Her pulse raced.

Her breaths quickened.

Inside the bathroom, Rosa tried not to hyperventilate as she waited for the two men to finish their conversation.

"Avez-vous entendu parler de Lavigne?"

Did you hear about Lavigne?

"Ah, oui. Pauvre connard. Qu'il repose en paix."

Ah, yes. Poor fucker. May he rest in peace.

Rosa remained, frozen, in her hiding spot. Her legs felt weak and wobbly, though, like they might give out any second. She didn't dare look at the men as they continued to chat. For fear that they might sense her presence. For fear that she might actually find herself staring straight into the pale blue eyes of the monster who frightened her more than anything else in the world.

The second man muttered, "Les De León sont finis. Même la seule fille survivante d'Aberto ne veut rien avoir à faire avec son propre clan. Le nouveau chef du clan Berlusconi est un idiot, et l'héritier de Moretti est en prison."

The De León's are done. Not even Aberto's only surviving daughter wants anything to do with her own clan. The new head of the Berlusconi clan is an idiot, and Moretti's heir is in prison.

The first man replied in a low, worried mumble, "Cela ressemble à une tempête parfaite pour la guerre."

Sounds like a perfect storm for war.

Scoffing, the second man retorted, "Ou... une opportunité parfaite pour une prise de pouvoir."

Or... a perfect opportunity for a power grab.

Rosa could barely process what they were talking about. As the men rambled on and on, unaware of her presence, her mind began to inch towards worst case scenarios.

God, what if one of them needed to take a piss?

If either man came into the bathroom right now, the shower would be the best place for her to hide, but, at present, Rosa was too scared to move, to make a sound, and risk drawing unwanted attention to herself.

Her anxiety began to spiral out of control as she tried to talk herself through some rosier outcomes.

Perhaps, she would get lucky?

Perhaps, they would head out again without even noticing her presence?

Or, perhaps, hell would freeze over.

With two against one, the element of surprise was her only advantage against them.

Rosa gripped her gun with, taut and tight, in her hand. A choice needed to be made.

Should she, hoping for the best, stay put and wait it out?

Or should she, anticipating the worst, make a run for the door?

Would she even make it out alive today?

Rosa didn't know. She simply didn't know. Perhaps, today was the day she would finally meet her maker. Her head was turning into a fucking mess because of the second man. The man who might be Mesrine.

Rosa suddenly felt a perverse, crazed urge to laugh. God had such a sick sense of humor. To send this fucker back to her when she least expected it. To let him occupy the same space as her again. To let him breathe the same air as her again.

Every fiber of Rosa's being wished to get as far away from Mesrine as possible.

Rosa, the real Rosa, would still be alive if not for him.

As she attempted to work up the nerve to glance outside, a tremor of doubt rose in her.

Was the second man actually Mesrine, though?

Rosa hadn't seen his face.

Yet, the more Rosa eavesdropped on the men's conversation outside the bathroom, the more she felt certain that it was him. Julien. The timbre of his voice, the drawl of his softer, more melodic southern French accent, and even his mannerisms sounded exactly the same. Blood drained from her face, and, for a moment, Rosa felt as though she might pass out from the stress of it all.

Outside the bathroom, someone's phone started to ring.

The second man picked up and answered it in short, clipped tones, "âllo?"

Hello?

Rosa didn't know what was being said from the other end of the line, but she could hear the second man. He mostly grunted into the receiver without saying much.

Only after ending the call did he let out a string of angry expletives.

Then, he addressed the first man in short, clipped tones, "Je dois partir."

I have to go.

Rosa's ears perked up with hope.

Was hell actually freezing over?

Was the man about to leave?

The first man asked, "Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?"

What's wrong?

The second man growled, "Quelqu'un a dénoncé l'entrepôt aux autorités."

Someone has snitched to the authorities about the warehouse.

The first man gasped in shock. "Qui oserait faire une chose pareille?"

Who would dare do such a thing?

Rosa's ears perked up even more. Curiosity nudged aside her fears for a split second. This part of their discussion definitely piqued her interest.

What warehouse?

She continued to listen with bated breath.

"Un homme mort," the second man answered coldly, "c'est qui."

A dead man, that's who.

"Avez-vous besoin que je vous accompagne?" asked the first man.

Do you need me to go with you?

The second man declined, "Non, ce ne sera pas nécessaire."

No, that won't be necessary.

The first man offered, "Faîtes-moi savoir si vous avez besoin de quoi que ce soit."

Let me know if you need anything.

The second man grunted, "Tu es un homme bien, Claude."

You are a good man, Claude.

"À demain, Julien."

See you tomorrow, Julien.

"Salut."

Bye.

Rosa stifled a gasp when the men addressed each other by name. Instantly, her survival instincts kicked in, barricading her emotional reaction from the situation, or else, the sheer terror might overtake her. A sense of detachment pooled over Rosa as she forced herself to acknowledge the facts.

It was confirmed.

