Breaking Rosalind

Chapter 65

ROSALIND

All the tension I’ve felt since becoming Cesare’s prisoner rears to the surface, forming a tight band of resentment around my chest. I had faith that I would escape captivity one way or another and I accepted tolerating him for a while until my daughter was safe.

But what I can’t accept are these sleeping arrangements. The four-poster bed belongs in a bodice ripper romance, where the blushing heroine gets ravished by the shirtless scoundrel.

I booked a family suite with three rooms. Three, so we could all have separate beds, but Cesare must have changed my reservation to this two-roomed monstrosity.

He stares at me in my periphery, his gaze burning bright. I can almost see that aggravating face of his arranged into a rakish smile. After everything he’s put me through, the wretched bastard thinks he can get some ass.

“Let me light the fireplace,” Miranda cries. “That will make the room extra romantic.”

I grind my teeth and Cesare chuckles. “Need any help, love?”

“Nope! We have fires in our dorms all the time.”

She bounds toward the mantle, kneels at the fireplace, and selects from a pile of logs. Cesare steps closer, his eyes still boring into the side of my face.

He places his large hand on the small of my back, setting my nerves alight. Heat surges through my veins and burns the surface of my skin. I step away, my jaw tightening. All that prolonged time in captivity has trained my body to welcome his touch.

“Where are the matches?” Miranda rises from the other side of the bed, looking from side to side like a little meerkat.

Cesare prowls toward her, and every instinct screams at me to grab his arm, but I don’t want to alarm Miranda. He might be a monster, but his affection for my daughter is genuine.

I overheard all the nice things he said about me in the boutique. He could have spilled my secret to make a point to Miranda about the sacrifices I made to keep her safe, but he respected my decision.

Groomers isolate their victims. They don’t build bridges between them and their parents. Matteo encouraged Mom to attend girls’ trips with his men’s wives, leaving us to have daddy-daughter time where he would make me feel like he was the only person who truly cared. The only one who saw me and not some lonely little kid.

Cesare is a different kind of manipulator. His focus isn’t on separating me from Miranda. He wants to create a bond between us all. If Miranda sees him as a cool uncle, then I’ll be forced to keep him in our life.

He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a silver lighter, making her eyes light up. Then he turns to me and grins. “Come on, pet. You’re missing all the fun.”

I shake my head and fold my arms across my chest, leaving them both to work on the fireplace. Miranda takes the lighter and instructs Cesare how to arrange the timber for the best flame with a tone of authority that makes me smile.

They work together like they’ve known each other for a lifetime, and mirror each other’s soft smiles. I stand rooted on the other side of the room, forever the outsider. My throat burns, the backs of my eyes sting, and the tension around my chest tightens until I can barely breathe.

Why is Miranda so at ease with Cesare? She knows he’s in the mafia and must assume he’s also a killer. Why does he get her smiles and laughter and warmth, and I get reluctant glances and no hugs?

I’ve never seen her so joyful and radiant. The glow of the fire illuminates their faces, making them appear more like family than me and my own flesh and blood.

Cesare turns to me, his smile flickering the moment he takes in my expression. I jerk my head to the side, not wanting him to revel in my pain. It would be so easy to accuse him of forging a connection to Miranda out of spite, but the joy in his features when he’s with her is genuine.

Hell, he doesn’t even smile like that when he’s with me.

My heart pounds so hard that I can’t hear what he says when he leans into her and whispers something in her ear. She pulls back with a frown, which makes him give her an encouraging nod. They sit together for a few more moments, exchanging hushed words, while I stand by the doorway like an intruder.

Miranda stands, smooths down her top, and squares her shoulders. “Good night, Cesare.”

“Night, love,” he says, his voice filled with affection.

She marches around the mahogany four-poster bed, her eyes focused, and her jaw set. I gulp, my heart racing. Will she acknowledge my presence or sweep past without a word?

Cesare rises from the fireplace and watches her approach me. His presence reminds me that I’m being stupid. If I can endure all manner of humiliation in his captivity, then I can handle a little rejection.

If I want her to speak to me, I need to make the first move.

“Good night,” I begin, but she wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me into an embrace.

I suck in a breath, taking in her delicate floral scent. Miranda has never once hugged me back, let alone initiated physical touch. My arms wrap around her petite frame as if she might disappear.

Closing my eyes, I savor the moment. Her heart beats as fast as mine as though she’s nervous, perhaps even scared. The last time she welcomed my touch, I turned around and shot Mom between the eyes.

“Good night, Rosa.” Her sweet voice melts my heart. “I’m sorry for being ungrateful.”

My eyes widen. “No,” I blurt. “You’re not?—”

“I shouldn’t have told your new boyfriend our secrets. That was wrong. I could have ruined your relationship.”

My mind whirrs. What did she say to Cesare?

She pulls back and gazes up at me, her eyes shining and bright. “One day, when you’re ready, will you tell me why?”

My throat thickens. I part my lips but make no sound. How could I ever tell this beautiful little creature she’s the product of something so ugly? That for the entire time I was pregnant with her, I wanted to die? I don’t even have the words to begin.

“Take your time, Rosa.” She squeezes my arm and walks out of the room.

I turn to stare at her retreating back, wondering when on earth she became so mature or so compassionate. She didn’t inherit that personality trait from her father and sure as hell didn’t get it from me.

Maybe someone at Tourgis Academy taught her how to view the world in shades of gray, but I know that isn’t right. It’s Cesare and what he said to her at the boutique. I know he views me through a peculiar lens and sees a bunch of qualities that I lack. Thanks to his twisted obsession, she sees me as more than just her evil sister.

As she disappears through the door of her room, Cesare’s larger body presses into mine. He wraps his arms around my waist and presses his lips on my temple.

“You were beautiful, pet,” he murmurs into my hair. “All that raw emotion when you looked at her. One day, you’re going to be like that with me.”

My spine stiffens.

Every time I think Cesare Montesano might have a bone of humanity, he proves me wrong.

That asshole is only saying that because he wants me to take care of his boner.