Page 91 of Breaking Rosalind

My heart races. Every vein in my body surges with adrenaline and rage.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He can’t be here, outside the building, where my brothers can see him. They’ll want to know why the fuck he’s grinning like a lunatic into our security camera with Bruno’s blood staining his boots.

They’ll ask what kind of message he’s trying to send, and he’ll tell them every filthy secret I’ve been desperate to hide.

I rush to the security console, turn off the camera pointing at the alley, and delete the past five minutes of footage.

After grabbing my gun, I sprint out of the office and through the hallway, knocking down employees as I hurry past.

“Boss?” asks one of our security guards from behind.

“Stay away from the exit,” I bark.

By the time I reach the door and push it open, both Bruno and the unconscious girl are gone, and there’s no trace of Matty. I inhale sharply, my nostrils filling with the faint stench of garbage and urine.

My heart pounds and I glance up and down the empty alley. That was no hallucination. I know what I saw.

When I glance down at my feet, the ground is wet. I’m about to check that it’s blood when someone steps out from behind the dumpster, casting a long shadow.

This is the first time I’ve seen Matty Galliano in the flesh. His silver hair sweeps off his face in loose curls that fall inches beneath his ears. His long nose dominates his face, overshadowing beady eyes and a mouth as sharp as a razor.

Today, he wears a black leather duster with white gloves and a matching turtleneck that stretches inches beneath his chin as though he’s allergic to fresh air.

The air crackles with tension as he approaches, each step calculated and deliberate. If he thinks he’s a predator, then he’s found the wrong prey. I’d sooner stick a knife in his windpipe.

“Looking for me, son?” Matty Galliano’s gravelly voice sets my teeth on edge.

“Don’t call me that,” I snarl.

He flashes me a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling with false warmth. “Scared of the truth?”

Bile rises to my throat, making me want to spit. My blood boils at the sight of this man, another reminder of Mom’s infidelity.

“Don’t tell me you’re the Galliano envoy,” I say, my lip curling with disgust.

He flicks his head toward the club. “Tommy’s in there, talking to Roman.”

My throat thickens. Both Galliano brothers crossed into New Alderney.

“What the fuck do you want? I’m under orders to shoot any Galliano sympathizers.”

“Is that any way to speak to your father?” he asks with a smirk.

“You’re not?—”

“You’ve been ignoring my calls,” he snarls, his words as hard as his eyes. “I tolerated this bullshit because I had an heir, but my children and wife were staying overnight at Cousin Freddy’s sixtieth.”

It doesn’t take a genius to work out that Leroi killed Matty Galliano’s family along with the Capellos. Now, this twisted old bastard thinks he can harass me into replacing his dead offspring.

“What do you think I am? Your spare?”

His smile drops. “You’re my last chance, son.”

“My father is Enzo Montesano. Not you,” I grit out.

“You have my mother’s eyes,” he says as if I hadn’t spoken, “The Galliano build, even the same hair.”