Page 73 of Breaking Rosalind

My jaw drops. I was expecting him to tell me what he did to Miranda, or at least show me the rest of his video clips or security footage. Besides, Britt was supposed to have disposed of Miranda’s phone, so she’d be impossible to track.

“How do you have her number?” I ask, my voice tight.

“She and I got on extremely well,” he purrs in a tone that makes my stomach lurch.

I grind my molars, trying not to react to the innuendo. He wants me weeping, flinching, cursing out his name. This type of man loves to see a woman crumble.

“Are you going to keep boring me with preamble or let me speak to Miranda?” I ask.

Annoyance flickers over his features, but he regains control, sets the tray down on my stomach, and slips a hand into his pocket.

“After the five-minute conversation is over, you will tell me everything about your firm’s plot against my family, or Lucrezia and I will start cutting body parts.”

“Fine,” I rasp.

He plucks the bottle off the tray and twists open its cap with a crack. Slipping his hand under my head, he lifts it up and brings the bottle to my mouth.

“Drink,” he says.

I rear back, but the hand at the base of my skull holds me in place.

“Why?” I ask.

“Little Miranda can’t think I’m not keeping you fed and watered,” he replies, as if the answer is obvious. “We don’t want her worried or upset.”

I glance at his features, finding no trace of his usual malice or smirk. If I hadn’t witnessed this sadistic fuck firsthand, I would think he was serious about protecting Miranda’s innocence.

“Open.” He shoves the mouth of the bottle into my closed lips.

With a sigh, I obey and allow him to pour the water onto my tongue. Cool liquid trickles down my throat, soothing the parched membranes. I swallow over and over, feeling it slide down my esophagus and into my empty stomach.

I don’t know his intentions or what kind of game he’s playing with Miranda. This isn’t the first time someone has manipulated me using my little girl, but it will be the last.

Cesare only needs to drop his guard for a second and he’s dead.

Once he’s satisfied that I’ve had enough to drink, he pulls back the bottle and sets it back on the tray. His hateful eyes bore into mine, searching my features for signs of weakness.

I glare back, channeling my deepest hatred.

“Ready, pet?” He raises his phone.

“Yes,” I reply, my voice clearer.

His eyes leave mine for the few seconds it takes for him to dial, and my heart pounds hard enough to make my ribs throb. The seconds feel like an eternity as I wait for the person on the other end to answer.

My mind runs through a scenario where Cesare’s men captured Britt and Miranda and they’re being held at a facility. That everything I sacrificed in the fourteen years since I ran away from home has landed us in the same situation I escaped—under the control of a perverted sadist.

“Cesare?” Miranda’s voice bursts through the speakerphone, brimming with an unusual excitement.

“Hello, love,” he says with a grin. “Your sister has finally recovered from her hangover and wants to say hello.”

Miranda’s sweet giggle drifts through the speaker, and my chest tightens with a twisted sense of jealousy. I can’t remember the last time I made her laugh, or if I ever did. My stomach twists at the thought of this monster bringing her joy when I struggle to even make her smile.

I stare at the phone, not daring to meet Cesare’s gaze.

“She’s so lame,” Miranda says. “Let me speak to her.”

“Miri?” I ask, trying to hold back a swell of relief.

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