Rosa

Chapter 50

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.