As the vehicle continued rolling towards their destination, Rosa arched one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows at Mr. Massera.

She scoffed, "Wipe that look off of your face, mon beau. I am more than capable of dragging out your dirty, little secrets with or without your cooperation—"

Still smirking, he interjected, "I do not doubt your capabilities."

She proceeded in sharp tones, "I am simply giving you an opportunity, right now, to come clean and earn my respect and my trust. But—if you insist on doing things the hard way, then, by all means, go ahead and dig your own grave."

"Are you threatening me, Miss Lenoir?"

Did he even have to ask?

This dumbass!

Rosa sniffed in a snobbish manner, "Oui."

Keeping his eyes on the road, Mr. Massera asked with a faintly amused expression, "If I die, who will pay out the rest of your €30,000?"

This smartass!

Rosa snapped, "Then, I will sell your organs to make up for the difference."

He whistled softly. "You are a frightening woman."

"I am not frightening. I am fair. There is a difference. The last imbécile who fucked me over did not live long enough to see his next birthday. If he paid me on time, then he would still be alive. I do not strike at anyone who does not deserve it."

"Are you threatening me again?"

"Oui."

Yet, Mr. Massera didn't seem to be particularly threatened as he drawled in lazy tones, "Do you think I will live to see my next birthday?"

She huffed, "That will depend on whether or not you fuck me over."

His smirk widened into a grin. "It is actually my birthday... today."

This caught her slightly off guard. "You must be joking."

"I am being serious. Yesterday, I was thirty. Today, I am thirty-one."

Her golden eyes fluttered with astonishment.

She offered grudgingly, "Joyeux... anniversaire. I guess."

Happy birthday.

But he paid no mind to her well wishes.

"There," murmured Mr. Massera, "I have revealed more of myself to you. You have my full name and my real birth date. Now, you have everything you need to uncover all of my dirty, little secrets. I hope you will not disappoint me."

A realization suddenly occurred to Rosa.

When Mr. Massera first appeared in her suite, he had mentioned that she was being 'interviewed,' so to speak, in that Marseille nightclub. He had intended to test her qualifications before introducing himself as her real employer.

All of his secrecy—

All of his vagaries—

Perhaps, the bastard was still interviewing her right this moment—to see if she could pluck out the truth from his lies, to outplay him, at his own game?

Her brow creased with irritation.

She accused him outright, "You are still testing me."

He didn't confirm or deny her accusation and, instead, provided, "I always do my homework before reaching out to a potential ally. Or a potential enemy. I need to know that I can count on you to do the same if I bring you into my inner circle."

Mr. Massera had given Rosa a rather roundabout answer, but she understood him perfectly,

"So, you will tell me everything about who you really are and what you are planning to do? After I prove myself to you?"

"Yes," he affirmed with a nod, "I see a lot of potential in you."

"I do not need to prove myself to anyone," she fired back in heated tones, her annoyance with the man was doubling by the second. "I am very good at my job, and I do not need your money. I was already thriving without you."

He surprised her by remarking, "Maybe you do not need me, but I need you."

"Why?" she demanded.

Mr. Massera smiled his infuriating smile again. "You have my name. You have my birth date. Go figure that shit out for yourself, Miss Lenoir, after Favreau and Moulin have been... taken care of. Then, we can talk some more."

Her cheeks flushed with indignation. "What if I decide to walk away from you and Favreau and Moulin? Right now?"

"You are free to walk away."

She eyed him with suspicion. "You would not come after me?"

"Of course I would come after you," Mr. Massera glanced over as though she was dim-witted, "you already know too much."

Ah, there was the rub. Typical fucking thug.

Before she could form a rebuttal, Mr. Massera shocked her yet again by saying, "I know you used to be one of Mesrine's girls."

Rosa's heart seized up with distress at the mention of Mesrine's name, but she kept her face impassive. Emotionless.

Quietly, she insisted, "I do not know what you are talking about."

On the inside, though, Rosa was starting to lose her shit. Just a little.

How the hell did Mr. Massera manage to uncover her ties to Mesrine?

How much did he know about her and who else was privy to his knowledge?

Dread sank into the pit of her stomach.