Her worst fears were cemented in reality: The first man was, indeed, Claude Moulin, and the second man was, indeed, Julien Mesrine.

Terrible, terrifying memories whispered inside her psyche. They replayed themselves like a horror movie overpowering her mind's eye, holding her hostage, helpless to look away.

Je t'aime tellement, Inés. Je t'aime assez pour tuer tout homme qui essaie de te prendre à moi, et je t'aime assez pour laisser le petit mourir si tu essaies de me quitter.

I love you so much, Inés. I love you enough to kill any man who tries to take you from me, and I love you enough to let the little one die of you try to leave me.

At the time, he suspected that Rosa had been planning to escape with the little one.

He wasn't wrong.

She did try—and fail—to escape with the little one.

Mesrine stayed true to his word.

He let the little one die.

Simply because he believed another man had fathered the child.

Rosa had no doubt in her mind—Mesrine was going to kill her if he found her.

Oh, God.

Oh, God.

Oh, God.

Rosa's eyes stung with emotion, a potent combination of grief-laden hatred, as her body trembled with the stuff from nightmares. Rosa didn't know whether she wished to scream or to weep, and her mind would've fallen into a state of complete chaos if not for the fragile barrier of detachment holding the madness at bay.

The numbness allowed Rosa to become a bystander in her own personal hell.

It urged her to think clearly again.

To get her shit together.

Rosa reminded herself that she was still in danger, that she still had a job to do. Maybe, later, if she managed to survive this whole hellish ordeal, once she was alone again, she could dissolve, shatter, and break—

But not right now.

Now—it was time to get back to work.

With embittered determination, Rosa returned her concentration to what was happening beyond the bathroom walls. A speck of courage emerged from her resolve. She stole a glimpse through the long, narrow crack of the bathroom door.

At last, Rosa saw him.

Mesrine's face and form was exactly as she remembered. The silvery blonde hair. The startling blue eyes. The fair complexion. He stood tall, not as tall as Mr. Massera, but his frame was more slender and elegant than the latter's muscled, warrior-like build. His appearance was truly divine. Like an angel.

Even though his soul belonged entirely to Satan.

Mesrine turned away from Moulin and headed towards the door. It opened and shut with two consecutive 'clicks.'

Then, just like that, the devil was gone.

He didn't even notice her.

Relief shot through Rosa's veins.

She took another peek through the crack.

Moulin was shuffling around the room. He went to his briefcase and pulled out a laptop. The stocky-framed, red-haired lawyer sat down at a desk with his laptop and started answering some emails. Moulin's back was facing towards her, and the man appeared to be blissfully unaware that he wasn't alone.

This would be a good time to approach him.

Her nerves were still a bit rattled, though. Rosa took a few deep breaths to calm her senses. During this lull, it occurred to Rosa to check her phone. God, she had nearly forgotten about Mr. Massera when Mesrine showed up. Swiftly, she plucked her phone from her pocket and immediately wanted to kick herself when she saw all of the missed calls and messages.

All thirty-two of them.

Every single one was from Mr. Massera.

Shit, shit, shit!

Rosa skimmed them quickly to get a gist of what he wanted to convey to her.

At 12:31 pm, he texted: 'Your friend isn't alone.'

At 12:35 pm, he told her: 'Come back now.'

At 12:39 pm, he asked: 'Are you there?'

She scrolled past dozens of his messages to read his most recent text.

Ten minutes ago, he wrote to her: 'A diversion has been created for you. Get your pretty ass out of there. If you can.'

A realization clicked into place regarding Mesrine's phone call from moments ago. About the warehouse. The snitch. It seemed none of these incidents were accidents.

Understanding was soon followed by an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

Rosa's amber eyes grew wide once she realized that Mr. Massera had been the one who lured Mesrine from Moulin's hotel room. It had to be him. Hell simply didn't freeze over unless an angel intervened.

Rosa was left in a slight stupor as she processed this sudden, new turn: The bastard had gone out of his way to help her when others would have happily left her to her own devices.

To be discovered.

To be killed.

Rosa felt as though she owed Mr. Massera a favor now. A big one. Her pretty ass wasn't going anywhere. She was going to stay and finish the job. For him.

Rosa texted Mr. Massera back, 'Thank you for your help. I will take care of our friend now.' 

As she tapped 'send,' a begrudging respect for Mr. Massera began to form. It was soon followed by another feeling. A strange, glowing feeling. Her heart skipped a beat. Rosa didn't know what to make of such an emotion, it felt so foreign, but the warmth of it filled her with a second wind of strength and purpose.

Quietly, she stalked out of the bathroom, gun in hand, and crept up to Moulin in slow, silent steps. The man was so absorbed with his laptop that he didn't even sense Rosa's approach until the barrel of her Beretta kissed the back of his head.

"Bonjour, mon ami," she cooed softly. "So sorry to disturb you, but I have a few questions that I was hoping you might be able to answer for me..."