Spanning the same second, a contradictory shift seemed to occur in Mr. Massera. His muscles eased around Rosa even while his demeanor tensed with caution.

The man was either withholding something from her or gearing up to play more mind games.

She couldn't tell which way the wind would blow.

In cool, impartial tones, Mr. Massera muttered, "I know about Vosa, but what makes you think that I am tied to him?"

Only one way to find out.

Rosa sighed, "Drop the act."

The bastard did just the opposite as he asked innocently, "What act?"

She laid her hand upon his chest and nestled her face into the crook of his shoulder, whispering against the collar of his shirt, "I thought you wanted to get your money's worth with me?"

His breath hitched slightly at her sudden closeness. "I... did. I do."

She swallowed a knowing smile.

Her effect on him was quite noticeable.

Moments ago, after Mr. Massera had made it clear that he didn't hold the past against her, that he still considered her to be 'fucking perfect' from head to toe, Rosa felt inspired once more to use her charms to soften his resolve.

In truth, his acceptance over the ugliest parts of her old life meant more than Rosa could bring herself to verbalize.

As her hand rested on his chest, the man reached over to grasp it. He began caressing her palm with his thumb, drawing light, absent-minded circles and lines here and there. Pleasure prickled across her skin.

Her mouth ghosted along his neck, kissing him gently, here, there, while telling him, "I have been a good girl. I put in the overtime just for you, Monsieur Massera."

Mr. Massera protested quietly as Rosa continued to rain kisses along his jawline, but, this time, he didn't seem to possess the will to turn her away. Every kiss, every touch, appeared to chip away at his discipline a little more.

Soon, his other hand trailed down the slope of her back, gripping her rounded ass, to haul her towards him. As her mound pressed against his crotch, she could feel his shaft, rising, rousing, through the thin barriers of her blanket and his pants. He was getting hard as fuck. She was naked. Her pussy fluttered in response. It was as though her body already recognized the pleasure this man could give her.

Voice taut, he rasped, "What have you done, Miss Lenoir?"

Rosa didn't know whether his accusation was directed towards her 'overtime' activities—or the effect she was having on his cock. She wasn't able to respond right away. His next move mesmerized Rosa, leaving her breathless and enthralled.

Mr. Massera lifted her hand to his face. Without breaking eye contact, he swept his lips across her knuckles, kissed her fingertips one by one, and planted one final searing kiss into the palm of her hand.

Sparks of lust flared between them, and Rosa realized that she was beginning to fall for her own trap. The temptress was becoming tempted. Her skin yearned for more of his touch. She wanted him to keep kissing her, to keep making her feel as though she mattered to him.

She blamed Mr. Massera for making her weak.

He was quite possibly the most fuckable male she had ever laid eyes on. Even more so now that Rosa better understood how he carried himself as a man. He had been able to look beyond the surface and see her faceted dimensions, more so than anyone else, as a woman, a killer, and a survivor. She became human in his eyes. That alone made all the difference.

This was, of course, a low, low bar. Yet, such kindness was as addicting as heroin for tragic, little whores like Rosa. It was so rare to be treated as her own person and not some objectified plaything.

Mr. Massera's intellect, his character, and his body called to her like sin. The draw felt heady, potent, and damn near impossible to resist. Rosa wanted to trust him even though good sense told her it was too soon to do so.

Questions needed answering, after all, and trust needed to be earned.

Not to mention, her nerves remained raw and frayed from bawling her eyes mere minutes ago.

Rosa hated to admit it, but Mr. Massera was right.

She wasn't in the right frame of mind for sex tonight.

With reluctance, Rosa retreated from Mr. Massera.

Little by little.

Retracting her slighter hand from his larger one.

Inching her body away.

Until a safe, sane sliver of space separated him from her on the bed.

Then, she shoved aside all thoughts of pleasure and focused on business.

Only business.

Sighing, Rosa finally got around to addressing his question, "You want to know—what I have done?"

Mr. Massera nodded curtly.

His eyes remained dark and glazed with desire. He was still aroused. The man didn't try to touch her again, though. As usual, he seemed to catch onto the unspoken drift between them, sensing her intentional withdrawal. Rosa had to commend him. The man might be a sinner, but he wielded the patience of a saint.

At least, with her.

"I would not have thrown Vosa's name at you," she continued, "if I did not already have the dirt to start this conversation."

Mr. Massera's expression sharpened with a different kind of interest.

