Rosa

Chapter 51

Collateral damage.

Those two words cut Rosa to the bone. They loomed overhead like blackened clouds. Cristiano's betrayal had yet to be confirmed, but its potential for chaos and havoc was already there. Like an incoming storm. Steeling her nerves, Rosa strove to stay calm. She refused to display weakness in front of Mrs. Vitale and Fabio.

Through no small effort, Rosa managed to keep her expression placid. Emotionless.

On the inside, though?

Dieu, how her heart was fragmenting into the most wretched little pieces. Rosa's consciousness felt like it was being tossed against a raging tide, engulfing her in a tempest of unrest.

Fils de pute. Son of a bitch.

How could Cristiano do this to her?

Rosa's pulse thudded like a drum.

How?

How?

How?

If everything that had been discussed in Fabio and Marcello's texts proved true, then—

The bastard had, presumably, lied to her from the very start. Cristiano knew about his sister and niece since Portugal. Which meant he tracked her down with every intention of using her and, worst of all, delivering her back to Mesrine from day one of their so-called partnership. His offer of employment had been little more than a clever, convenient ruse to mask his true motives.

In a fucked-up way, comparatively speaking, Mesrine was far more honest with his intentions—despicable and twisted though they may be. Unlike Cristiano, Rosa had always known where she stood with Mesrine.

He abused.

She endured.

He hunted.

She hid.

Their relationship could be likened to that of a cat and mouse. Mesrine was very much the kind of predator who got off on toying with his prey. A predator who ensnared prey only to release them so he could enjoy the chase a while longer.

Rosa had been wondering why Mesrine kept choosing to free her when he could've easily killed her. She scowled as clarity arrived, at last, dawning on her much too late. This entire time, Mesrine had been sending a very clear message. Rosa berated herself for being too thick in the head to realize it: The fucker wished to convey that, no matter how far she ran, he would be able to find her. And he wished to let Cristiano know that she was his for the taking. At any given time. In the streets of Madrid. Or in Cristiano's own goddamn flat in Cantanzaro.

She was sick and tired of being a puppet on a stage ruled by men. A painful ache clenched her chest. Rosa's head began to spin. Every shred of sanity reeled as her heart continued to break. She began to question everything about Cristiano. Rosa second-guessed every word, every touch, every kindness he had shown her.

One memory, in particular, struck her. Hard. Rosa recalled her assignment with Moulin. That day, Cristiano had helped her escape when Mesrine showed up, unexpectedly and unannounced, in her target's hotel room. That fateful day marked a turning point in their relationship. The day her deadened heart began to beat again. For it was the first time Rosa allowed anyone to hold her while she wept for Nijah. Cristiano had been so tender with her. So gentle.

Her breath hitched with an intake of distress.

Such a beautiful lie.

A beautifully crafted lie.

It seemed Cristiano saved her not because he cared for her as a man. Or valued her as his woman. In fact, it was beginning to seem far more likely that Cristiano intervened that day only because he didn't want Mesrine to snatch her away. He needed her to ensure the safe exchange of Sienna and his niece. At this, Rosa's thoughts veered toward a cesspool of shame and self-loathing. She felt like the world's greatest fool. Cristiano had been so convincing, and she had allowed herself to be swayed. Enough to forfeit her own life and follow him to Cantanzaro.