Beams of sunshine cascaded through a large arched window. Morning had come. Eyelids fluttering open, Rosa awoke with a start. Anxiety surged in her throat. Her amber-eyed gaze snapped toward the light. The rising sun was casting a warm glow through the airy, white curtains draped around the window. The sight should've been lovely. Soothing.

Even though she felt anything but soothed by it.

Rosa glanced around the decadent room where she had been housed for a day.

Or had it been over twenty-four hours?

Rosa had been doing her best to keep track of the date, estimating the passing hours simply by observing the gradual descent of the sun, but such a method for telling time was hardly accurate. She hated feeling so out of the loop. Back at the warehouse—the grunting bodyguard named Monte had confiscated her phone and Beretta, leaving Rosa defenseless and disconnected from the world. Uncertainty pounded in her chest.

Where had they brought her, exactly?

Rosa shifted on the mattress and scanned her surroundings for clues. The sheets felt silky smooth and buttery soft on her skin. High thread count. Probably eight hundred or more. This was definitely no motel. It was decorated more like a private residence. A very luxe one, too. Classic oil paintings lined the walls. A crystal chandelier dangled from the ceiling while heavy pieces of furniture, constructed from rich woods and carved with opulent Baroque details, anchored the rest of the space.

Mrs. Vitale hadn't been exaggerating when she promised "comfortable" accommodations. The interior appeared to be as grand as most five-star hotel suites. Under a different set of circumstances, Rosa would've been delighted with such a posh living situation, but, alas, she was being held ransom. A gilded cage was still a cage.

Frustration mounted in Rosa with each passing second. Even after she spilled her guts about Mesrine's intentions to crash Monte and Mariposa's wedding with the girl who looked like Nijah, Mrs. Vitale continued to keep her at a distance. Her gamble hadn't paid off, and they didn't become friends at all. For the time being, it seemed, Rosa would remain at the green-eyed woman's mercy, trapped, within the confines of these four walls.

How long were Mrs. Vitale's stupid negotiations with Cristiano going to drag on, anyway?

Surely, the devil-eyed bastard wouldn't leave her here to rot. Rosa gave a pause of consideration.

Or would he?

A dejected mood swept over her senses. Rosa wanted to believe in her mon beau and his vows to protect her, but the jaded realist in her knew better than to sit idly by and play the damsel in distress. Women who waited to be rescued usually ended up in body bags.

Scowling, Rosa glanced at the door and then the arched window. These two openings were her only opportunities at freedom, and they were shitty ones at that. The hefty wooden door was always locked—save for the minute or two when her meals were being delivered—and the entire window pane was outfitted with an industrial-style steel grid. Even if she shattered the glass in between the framing, the squares were too small for her to squeeze through.

Dismay clenched at her jaw. Escape seemed futile. She was in foreign, unfamiliar territory. Outnumbered and outgunned by ex-members of Cosa Nostra. Mrs. Vitale's men would likely shoot on sight if she tried to force her way out, which meant diplomacy, at this point, might very well be her only hope. She needed to contact Cristiano for help. She also needed to acquire some leverage to, possibly, negotiate her way out of this bind.

Rosa spent the next few hours pressing her ear to the walls, trying to eavesdrop on any movement or conversation outside. There was always an armed man standing at her door. She overheard the names of the two main guards: Fabio and Samuel. They seemed to rotate shifts every one to two hours or so. During this time, she could've sworn that Samuel wished Fabio a "buon compleanno" during one of their shift changes.

Happy birthday.

This small snippet wasn't much, but it was something. Rosa took note of the digits that made up today's date as a plan began to form in her head. 06-01. Fabio looked to be in his late twenties. In her head, she counted backward from the present year to estimate his possible birth year.

With a determined gleam in her amber eyes, she stalked closer to the door. Her dinner should be arriving soon. Rosa prepared to set her plan in motion. As light dimmed around the room with the setting sun, Rosa heard the beeps of the keypad on the door being unlocked. When the door swung open, Fabio entered with a tray of food and water. Within the same second, Rosa stole a page out of her playbook from the train ride with Favreau. She pretended to swoon and purposely toppled into Fabio. On her way down, she slipped her hand under his blazer as though trying to regain her balance. With the swiftness of a master pickpocket, she fished out his phone and tucked it in her pocket instead.

Fabio gasped as Rosa allowed herself to collapse to the floor. "Signorina Lenoir!"

Amid the commotion, the bodyguard didn't seem to notice his missing phone. Silently, Rosa congratulated herself on creating a sufficient diversion.

"Please," Rosa looked up with wide eyes, begging in a soft, convincing whimper, "help me get back in bed. I do not feel so well..."

"Do you need a doctor?" he demanded.

Closing her eyes briefly, Rosa winced as though in pain. "I-I do not know. I have not been sleeping much lately. I feel nauseous and lightheaded. It must be the stress from the past few days."

His eyes narrowed sharply. "This better not be a trick."

"I am also on my period," she informed him. "I will need tampons. Or pads."

This actually wasn't a lie. She just started spotting this morning.

A flush crept up Fabio's neck. "Uh..."

Rosa continued, "And maybe some aspirin as well. My cramps are killing me."

