Rosa

Chapter 61

"I did not lie to you."

"The blood gushing from your shoulder suggests otherwise," Rosa hissed.

Cristiano seemed more concerned about her reaction than his wound when he pushed back, "I lost you once, and it gutted me. Do you think I would risk pissing you off after the hell I went through to find you again?"

She kept eyeing his shoulder obsessively, applying pressure with her palm to slow the blood loss. In distracted tones, Rosa muttered, "With you? Who knows!"

Pulling himself upright, he insisted once more with a pained grunt, "I swear, I did not lie."

"You deceived me just now—when I asked if you were hurt."

Cristiano was undoubtedly worried about losing her trust again when he protested, "When you asked if I was hurt, I believed I was fine. The blood on my hands truly did belong to Mesrine's man."

"Then why did you start bleeding?"

"I must have reopened the wound on my shoulder while interrogating Ruperto."

Ruperto?

Rosa recognized this name from Armand's phone.

Putain.

"Sounds like a violent interrogation."

"He was being stubborn at first," admitted Cristiano. "Thus, I was forced to use more heavy-handed methods."

So heavy-handed that the gunshot wound she gave split open again?

Dieu.

Her mind felt thick and slow. Mesrine's man hadn't been the one to maim Cristiano. It was hard to process every detail thrown at her. Both hands were becoming soaked—in his blood. Rosa's mouth parted, sucking in a sharp breath as she tried to refocus. Panic struck her.

Guilt as well.

Mesrine might be the one who wanted Cristiano dead, but she was the one who'd put his life in danger. His sorry state was a result of her handiwork. A sickness churned her stomach. Rosa had never been one to lose her shit in the presence of violence and gore. But shit felt different when it was spilling from a bullet wound that had been her fault.

Merde.

Merde.

Merde.

Why was there so much blood?

"No need for melodramatics," Rosa chided faintly. "Conserve your strength. I do not wish to quarrel. We need to stop this bleeding before it gets worse."

"How?"

"Give me some light."

The flashlight on his phone switched on. As darkness lifted away, their eyes met in a clash of gold and obsidian. Holding his gaze, Rosa carefully helped Cristiano remove his blazer and shirt. Her heart dropped at the sight of the nasty gash on his tattooed, muscled shoulder. It was shaped like a jagged star, and the stitches were ripped open.

"I am sorry for what I did," she whispered.

"Do not be," he returned. "Like you said, I deserved it."

Releasing a mirthless laugh, Rosa shredded his dress shirt with her switchblade, slicing the fabric into strips that could be used as bandages. After years of sustaining injuries in her line of work, Rosa had become rather creative with first aid using whatever makeshift materials were within reach. She wasn't a trained surgeon like Mrs. Vitale, but this layman's solution would have to suffice until they could get him real medical attention.