Cesare’s point of view ~~~
The door of my black Maybach closed with a satisfying thunk.
I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding and gripped the steering wheel tightly.
The interior smelled like polished leather and quiet power—normally, it grounded me. But not right now.
My head was full. Of Rosette. Of her expression when she told me to leave. Of the faint tremble in her hands, the glint of betrayal in her eyes, and the wall she had thrown up again between us, brick by brick.
Damn it all.
I jammed the key into the ignition, started the car, and with one hand still on the wheel, grabbed my other phone—the unregistered one—from the glove compartment.
It’s screen glowed as I put it on. I scrolled to a contact labeled simply “C” and hit dial.
It rang once, then twice.
