At 10:30 pm—sharp—Rosa approached the entrance to the Pigmalión. It didn't take her long to find Cristiano's man, Esteban. The great, burly man was the size of a mountain. Hard to miss. He welcomed her inside. Once Rosa entered the strip club, a sense of déjà vu drifted over her. The interior sights and sounds and smells reminded her of the clubs she used to work in.

Except on a much grander scale.

The vibe inside was dark and moody. Cigar smoke and perfume drenched the air. Sky-high ceilings on the first floor opened to a large second floor balcony, offering views of the dancers from every angle of the club. An array of bright neon purple, pink, and blue lights outlined the main stage with bars, tables, and chairs wrapped around it. Sultry electronica music thumped from the speakers while topless women in tiny G-strings, some with tassels on their nipples, shimmied across the stage and slithered up and down metal poles with the grace and athleticism of a gymnast.

Comparatively, Rosa was dressed rather modestly. She wore a long black trenchcoat and black knee-high stilettoed boots, similar to the outfit she had donned on her Lavigne assignment in Marseille. Underneath her coat, however, she wasn't strapped into the corset Cristiano had picked out for her in Afrodita.

A conscious choice on her part.

If their relationship wouldn't be going any further in its present state, Rosa felt no need to cater to Cristiano's whims and fancies. She would be a fool to waste any more time and effort—than necessary, of course, to collect her paycheck—on a man like him.

Only fools fell in love.

Because they could afford to fuck up.

Rosa was no fool, she couldn't afford to fuck up, and she had certainly never known love. Not even with Mesrine. Not real love, anyway. Yet, instinct told her that Cristiano was the kind of man a woman should never attach herself to too deeply.

In defiance, she skipped the corset and instead chose something else from her personal collection to wear: A rich burgundy balconette bra and panty set made of a lush velvet fabric.

Fuck him—for being such a fuckable yet stone-cold bastard.

Earlier in the day, Cristiano tried to make peace with Rosa. Yet again.

Please listen to me. I know what I said was not easy to hear, but I do care about you—

Rosa gave him the cold shoulder. Yet again.

I never asked for anyone to care about me.

Her woman's pride had already been stung. She wasn't one to let her guard down again after the shit he said to her. Disappointment and heartache seemed inevitable if she didn't heed his warning.

Cristiano left their motel room soon after.

She hadn't heard from him since then.

Rosa convinced herself that this was better in the long run. To detach herself from him. As she did with all other people in life. To be his partner in crime. Nothing more.

In truth, though, she couldn't shake the feeling that they were acting more like a pair of feuding lovers than anything else.

"Everything alright, señorita?" asked Esteban with a cough.

Rosa blinked several times, shaking herself from her stupor. "I am fine. Sorry. Please lead the way."

This wasn't the time to be distracted.

The giant man nodded. "They are waiting upstairs."

With a disappointed sigh directed mostly at herself, Rosa followed Esteban up the stairs to the second floor. He led her down a long corridor to a private VIP room.

"In you go," grunted Esteban.

"Thank you," Rosa muttered as she brushed past him with a few quick clicks from her heeled boots.

Esteban closed the door behind her. Rosa bit back a grimace and willed herself to wise the fuck up. She was here to get paid. She needed to focus on this hard, concrete fact. Hold onto it tight and let everything else go. Any lingering emotions and attachments would only get in her way.

What was it that Cristiano wanted from her tonight?

To eavesdrop on the flow of conversation?

To observe the others in the room?

All while grinding her ass against his crotch?

Done, done, and done.

Rosa scanned the VIP room with a demure, discreet gaze. A bronze crystal chandelier hung overhead. Navy blue floral wallpaper adorned the walls. Several large leather couches and chairs with wooden trim were positioned around an oval table with ornately carved legs. Everything in sight reflected old world elegance. It looked more like a stately parlor than a lounge in a strip club.

There were eight unfamiliar men in dark suits sprawled before her. Some appeared more intimidating than others.

Rosa's amber eyes narrowed slightly as she wondered if all of these fuckers were armed and dangerous?

Even the younger, softer-faced associates?

Music played softly in the background. Three scantily-clad dancers, two blondes and a brunette, were draped around a few of the older guys. Rosa took note of these individuals. A greasy-haired man with a beer belly. A balding man with a scar on his cheek. A bearded man with a very boisterous laugh. They were either the ones with the most authority in the group, the loosest wallets, or both.

Cristiano sat in the middle of it all like an emperor holding court.

As Rosa shrugged off her coat, a few of the men turned their heads to leer appreciatively in her direction. One of the blonde strippers gave her a brisk once-over as well. Obvious interest shone from the woman's green eyes. Rosa wasn't surprised by the attention. The velvet bustier hugged her tits like a second skin. She looked like sin wrapped in velvet.

