The next morning, Rosa awoke in Cristiano's bed to the sound of running water and a ringing phone.

Eyes still closed, her hand drifted over to his side of the mattress. The sheets were cool and empty to the touch.

Groggily, her eyes fluttered open.

The digital clock on his nightstand showed that it was barely 6:00 am.

She glanced toward the bathroom. The shower was running. It seemed Cristiano was already up at this ungodly hour.

Crazy bastard.

Her phone continued to ring. With a frown, she glanced at the screen. She recognized the number. It was Harry. He was calling her back.

About damn time!

She picked up and grumbled into the receiver, "What took you so long?"

Harry chided in gruff tones, "My life doesn't revolve around you, Rosa."

"Maybe it should."

"Maybe you should learn to be more patient."

"I am a woman of action. Not idleness. That is why you adore me, mon ami."

"Ha! That's what you think," he snorted derisively. "What do you want from an old bugger like me, anyhow?"

Rosa proceeded to fill him in on the details regarding Mesrine's meddling with the Vitales. To err on the side of caution, she also shared the names of Cristiano's inner circle. If there was any dirt to be found on Clarisse, Marcello, Evita, or even Cristiano's ever-loyal Giorgio, then Harry was the only meticulous enough bastard she trusted to dig it all up for her.

A twinge of apprehension ticked through Rosa.

Even though Cristiano had given her permission to reach out to Harry, she knew that her mon beau would probably throw a fucking fit if he found out that she'd shared the identities of his closest associates with Harry, who, to him, was a complete stranger.

Anxious amber eyes darted toward the bathroom door once more.

Good thing the bastard enjoyed long showers.

What he didn't know, Rosa reasoned, wouldn't hurt him. If Harry found nothing, then Cristiano would be none the wiser, and they could proceed with their plans accordingly. If Harry did find something, however, then—

The water shut off.

Shit.

Rosa quickly wrapped up her conversation and hung up the phone before her hand could be caught in the proverbial sweets jar.

Nearly a moment too soon, Cristiano stepped out of the bathroom in all his naked glory. An instant was all it took for Rosa's sense of guilt to spark into lust. Shamelessly, her eyes drank in the beautiful, fuckable sight of him. His black hair was still damp from his shower. Her gaze trailed over the intricate devil-black ink that clung to his tanned, chiseled muscles. Each tattoo looked as though it had been etched in sin and sex. His heavy cock and balls hung between his legs, swinging with every step, as he walked toward her.

Stopping at the edge of the bed, he arched his eyebrow at her. "Enjoying the view?"

Rosa grinned. "Always."

With both hands, Cristiano reached out to grasp her bare legs, pressing his lips to her ankle as he growled, "Come here."

She sighed contentedly as he nipped and kissed his way up, up, and up, lingering around her inner thighs.

"I will be gone for a few days," he murmured against her skin, "to retrieve something in Palermo."

Her eyes closed in anticipation. She could feel his breath, hot and full of wicked promise, whispering over her sex. Rosa muttered in distracted tones, "Does it have something to do with the wedding?"

He kissed her.

There.

There.

And there.

"Sì."

Her fingers tightened on the sheets. She gasped, "I want to go with you."

His lips closed around her clit. "No."

Rosa's golden eyes shot open with a glare even while pleasure surged through her core. Tauntingly, his tongue swirled around the nub. Once. Twice. Her temper flared alongside desire.

Dio, I was a fucking idiot for leaving you here alone. I will never be so careless again.

So much for his heated words and so-called promises.

Cristiano pulled away for a moment and glanced up, sensing her displeasure right away. The bastard seemed to read her mind as he assured her ever so calmly, "I have assigned Giorgio to stay at your side until my return. He will keep you safe in case Mesrine decides to fuck with us again."

This calmed her ire—but only by a fraction. Ever since they came to Italy, Cristiano's defenses had been crumbling little by little, but he was still keeping her at arm's length when it came to shit that mattered. She prompted, "What will you retrieve in Palermo?"

He traced her slit with his fingertips, dipping inside her heat every now and then in light, teasing touches. "Something to help our cause."

Cristiano's eyes turned dark as sin as he began to pump two fingers inside of her until wetness trickled down her thighs. His thumb flicked her clit, back and forth, back and forth, in a mesmerizing rhythm. Her nerves thrummed with desperation. He was making her feel like a weak, needy whore in the best way possible.

She resented him for it.

Hot, bothered, and vexed, Rosa demanded with a soft grunt, "Tell me what you're planning to do."

Cristiano chose not to answer her. Instead, his mouth descended on her sex, stoking her passion, overwhelming her with pleasure, and thoroughly pissing her off with all of his tight-lipped bullshit. Angrily, her fingers clenched his hair as he ate her pussy with unrestrained enthusiasm.

Was this a diversion tactic?

Quite possibly.

It was a very effective one, too.

