Rosa

Chapter 49

Fuck-fuck-fuck—went every beat of her hammering heart.

Rosa's nerves clenched with dismay as a thread of understanding slowly wrapped themselves around her current predicament like a slithering reptile, circling, constricting, and, ultimately, strangling its prey.

She was, pardon her French, tellement foutu! So very fucked!

Her frantic thoughts couldn't help fixating on Cristiano's declaration right before he left Catanzaro: I will be gone for a few days to retrieve something in Palermo.

The then vagueness of his remark was becoming all too clear. It seemed the "something" that the ruthless, ballsy bastard had come here to "retrieve"—or, more like, forcibly abduct—was none other than Alessandro fucking Vitale. This was why, Rosa concluded at whiplash speeds, she now found herself bound and held at gunpoint in front of this poised yet pissed-off-looking woman. This intimidating, no-nonsense, green-eyed bitch who was, undoubtedly, Vitale's pampered mafia wife.

Except, Rosa noted as she prepared, reluctantly, to eat her own fucking words, there was nothing "pampered" about the shrewdness in Mrs. Vitale's gaze or her capo-like command of this situation.

An annoyed tick clenched Rosa's jaw.

She refused to let anyone, not even this impressive female, get under her skin. With some effort, Rosa willed her expression to remain unimpressed and unbothered. Much like she had witnessed her mon beau do so many times in the past.

Earlier, when the guards zip-tied her wrists together, Rosa had curled her hands into fists to widen the circumference of her wrists. Now, by relaxing her hands, she possessed a few extra millimeters of space to work her thumb through the plastic ring. Rosa kept a vigilant eye on Mrs. Vitale, the gun on the table, and the bodyguards looming on either side of their mistress as she strained to free herself from the zip ties as discreetly as possible. She needed to find a way to flip this dismal situation in her favor. Mrs. Vitale had become the dragon to her damsel. The stress under such circumstances left Rosa feeling all out of sorts. She was used to being the hunter. Not the hunted.

Yet, lately, Rosa noticed, ever since she started softening her heart and spreading her legs for a certain devil-eyed bastard, shit kept hitting the fan. Somewhere, along the way, she had lost the upper hand in her own life. He left her weakened. Vulnerable even. He wrought havoc on her judgment and undermined her once indestructible instinct for self-preservation.

Fuck Cristiano for not telling her about his plans to capture Vitale.

Fuck him for putting her in this position.

And fuck her for being careless enough to become targeted, time and again, by those who sought to harm her. Like Mesrine and his men. Like Mrs. Vitale.

Within an instant, Rosa's resolve hardened to steel. She needed to think like a self-sufficient bitch once more and not some stupid girl waiting for a man to save her. Cristiano and his vows to protect her meant nothing at this moment. She was on her own. A harsh truth—that would serve her well to remember next time he whispered more empty promises in her ear.

Rosa's gaze thinned as she analyzed her green-eyed opponent.

Mrs. Vitale must have determined that she was of some value to Cristiano. Valuable enough to be snatched up as a "bargaining chip" of sorts. Otherwise, a woman of Mrs. Vitale's stature wouldn't have gone through the hassle of capturing a nobody like her.

How did the bitch find out about their relationship, anyway?

She held back a frown. Probably Marcello and his big mouth. Le traître. The traitor. How interesting to note, though, that Marcello actually believed she was important to Cristiano.