Page 225 of Breaking Rosalind

“Roman Montesano. Release the hostages,” Gunther’s disembodied voice croaks a distant speaker.

I grind my teeth. He could be anywhere, from his office several floors below, to the top of the elevator shaft. Since today is a graduation run, he should be in an observation room full of screens, watching the young people he and his colleagues groomed into a future of deadly servitude.

It doesn’t matter. The mercury nitrovolucite is already in place and Xero will have told his people to evacuate. All we need to do is escape.

A door creaks open. One of the operatives drove the truck filled with explosives into the building and has already released five of his colleagues. Everything Cesare and I planned for the handover is going as planned.

Now Gunther wants the other four in our truck.

My heart pounds, even though I’m ninety-nine percent certain Cesare won’t toss me out with the others. The one percent accounts for Roman’s interference.

I wait while the brothers haul out a pair of hostages and toss them on the floor. As they land with two thuds, I dig in my heels.

When an unfamiliar hand grabs my arm, my stomach lurches.

It’s Roman.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I part my lips to scream, but the door slams shut, and Cesare drags me on his lap.

Bullets ricochet off the reinforced armor, and Carlo slams the truck in reverse. The rapid motion has me jerking to the side in Cesare’s grip. By now, Gunther will have sealed the exits, enclosing us within the building.

I throw out a silent prayer to anyone listening that the reinforced bumper is enough. We’re going to need that battering ram to work the first time to make a fast getaway.

There’s a satisfying crunch of metal as the bumper plows through the barrier, and the wheels skid across the tarmac.

My heart soars, but it’s too early to celebrate. If Cesare detonates the bomb too early, we’re dead. Too late, and he’s allowed the Moirai enough time to give chase.

The truck accelerates, the speed pushing us against our seats. My stomach lurches. What happens next will be the difference between escaping and being blown into pieces.

A slight change in atmosphere makes my ears pop, indicating we’re out of the danger zone.

“Cesare,” I say, my voice tense.

“Now,” he yells.

A heartbeat later, a deafening explosion makes the ground rumble. The force of the blast has us lurching backward, then the wheels skid. I can’t tell if we miscalculated the danger zone or Carlo lost control of the vehicle.

Cesare’s grip tightens around my waist as we jerk from side to side. I no longer know where we’re going. The ground is uneven, seeming to crumble beneath the wheels.

We must have collapsed an unexpected tunnel, which is why the truck won’t stop floundering.

My throat closes, and I hurl my last hope toward the driver’s seat, hoping Carlo can maneuver us out of the chaos. We jerk from side to side as he fights to regain control, then the wheels straighten, and the truck surges forward.

We did it. Not only did we destroy the Moirai’s upper echelons, but all their data. They’re gone, and I’ve freed myself, the academy students, and all the other operatives bound to a lifetime of servitude.

Cesare rips the sack off my head and kisses me on the mouth. He tastes of freedom, of victory, of triumph and relief. I kiss back, not caring that Roman is sitting opposite and still thinks I’m a threat.

Our next stop is ridding the world of Matteo Galliano and his scumbag brother.

NINETY

CESARE

When Rosalind kisses back, I feel like a fucking king.

Straddling my lap, she squirms against my cock and devours my mouth like I’m the only man in the entire world. She’s like Charlie’s Angels, The A-Team, and Ocean’s Eleven, all wrapped up in a sexy little package.

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