Right as her pleasure was about to reach its peak, coiling down her spine and seizing upon her every nerve, the bastard pulled back abruptly—

Flipped Rosa onto her hands and knees—

And replaced his mouth and fingers with his rock solid cock. Groaning, he shoved into her with little finesse, balls deep, and proceeded to fuck her over that final explosive edge. Cristiano's hips snapped faster and faster until his balls were slapping against her clit. Rosa cried out his name as he rammed all of himself into her, over and over without showing any signs of slowing down. He used her body for his own release long after her climax.

"You are a bastard," Rosa whispered as his arms slid around her waist, tugging her against his chest.

"I know," murmured Cristiano, his broad chest still heaving from exertion as he smiled against her naked shoulder. "But I am your bastard."

She grumbled, "Not if you continue to make plans in Palermo without me."

"I am doing this for your safety," he insisted, "We know now that Mesrine wants you in Palermo for some reason. I refuse to bring you to him like a lamb to slaughter. Let me take the risks for us. For now, the less you know, the better."

"What happened to being equals?"

Cristiano's arms tightened around her as he scowled deeply. "Mesrine's men nearly stole you from me. Again. That is what happened."

"You cannot protect me from the inevitable."

He dropped a kiss on her shoulder and left their bed to get dressed. "No, but I will fucking try."

Rosa glared. "I am going to Palermo. You can use my help. You know I will be an asset. Not a liability."

Cristiano cast her a look of exasperation laced with adoration. "Per favore, Rosa, just this one time. Listen to me. Once I have contained Mesrine, you will have free reign alongside me. I promise."

Their gazes locked. Her will battled against his resolve. A tense beat passed between them. Conflict thickened the air. Finally, Rosa decided to end their stand-off.

"Very well," she said with a sigh. "I will listen to you. Just this one time."

He eyed her with suspicion. "You will?"

A sweet smile stretched over her full lips.

"Oui," she lied.

***

Two days went by.

Cristiano left for Palermo.

On the sly, Rosa immediately purchased a one-way plane ticket to follow him.

Promptly after Cristiano's departure, Giorgio was sent to her side. Rosa could hardly take a piss without him hovering at her door. She found Giorgio's constant presence to be more intrusive than anything. It felt impossible to get a moment's privacy from the man. Giorgio was always lurking around her like an great, hulking, unwanted shadow.

Harry actually contacted Rosa several more times, but she only dared to take his call after locking herself in the bathroom and pretending to take a shower—away from Giorgio's watchful eyes and sharp ears.

Water sprayed noisily against the stall.

Rosa muttered into the receiver, "Tell me everything, mon ami..."

Over the course of their ten-minute conversation, what she learned from Harry made her feel very ill at ease, indeed.

It seemed Mesrine had been roaming around Europe meeting with the heads of multiple crime factions. The man's movements, Harry warned, reflected that of a general rallying his troops for some kind of war. The Berlusconis and Trevisanos of Cosa Nostra, in particular, seemed very keen on allying with Mesrine to overwhelm a common enemy who had long escaped their world, the Vitales, and force them to redirect the cash flow from their multimillion dollar businesses back into the bloodstream of the Sicilian mafia.

"You should know that Mesrine has been traveling with a young girl," Harry informed Rosa, "of unknown origins."

Rosa frowned. "Unknown origins? I thought I was paying you to find answers for me!"

"All I know is that she goes by the name Nijah, and Mesrine claims that she's his daughter."

Rosa tried to ignore the fluttering hope that continued to grow within her. "I see."

"One more thing."

"Oui?"

The last piece of news that Harry shared with her would become the most troubling bit.

"One of the men you mentioned to me, the one named Giorgio..."

"What about him?" asked Rosa.

"He has recently been in contact with someone who goes by the name Pietro Caruso."

"Caruso? I do not recognize this name."

"I'll send you Caruso's files and photographs. He used to work for the Italian mafia. Now, he operates under the French mob. My advice to you? Review these documents very carefully and exercise extreme caution when it comes to Giorgio."

"Is that so?" she remarked with a quickening pulse.

Giorgio was Cristiano's righthand man. The man he had sent to guard her life.

Surely, Harry must have made some kind of mistake?

After hanging up, Rosa quickly scrolled through the files Harry had sent over on her phone.

Harry had included a few screenshots of the communication between Giorgio and Caruso. None of the messages were particularly incriminating. Although, interestingly enough, each new message had been sent through various burner email accounts.

Next, she combed through the documents as though her life depended on them. Caruso's rap sheet was longer than her arm, but it was actually the his photographs that made her tense up with dread. Something about Caruso triggered a blip of a memory that she had almost forgotten from her tussle with Mesrine's men.

On his right hand, Caruso possessed a very recognizable tattoo. A black snake that coiled around his knuckles. The same tattoo that had been on the masked intruder's hand. The same tattoo that Cristiano had described on one of the three men who slaughtered his family.

Could all three of these men be one and the same?

It didn't seem entirely farfetched.

