Rosa

Chapter 7

With a pleasant smile and composed attitude, Rosa answered the door to receive the wheelchair from the hotel staff.

Then, she went on to incite another brawl with Mr. Massera.

This particular fight, however, stayed purely verbal and didn't spiral into a physical altercation like their last one. Over the next ten minutes, they spat at one another like two feuding children on a schoolyard playground.

Rosa insisted in sullen tones, "I want to carry my Beretta."

Mr. Massera set his jaw and argued, "Only if I get to carry mine, Miss Lenoir."

She arched an eyebrow. "How do I know you will not turn on me?"

He arched one back at her. "I could say the same for you."

"What if we need to defend ourselves later?"

"Who is planning to attack us at this hour?"

"You said it yourself! Everyone has enemies in our line of work, non?"

"Then," Mr. Massera quipped with mocking eyes, "we find another way to deal with them. Unless, of course, you are useless without your firearm?"

Her lovely face pinched with irritation.

Rosa sashayed up to him with determined steps, brushing her useless breasts against his chest as she used her useless hand to caress his cheek.

She bit back a smirk when his breath hitched at her touch.

She then rose on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, intimately, sweetly, like a paramour, even though her words were full of scorn, "Fine. We will do things your way, mon beau. If we get shot, we get shot. I am not afraid of death. But, I wonder, how you feel about death?"

As Mr. Massera gazed down at Rosa, his dark eyes grew darker still. To her surprise, he didn't retaliate in anger or spite. Nor did he answer her right away. Instead, he slowly lifted his hand to her face, brushing his thumb lightly across the plumpness of her lower lip.

The featherlight grazing of his thumb on her lip sent a shiver of pleasure through Rosa.

Heat simmered around them, bathing the moment in sensuality.

When Mr. Massera finally broke the tension between them, his voice pulled at Rosa in low, mesmerizing tones, "Unlike you, Miss Lenoir, I am not ready to die yet. I still have a few more scores to... settle... before I go, but—"

Rosa's eyes were now riveted on him. She couldn't seem to help herself. The man was intriguing as fuck, and he kept drawing her to him like a foolish moth to a deadly flame.

Rosa prompted softly, "What?"

His hand fell from her face.

"I think," he mused, "it would be nice to be fearless. There is freedom in fearlessness. I envy you."

"Do not envy me," she sighed out an exaggerated breath, "my life has actually been quite... sad. I am a depressed bitch at heart. That is probably why I do not mind dying."

This drew a strained chuckle from him. "At any rate, do not get us killed tonight. I want to live."

He wanted to live?

She pursed her lips pensively.

But why, though?

As someone who had next to nothing to live for, Rosa wondered what it was that kept Mr. Massera so attached to his life?

Curiosity pushed her to ask, "What sort of scores are you trying to settle? Does someone owe you a lot of money or something?"

Mr. Massera's laughter faded completely then.