Yet, the only bastard whom she wanted to engage with didn't spare a glance her way.

Cristiano remained engrossed in discussion with the bald, scarred fucker. She couldn't help feeling a bit annoyed even though they were, supposedly, pretending to be strangers.

In bold strides, Rosa moved across the room towards Cristiano.

She stopped right in front of him but announced to everyone, "I was told that one of you gentlemen was in need of some company?"

A thirty-something, brown-eyed man with a faint lisp spoke up in Italian-accented English, "I could use some company..."

Cristiano's dark gaze shot towards the man like knives. "Lola ti terrà compagnia, Marcello."

Rosa picked up on two names amidst his rapid-fire Italian: Lola and Marcello.

Upon hearing her name, the dark-haired dancer ambled over to Marcello in her lime green thong and purred, "Always at your service, baby."

Marcello cast a curious look in Cristiano's direction as he tugged Lola towards him, mumbling in submissive tones, "La nuova ragazza è tutta tua, Massera."

Next to them, the bald, scarred one seemed to be studying their entire exchange with keen-eyed fascination.

Cristiano and Marcello, Rosa noted, appeared well acquainted with one another.

Did they know each other from Calabria?

Or elsewhere?

Rosa cleared her throat lightly.

Cristiano's focus snapped back to her.

Finally, he took in the sight of Rosa and her little velvet ensemble. In his reaction, she saw a flicker of irritation mingled with desire. Rosa smirked at him. Cristiano scowled back at her.

"Get your ass over here," he growled quietly.

"Of course, baby," Rosa chirped in a sweet and accommodating voice.

She perched herself on his lap, running her fingers through his thick, black hair like a doting lover. Rosa's touch remained affectionate, but her eyes were cold. Cristiano's handsome face darkened with displeasure. He could probably tell that she was taunting him. Not much between them had been resolved, after all. Rosa began to nuzzle his neck, using her teeth to nip at his tattoos. The crucifix one.

Admittedly, she was teasing him out of spite.

Cristiano shouldn't have shown her any kindness to begin with if all he wanted was a professional relationship.

She was angry at herself, too.

Lust had drawn them together, but, in the end, Rosa knew she had been a nitwit to forget that he was a businessman, through and through, and she was merely a means to his end. Rosa both hated and admired the bastard's dedication to the bottom line.

Inwardly, Rosa tried to let go of her unruly resentments while, outwardly, she kissed his cheek and rubbed her tits against his chest.

To Cristiano's credit, he managed to keep up with his colleagues despite Rosa's best efforts to distract him. His breathing quickened a few times, though. His hands gripped and caressed the curves of her ass a few more times as well. It was good to know that the man was still a man. That she still had some sort of sway over his cock.

Rosa reminded herself to stay on task. There was work to be done. Money to be made. Rosa's awareness shifted to the men around her. Conversations in three different languages sifted in and out of her ears.

Some in Spanish—

The greasy-haired man asked, "¿Cuánto había en ese almacén?"

Cristiano replied, "Medio millón en AK-47, ametralladoras PKM y municiones."

"¿Balcazar se lo llevó todo?"

Cristiano frowned and nodded curtly. "Si."

Some in Italian—

The bearded man declared, "Ho bisogno che tu ti prenda cura di un amico per me."

Cristiano inquired, "Quando?"

"Un mese da adesso."

At times like these, Rosa wished she had put more effort into learning Spanish and Italian. She guessed that they were talking about weapons from the warehouse. She knew something was happening a month from now. She figured out a few more of their names from this flow of dialogue. The greasy-haired man was Manolo. The bearded man went by Favio.

Beyond that, though, she was lost on the finer points. Rosa was relieved when the men switched back to English.

Steadfastly, Cristiano continued to negotiate with the bald, scarred man, "I will pay you back. Half a mil."

The bald, scarred man's name was Rodrigo.

Rodrigo smiled, flashing his teeth like a shark. "I want more."

"How much more?"

"Two mil."

Damn. These boys were talking about millions without batting an eye. Rosa hadn't realized, until now, how much in currency Cristiano had risked to save her life.

She wondered if his decision had been approved by Vosa?

Or if Cristiano had gone rogue when Mesrine showed up in that hotel room?

Either way, her grudge against the man eased ever so slightly.

Cristiano chuckled. "Fuck you."

"You have no choice," Rodrigo insisted, "your boss needs me more than I need him, no?"

Was he referring to Vosa?

"For now, yes," Cristiano responded calmly, "but friends have each other's backs in times of need, no?"

"I am running a business," Rodrigo barked, "not a fucking charity."

"If you are not willing to be more reasonable," Cristiano murmured, "then I will be forced to act... unreasonably."

Unreasonably?

Rosa stilled for a moment against him before proceeding to dance and gyrate in time to the current song playing from the speakers

Rodrigo's dark, bushy eyebrows rose. "Oh?"

