’m here,” I add. “Someone will demand my release.”
“The way your boss did when I called his number?”
My throat constricts, my lungs tightening with the ache of betrayal. Cesare has a point. Gunther sure as hell didn’t dispatch a crack team of operatives to extract me from the Montesano stronghold. he probably didn’t even send that fucking Uber.
“That’s different. It’s a new set of circumstances if the client dies. If you continue keeping me here?—”
“You became my property the moment you poisoned my drink.”