This fucker wasn't joking when he claimed to always 'do his homework' before reaching out to a friend or foe. No one was supposed to know about her past.

Not even Mesrine knew that she was still alive.

As far as everyone from her past was concerned, Inés Nadir was gone forever.

Dead from suicide.

Rosa had faked the whole affair herself.

Much in the way Gaspare De León had escaped Palermo to become Mr. Lavigne, she had escaped from Luxembourg City to Marseille to become Rosa Lenoir.

"I think you know exactly what I am talking about."

She shot Mr. Massera a long, hard look. "You are wrong."

Deny, deny, deny.

That was her strategy.

Rosa refused to give him anything.

"I will not tell anyone your secret," he assured her, pressing on as though she hadn't spoken, "as long as you work for me."

She glared. "It feels like you are trying to blackmail me. Your tactics will not work."

Mr. Massera laughed darkly. "I am not trying to blackmail you. I am blackmailing you, and I think it will work. I think it is working—"

His devil-black gaze rested upon her face, then, seeing everything and missing nothing. "I can see the fear in your eyes, Miss Lenoir."

Their eyes clashed, then.

A knowing black against an anguished gold.

For a second, Rosa thought she might have glimpsed pity in his eyes, but the emotion disappeared so quickly that she must have imagined it.

She refused to show weakness in front of him.

Her chin jutted out stubbornly like a headstrong child trying to imagine away the monsters under her bed as she declared, "I am not afraid of anyone. Or anything."

At this, Mr. Massera's expression softened significantly. "You can lie to me, but do not lie to yourself. I can only imagine the hell you must have lived through under Mesrine's thumb, and I would never want to put you in harm's way again. I am also a fair fucker—"

"You are definitely some kind of fucker," she growled under her breath.

He sighed, "Believe it or not, you do not have to be afraid of me. I will treat you well as long as you treat me well. I stand by what I said before—you and I operate in very similar ways, and I believe we could make a very good team. That is the reason I am invested in working together. I apologize for blackmailing you, but I am simply the kind of man who seeks... results. It is nothing personal."

Rosa stared at him in cold silence for several drawn-out beats.

It took her another moment before she found her voice.

Mesrine was still messing with her head.

She released a shaky breath and mumbled, "Très bien. You win. For now. But, after I complete my assignment with Favreau and Moulin, I will be spending some time to learn every single one of your dirty, little secrets, and, trust me, mon beau, blackmail can be a two-way street."

He remained unruffled and replied evenly, "I look forward to see what you might uncover about me."

The train station came into view.

It was 6:30 am.

Mr. Massera slowed the car to a stop at a red light and glanced over to Rosa. His expression became... expressionless. She struggled to read him as his tone grew business-like and brusque once more.

"I have reserved a motel room for us in Madrid. You can update me on your progress there each night."

She wrinkled her nose. "You got us a motel? Not a hotel?"

"Correct."

"You are so stingy," Rosa muttered, "at least, does the room have two beds?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "No, just one. Is that a problem?"

This opportunistic bastard.

"As long as you keep your hands and your cock to yourself," she hummed, "then... non. I have no problem with sharing a bed with you. Again."

Mr. Massera's eyes darkened as he vowed, "I promise to be a good boy."

Her breath caught slightly. "Do you, now?"

They shared a lingering look.

Mr. Massera reached over, then, rather slowly, almost cautiously, to brush a strand of her black hair from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear.

"I believe, Miss Lenoir, that anything can become a two-way street. As long as you are good to me, I swear, I will be very good to you."

Despite the aggravation she was harboring towards the bastard, something in his husky tone set a flare of sweet, pleasurable heat through her body.

Again, Mr. Massera was a man of such contradictions.

One minute, he was threatening her with blackmail.

The next, he was pulling this kind of stupid casanova shit on her.

Rosa eyed him with part-trepidation, part-wonder as she murmured, "I will keep that in mind."

She couldn't remember the last time any man had put her in such a flustered state, and that alone made her want to best Mr. Massera simply for the sake of her pride.

He was smart and ruthless.

Maybe even smarter and more ruthless than her.

Their interactions kept setting her off balance. She needed to refocus. To bring her A game. He might have the upper hand at the moment, but Rosa refused to let the bastard have the last laugh.