Page 97 of Breaking Rosalind
This time, when Roman steps back, he continues to the end of the hallway and out through the door. I slump against the wall, my mind spinning in all directions.
Roman’s brotherly concern was him dangling the carrot. If I screw up one more time, it will be the stick. But if he discovers my secret, will it be the gun instead?
How much do I really know about my oldest brother? If given the chance, he would wipe out every Galliano in existence.
Matty Galliano is determined to create a rift between me and my brothers. He’s already making them suspect me of murder. How much longer until he tells them the truth?
I need to track down that bastard and his older sibling and kill them both before they succeed.
THIRTY-EIGHT
ROSALIND
I push against the leather restraints, too freaked out by what I heard.
Cesare didn’t answer Roman’s question about what he saw when he stepped into the alley. From the way Roman spoke, it sounds like he even thinks his brother is guilty.
Shit.
I knew Cesare was a murderer, and I knew he was a psychopath. But is he the type of man who would kill a lover, dump her body in the alley beside his own club, and conceal the truth from his brother?
This torture must be screwing with my mind because I don’t know what to think.
And how does Miranda fit into this sordid mess?
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to cut through my hunger, my thirst, my lingering arousal, my complete and utter confusion.
She doesn’t.
Miranda didn’t witness the waterboarding. That was the dead woman, Tania. Miranda was only there when Cesare fired her in front of the staff. Miranda was also in the safe house when Cesare may or may not have murdered Tania in the alleyway.
The door swings open, and I even out my features. There’s no point in antagonizing Cesare by mentioning what I overheard, otherwise he’ll upgrade his method of torture to something I can’t abide. If he ever noticed how I stiffened in the swimming pool, then he’d drag me out of the basement and drown away the last vestiges of my sanity.
He wouldn’t risk giving me the chance to escape. Most likely, he’d put me in sensory deprivation.
His footsteps approach, and the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Eavesdropping on that conversation has made me think of my own survival. What’s Cesare’s end game?
It’s always the same with the predatory type of psychopath. He’ll lose interest after he breaks my spirit and turns me into an obedient pet, then I’ll die.
“Want to come?” he asks.
“Who doesn’t?” I reply through clenched teeth.
“Look at me.”
I crack open an eye.
All traces of mania have left his expression, leaving him looking somber. This is probably some kind of lull because he’s realized he isn’t invincible.
“Are you sure the hit is canceled?” he asks, his voice deceptively calm.
I gulp. “You should know I can’t give you guarantees.”
“Explain.”
“Unexpected events like Roman’s release from death row will cause waves. If he’s innocent like the papers say, then whoever framed him might want to finish the job the state of New Alderney failed to execute.”
He scowls. “So, the information you gave me is useless. What’s the point of keeping you alive?”