Rosa didn't know if Caruso was the same man who had killed Cristiano's family, but she concluded with some confidence that he was most definitely working for Mesrine, which led to yet another jarring question: Why the fuck was Giorgio talking to someone who answered to their sworn enemy?

When Rosa stepped out of the bathroom, Giorgio was waiting for her in the hallway. She gave him a long, hard look.

If Marcello was presumably innocent, then could he be the one who ratted out her hacked phone to Mesrine?

"Everything alright, Signorina Lenoir?" inquired Giorgio.

She smiled pleasantly, giving nothing away. "But of course."

That very night, after Giorgio had fallen asleep on the living room couch, Rosa slipped through the hallway with slow, silent footsteps. In her hands, she was armed with nylon rope. While Giorgio snored away, she wound the rope around his ankles and secured him to one of the coffee table's heavy wooden legs. Her touch was light and quick and precise. The man barely even stirred by the time her handiwork was done.

Rosa forged a written note in Mesrine's hand, a skill she had acquired during her time as his whore, and sent an image of it to Giorgio's phone from a burner email account, mimicking his correspondence with Caruso.

The note itself relayed: I had Caruso dispose of the Lenoir bitch. He has also informed me of your betrayal. Next time, the rope will be wrapped around your throat. Reply at once if you want to live—[email protected].

Her message was fabricated completely out of lies, of course. The email originated from the burner account she had set up moments ago. But such a simple ruse, Rosa hoped, might be able to pinpoint where Giorgio's true loyalties were hidden. In the hours to come, if he informed Cristiano of Mesrine's threat first, then he was probably a trustworthy bastard. If, however, he emailed Mesrine first, then Rosa wouldn't hesitate to help Cristiano put a bullet in his chest.

Seconds later, Rosa slipped out the front door of Cristiano's flat and hailed a cab to the airport. She would arrive in Palermo by tomorrow morning. Rosa dozed on the two-hour flight. Upon landing, she found another cab to take her to Cristiano's motel. A slight pull of irritation tugged at her.

Again, the cheap bastard had refused to splurge on a nicer hotel.

Her cab took off from the airport. As they rolled through the streets of Palermo, Rosa suddenly grew uneasy when her driver veered away from the directions being shown on her GPS.

"Where are you taking me?"

"A shortcut," came his clipped reply.

Alarm seized Rosa when he pulled into a small, dark alleyway, but she wasn't entirely surprised when both of the back passenger doors clicked open, unlocking to allow two large men to slide into the backseat on either side of her.

Oh, fucking hell!

Not this again.

Even while Rosa feared for her life, she couldn't help feeling a touch of scorn for Mesrine's lack of creativity when it came to this kidnapping business. She should've listened to Cristiano and stayed back in Catanzaro like a good girl. It seemed her luck was definitely running out as of late, and Mesrine was a relentless son of a bitch.

A black bag was soon secured over her head. Her wrists were zip-tied together like a prisoner. She balled her hands into fists, knowing that the strain would enlarge her wrists and, possibly, provide a little extra wriggle room for escape down the line.

"Am I going to die today?" Rosa asked softly.

She received no reply.

A hand simply lifted the bag on her head to duct tape her mouth shut.

These fucking assholes!

The cab rolled on.

Dieu, this suspense was killing her.

Cristiano was going to kill her as well for being such a fucking idiot if she managed to survive the day.

They drove and drove for what felt like the longest twenty-or-so minutes of her life.

When the cab finally came to a complete stop, Rosa was ushered out of the vehicle and led elsewhere, blind, gagged, and bound, by the two huge men. The light from outside darkened through the fabric of the bag on her head. She sensed they had entered a building of sorts. A rough hand shoved her into a chair. She sat down with a grunt.

A moment later, the bag was yanked off of her head. Her vision adjusted to her surroundings. Rosa glanced around. Apparently, they had brought her to an abandoned warehouse.

Why?

To be tortured?

To die?

Her gaze locked onto the stranger sitting across from her.

To Rosa's utter shock, the person in front of her wasn't Mesrine, nor anyone she recognized, but a stunning dark-haired woman with the greenest of eyes. She looked to be in her early forties. So beautiful that, for a drawn-out beat, Rosa couldn't stop staring at her in awe. She radiated sophistication, elegance, and cunning.

A small table separated her chair from the woman. A Glock rested on the surface of the table. The barrel was pointed at Rosa.

The green-eyed woman smiled at her faintly. "Buenos días, Miss Lenoir. I have been looking forward to meeting you for quite some time. Your reputation precedes you in your line of work."

Rosa could do nothing except glare back and attempt to decipher as much as possible about the woman's identity.

Though her captor's Spanish carried a perfect accent, her English sounded distinctly American. Rosa tried to place its specific origins.

It sounded like the woman might be from New York?

The woman continued in soft, dangerous tones, "I apologize for being so heavy-handed on our first meeting, but, from what Marcello has told me, I understand that my husband is currently in the custody of your De León friend, so I needed to acquire a bargaining chip of my own... you."