Cristiano glanced over to Marcello. "Show him."

Obediently, the brown-eyed man reached inside his blazer to retrieve a flash drive. With a light 'clink,' Marcello placed it on the oval table in front of them.

Frowning, Rodrigo picked up the small plastic stick. "What the hell is this?"

"Shit," Cristiano explained with chilling, emotionless eyes, "that you do not want me to release to certain individuals.

"Is that so?"

Cristiano nodded at him.

With a deep scowl, Rodrigo gestured to one of his men. The blonde one with a goatee promptly brought over a laptop and set it up for him on the table. After Rodrigo plugged in the flash drive, he started scrolling and clicking through the contents. His expression grew stormier by the second.

"How did you manage to find all of this?"

Cristiano shrugged. "My people have talent."

"Fuck your people!"

Rodrigo's outburst incited both Marcello and the mean-looking bruiser beside him to draw their guns.

They were clearly Cristiano's associates.

Instantly, Rodrigo's goateed henchman took out his weapon, too, pointing the barrel of his Glock in Cristiano's face.

Both of the blonde dancers shrieked in fear.

Lola whimpered and tried to dash out of the room.

Rosa's face grew taut with alarm. She was unarmed and very much in firing range. Before she could react, however, Cristiano's arm tightened around her waist.

He shifted Rosa behind him, shielding her with his body while commanding, "Put your guns away. We still have business to discuss."

Right away, Marcello and his partner lowered their firearms.

"Do as he says," Rodrigo muttered in lower, more controlled tones.

The goateed blonde put his Glock away.

Glancing at the flash drive and back at Rodrigo, Cristiano's gaze grew slim and shrewd. "Have we come to a new understanding, then?"

He reached around to place his hand on Rosa's thigh, giving her a light squeeze. As though he was trying to comfort her after their near brush with danger.

Or maybe he was trying to calm himself amidst this tense negotiation?

Rosa nestled her head into the crook of his shoulder. It was her way of soothing him, of soothing her own nerves in turn.

"I want one mil," Rodrigo grunted unhappily.

"I can offer €850,000."

"Is this the thanks I get for helping you?"

"Vosa will have my head if I give you more."

"I doubt Vosa will kill you. You are valuable to him."

Cristiano didn't look convinced as he fired back at Rodrigo, "Do not flatter me. Everyone is expendable."

As she sat behind Cristiano, Rosa struggled to keep her composure, making every effort to appear disinterested even though she was extremely invested in every word that was coming out of their mouths.

This was the first time she witnessed Cristiano in his element amongst his peers. The bastard was every bit as cutthroat and relentless as she imagined he would be. As the men prattled on with their dealings, he was certainly not shy about blackmailing or bullying his opponents whenever necessary.

Cristiano's ruthlessness was frightening. Yet, his ability to achieve results was impressive. Rosa found it to be a turn on.

A shame, she lamented once more, that he didn't plan to fuck her.

Suddenly, Rodrigo's beady eyes swiveled towards Rosa. Cristiano's hand was still resting on her bare thigh. Rodrigo seemed to take note of this small detail. A sly, lecherous look crossed his craggy features.

"I will accept your €850,000," the bald, scarred man declared to Cristiano, "if you let me take your bitch home for the night."

Rodrigo's gaze honed in on her.

Rosa stifled a gasp as she stole a peek at Cristiano. His reserved countenance gave nothing away, but she could sense the calculating fury sparking in his dark eyes. Cristiano probably didn't want her to fuck another man, but, surely, he wouldn't let a speck of jealousy and possessiveness stand in the way of sealing this deal.

Would he?

He said it himself mere seconds ago, and the truth hurt: Everyone was expendable. The power-hungry bastard simply didn't like having his authority challenged. Rodrigo had clearly hit a nerve with Cristiano, and shit was about to get real interesting.

If not downright deadly.

Silently, Rosa braced herself for violence, scanning the room to profile each man once again. She estimated their heights, weights, and ages to determine which one of these fuckers might be easiest to take down and snatch a gun from should tempers and testosterone flare up again.

As always, she needed to get ready to kill.

Or be killed.

❧

Lola ti terrà compagnia, Marcello.

Lola can keep you company, Marcello.

La nuova ragazza è tutta tua, Massera.

The new girl is yours, Massera.

Ho bisogno che tu ti prenda cura di un amico per me.

I need you to take care of an old friend for me.

Quando?

When?

Un mese da adesso.

A month from now.

¿Cuánto había en ese almacén?

How much was in that warehouse?

Medio millón en AK-47, ametralladoras PKM y municiones.

Half a million in AK-47, PKM machine guns, and ammunition.

¿Balcazar se lo llevó todo?

Did Balcazar take it all?