Page 87 of Breaking Rosalind
“Possibly, but there was no margin for error,” Benito drawls.
Resentment burns across my chest and surges through my temples. My nostrils flare, and I clench my jaw. He’s doing it again. Telling me I’m a screwup. A man makes one mistake when he’s younger and everyone thinks he can’t handle responsibility.
“Enough,” Roman says before I can muster up a reply. His gaze hardens, making him look exactly like Dad. “That head is the only thing standing between us taking back control of the family business and being taken down by assassins. You are the only person I can rely on to make sure it arrives at the Di Marco Law group.”
I swallow hard, my heart pounding at the gravity of his trust.
“Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll pick it up.”
“Bring it here first, so we can tell the Moirai to end the contract.”
“Sure thing, Roman.” I turn to Benito. “And I’m going to need to use the jet this evening.”
“No,” Benito says.
“Why not?”
“Someone from Tommy Galliano’s side called, asking for a meeting.”
Terror punches me in the heart. Alarm spikes, and my pulse ratchets up to eleven. This is a message from the Galliano brothers. If I don’t comply with their demands, they’ll expose my secret and force my hand. I force my face into a mask of composure, trying to hold back the rising panic.
My chest tightens, each breath coming harder and harder with the crushing weight of dread. Benito already thinks I’m a waste of space, and it won’t take him long to infect Roman. They’ll both stop tolerating me the moment they discover the truth.
I grit my teeth and ask, “What does Galliano want?”
“It’s probably about the meth lab,” Roman mutters. “Capello didn’t abduct our scientists. It was that scaly bastard.”
All the breath leaves my lungs in a desperate exhale, but it’s too early to feel relief. The business discussion could just be a ruse to deliver a blow to my already crumbling reputation.
“I want you in the club tonight, watching the monitors for suspicious activity.” Roman raises a finger. “Before you complain, Benito will be at the door, making sure Galliano doesn’t storm the entrance with his men.”
My gaze flicks to the laptop screen, where Leroi has already fallen asleep. His girlfriend sits beside him, her attention riveted to her phone.
“Hey, Seraphine,” I say, making her glance into the camera. “Be with you in twenty minutes.”
I walk out, my stomach roiling with trepidation. Miranda will need to wait another day for me to rescue her from captivity. But if tonight goes badly, I may not even have a future.
THIRTY-FOUR
ROSALIND
Just when I tried to get a semblance of control over my captivity, he left.
Now all I have for company is the scent of antiseptic and the constant beep of those loathsome monitors.
Shit.
Hours pass. I can’t exactly keep track of the time in this windowless room, but my stomach has stopped growling with hunger. My body’s survival mechanisms have kicked in, suppressing the constant ache for food.
My mind is clearer, and I can refocus my efforts on escape. I try to flex my fingers, but the thick leather bindings holding them to the metal splint restrict their movement.
If I’m ever going to get out of this contraption, it will be with Cesare’s permission. As much as I despise the thought, he’s got me completely at his mercy.
Footsteps approach, and my pulse spikes. I force my breaths to slow so the monitors won’t betray my agitation. Too late. The door swings open, revealing the bastard himself, clad in his usual black shirt and pants and holding a steaming bowl of something that smells divine.
“Time to eat, pet,” he says.
A growl rips through my stomach as though his words have summoned back my hunger. I tighten my jaw, wishing it would shut the fuck up, but saliva floods my mouth at the mingled scents of honey, warm milk, and cinnamon.