Page 95 of Breaking Rosalind

He studies me for several heartbeats, searching for signs of deceit. The basement hallway closes in around us like the walls of a coffin, suffocating me with its oppressive weight.

“I didn’t do it. I swear,” I say, and want to cringe.

“How many men have you interrogated who have said the same?” Roman asks, his gaze boring into mine. “You’re hiding something, and I want to know what.”

Five years on death row has exaggerated the differences in our physiques. In the world of boxing, Roman would be a heavyweight, and I would be a middleweight. I’m 6’2”, while my brothers are both 6’4”. Even Benito the pencil pusher outweighs me by at least twenty pounds.

That bastard, Galliano, was right. I have the Galliano eyes, the Galliano physique, the Galliano hair, and even the Galliano propensity for violence.

Roman places a hand on my shoulder. “Are you back on drugs?”

“No.” I shake my head. “And I’m not hiding anything.”

He gives me one of those slow nods that says he doesn’t believe a word I’ve said, but is too nice to call me a liar.

“What are you still doing with Leroi’s little assassin?”

“Rosalind is mine,” I snap.

“Why is she still alive?” he asks with more bite.

“I’ve secured her properly this time. She won’t escape.”

Roman breaks eye contact and sighs. He would have gotten daily reports from Gil on the time they made me go cold turkey. I can tell he’s disappointed that his brother was once an addict. I can tell he’s thinking I’m a weak link.

“That Moirai asshole using the New Alderney Times as a front called me back about Capello’s death,” Roman murmurs.

“What did he say?”

“It was noted.”

“And the contract on our lives?”

“Bastard hung up,” he mutters.

I flick my head toward the closed door. “Rosalind’s clients only pay in full after the kill. If they die before then, the Moirai keep their deposits and don’t fulfill the contract.”

“They had better not,” Roman growls.

“I can always double check with her.”

He nods. “Do it.”

“Sure thing, Roman.”

My brother steps back, his shoulders hunched. I stay rooted on the spot, waiting for him to reach the end of the hallway before moving, but he pauses.

“If you didn’t kill Tania, who did?”

“Someone from Galliano’s side, wanting to start trouble,” I say.

“Who did you see in the alley?”

“Just Tania, sucking off one of our security guys.”

“Bruno said he was shot at from behind.”

My eyes widen. “He survived?”