His heated gaze gave way to a cunning gleam. "I see."

She hummed pertly.

"How," Mr. Massera asked, "did you manage to dig up this dirt?"

"Moulin got quite chatty," Rosa deadpanned, "when I put a gun to his head."

Calmly, he probed, "What did you two chat about?"

"You know, the usual."

He blinked once. "The usual?"

She divulged, "The De León's, guns, bombs, and all the money to be made in the business of political unrest and warfare."

A slow smile spread across Mr. Massera's handsome face. "What else did Moulin tell you?"

"Vosa, Favreau, and... Mesrine... have been eye-fucking the supply chain that the De León's left behind. Favreau and Mesrine will probably work together to beat Vosa to the punch."

Quietly, he prompted once more, "What else?"

Mr. Massera was clearly sussing out how much she knew, Rosa noted, to frame the flow of conversation to his agenda later on.

Rosa tutted—non, non, non—and admonished him as though he was a naughty school boy, "That is enough from me. For now. It is your turn to answer my questions."

Idly, he echoed, "My turn?"

"Oui."

"You," he gave a lazy pause, "wanted to know about Vosa?"

The man was dawdling with the slowness of a sloth and the intentions of a shark. Her patience ran thin.

Rosa snapped, "Oui!"

He smirked. "Vosa is a complicated man. Be more specific about what you want to know."

"Très bien," Rosa murmured in a sharp voice, "tell me, specifically, is Vosa your friend or foe?"

Another pause.

"He is not my friend."

So, Vosa was a foe?

"Are you working for him?"

"Perhaps."

"It is a 'yes' or 'no' question," she chastised.

"Like I said, it is complicated."

"Do you want me to trust you or not, mon beau?"

Mr. Massera responded with a sigh, "Fine, yes, I am working for him."

Finally!

A straight answer from this tight-lipped bastard.

However, the ease in which Mr. Massera surrendered his answer made Rosa feel as though something was amiss. The bastard never let anything slip. Whatever he told her, he was telling her intentionally.

Where was he trying to drive this discussion?

She grumbled, "You claimed to be working for yourself in Lisbon, though. You lied to me."

"I did not lie to you... completely. Like I said, everything is complicated."

"Simplify things for me, then."

"My arrangement with Vosa is temporary."

Rosa frowned. "Temporary? What does that mean?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "You tell me. I thought you had all the dirt?"

Was the bastard testing her again?

To see if she was clever enough to bring into his inner circle?

Très bien!

Rosa would give him what he wanted, "I think you choose your allies very deliberately."

Mr. Massera eyed Rosa intently and waited for her to finish her point. "Do I?"

"I think I know why you hired me. I think I know why you are working for Vosa as well."

"I am all ears, Miss Lenoir. Tell me what you know. Per favore."

Boldly, she announced, "You are working with Vosa because he is currently at odds with Favreau and Mesrine. An enemy of an enemy is a friend, non?"

"What about you?"

"You hired me because of Mesrine."

He questioned in low, languid tones, "Why would I do something like that?"

"Because a hired gun is necessary to carry out your endgame. I was a convenient choice because you could use Mesrine to entice and blackmail me."

Without affirming or denying anything, he continued to probe, "What is my endgame, then?"

Rosa's eyes shone like sunlit gold as she theorized, "I believe you are working with Vosa to take down Favreau and Mesrine. Then, you will have me dispose of Vosa. Because I do not think you are the kind of man who shares the spoils of his war."

Mr. Massera smiled then, wickedly, and leaned over to kiss her bare shoulder.

Admiration and satisfaction glittered from his devil-black eyes as he murmured, "Bravo, Miss Lenoir."

She observed him warily, "You seem pleased, Monsieur Massera."

All of a sudden, he requested, "I would be even more pleased if you could call me by my name. Cristiano.

Eyes wide, Rosa exhaled softly, "Cristiano..."

God, his name tasted like sin and sex on her lips.

"Sì," he praised in a whisper, "just like that."

Cristiano was staring at her like she was the only woman in the world. Feeling unexpectedly flustered, Rosa had to force herself to be unbothered, to stay focused on their conversation.

She let out a cough and inquired with a blush, "So... have I finally uncovered your dirty, little secrets?"

"Not all of them," he replied through a hooded gaze, "but I am ready to tell you about what I have planned in the year to come, if you are ready to hear it..."