Fabio clearly looked uncomfortable with this subject matter, which had been Rosa's intention when she brought up her period. Most men couldn't get away fast enough whenever the topic of menstrual cycles entered the chat, and, now that Rosa was in possession of his phone, she wanted him gone.

The sooner?

The better.

"If anything happens to me on your watch," Rosa reminded him, "Mrs. Vitale will not be happy with you."

His expression faltered. "I..."

"You know I am right. Make yourself useful and go fetch Mrs. Vitale. She is a doctor, non? Let her judge whether or not I am bullshitting you."

"Very well," growled Fabio. "Do not try anything funny while I am gone."

"I would not dream of it," she assured him with a docile expression.

Feigning weakness again, Rosa let him help her back to the bed. Fabio left the room soon after, and, the very moment the door closed and locked behind him, Rosa pulled out his phone. There wasn't a second to waste. She tapped on the screen. When it prompted her for a passcode, Rosa entered 0-6-0-1-1-0.

She was denied access.

Rosa tried 0-6-0-1-0-9.

Denied again.

She entered 0-6-0-1-0-8.

Her eyes grew wide. Right away, the passcode screen gave way to a screen full of apps. A small, pleased gasp fell from her lips. This time, her gamble had actually paid off. It seemed Fabio, like most people she knew, used his birthdate as his passcode.

Through Fabio's phone, she texted Cristiano for help, providing him with as much information as she could about her captors and her whereabouts. Then, she texted the same information to Harry as a backup. Just in case Cristiano couldn't come to her rescue. She warned them to not text her back at this number before deleting both of her messages.

Her eyes darted toward the door. Fabio still hadn't returned.

Très bien.

Rosa decided to take advantage of every extra minute that Fabio's phone was in her possession. She started snooping around to her heart's content, scrolling through the man's email and text message records until she came across a few familiar names.

Monte.

Samuel.

Marcello.

Quickly, Rosa skimmed over their latest exchanges. Every message was composed in Italian, so she had to use a translation app in order to decipher the contents. Despite Rosa's best efforts, however, she failed to uncover anything too interesting or useful in Fabio's communication with Monte or Samuel.

Très décevant. Very disappointing.

It didn't take long for Rosa's disappointment to take a sharp turn. A moment later, she located Fabio's most recent texts to Marcello. Rosa had yet to look over their messages, but, already, unease prickled across her skin. It was as though her sixth sense had come into play, warning of the fuckery that was about to be revealed to her.

As her eyes glided over the words of Fabio and Marcello's discussion, shock and disbelief overtook her. Rosa's pulse quickened with each additional line she read. Alongside every second that went by, sheer and utter devastation seeped, tick by tick, into her soul. By the time Rosa processed what these messages were actually suggesting, her whole fucking world turned upside down.

Rosa saw red. Her fury blazed like hellfire.

Fucking Cristiano!

She wanted to snap his neck. Then, she wanted to hang herself for ever trusting him. A sharp sting hit the back of her eyes. Her lungs seized up. It became damn near impossible to breathe. Rosa's heart began to hurt. Painfully so. If only she had known, this entire time, Cristiano had been planning to stab her in the back all the while whispering sweet nothings in her ear.

Rosa felt like shattering to pieces.

But she couldn't fall apart.

She had to keep her shit together.

Because the fucking keypad on the other side of the door started beeping just then.

Blinking away her tears, Rosa slipped Fabio's phone under the mattress to hide it away. The door swung open within the same second, and Fabio strolled in with Mrs. Vitale at his side.

The beautiful green-eyed woman arched a concerned eyebrow in Rosa's direction. "You look as though you've seen a ghost, Miss Lenior."

A brittle, broken smile tightened across Rosa's face. "Maybe I have. Sometimes, it seems, the dead can come back to life."

***

Fabio: Any updates on De León?

Marcello: It seems De León's sister is not dead. Not only is Sienna De León still alive, but she also has a four-year-old daughter that is currently in Mesrine's custody.

Fabio: Does De León know?

Marcello: Yes.

Fabio: How long has he known?

Marcello: Since he killed Granger in Portugal. Probably even before then.

Fabio: I assume he wants them back?

Marcello: Of course. He has been negotiating with Mesrine for their release.

Fabio: What has he offered Mesrine in exchange for his sister and niece?

Marcello: The boss and Lenoir. He is planning to swap them for Sienna and Angelina at Monte's wedding.

Fabio: Does Lenoir know what he has planned for her?

Marcello: I do not think so. De León has taken care to not reveal any of his real agenda to her.

Fabio: Poor girl. I feel sorry for her. She trusts him, I think.

Marcello: De León cares for her. I am sure of it. But I do not think he cares enough to sacrifice family for her. Not after he sold his soul to Vosa's boss for the past ten years to find them again.

Fabio: Vosa's boss?

Marcello: The fucker with the snake tattoo who killed De León's parents.

Fabio: You mean... Pietro Caruso?

Marcello: Yes. I think De León plans to kill Caruso once he collects his sister and niece from Mesrine.

Fabio: What are his plans for Mesrine?

Marcello: De León will not be able to kill him any time soon. He will need Mesrine to take down Caruso.

Fabio: What will become of Lenoir?

Marcello: Unfortunately, I believe she was always meant to be collateral damage.