As the jet soared toward Italy, Rosa's steely attitude from moments ago melted away. Sympathy swelled in her chest. It was laced with dread, though, clenching her very being as she processed the anguish in Cristiano's confession. The bastard was finally opening up to her. She felt torn between wanting to learn the truth of his past while protecting him from his demons.

Pain twisted his handsome face as he pressed onward, "There were three of them..."

Cristiano gave a pause. Rosa waited some more.

His dark eyes shut. She imagined he might be reliving the past in his mind's eye. When Cristiano's eyelids finally lifted open, memories tumbled from his mouth in a strained manner, "I remember seeing a tall man. His height almost reached the ceiling. I remember his partner had a tattoo across his knuckles. It was a black snake. I remember the third fucker was short. Thin. I will never forget any of their faces."

"Oh, mon beau..." Her amber eyes shone with compassion. Softly, she dared to ask, "What did those fuckers do to your family?"

His lips parted to reply, but words seemed to be lost on him. Nostrils flaring, Cristiano breathed in deeply several times as though to calm himself, releasing each subsequent breath in long, shaky exhales. Rosa had never seen him look so vulnerable, so defeated. She wanted to weep for him. Instinct drove her to gravitate toward him. Unable to stop herself, Rosa reached over to grasp his hand in a firm yet gentle hold. She hoped her touch might comfort him in the same way he had consoled her during her breakdown over Mesrine and Nijah.

Bitterly, Rosa lamented, sorrow seemed to follow the pair of them wherever they went. Yet, sorrow also seemed to unite them. Like two nomads wandering through a vast, unforgiving desert. Seeking respite from their past. Seeking revenge from those who had wronged them.

Donning a grateful expression, he gave her palm a light squeeze. Cristiano held onto her, and she didn't let go, as he found his voice again.

He answered, seemingly lost in trance, "At one point, my father lunged for one of their guns, the short fucker didn't hesitate to pull the trigger. I believe he was carrying a Heckler & Koch pistol. An HK45. It was a clean shot. Right through the temple."

There was a chilling, clinical detachment in his tone. He appeared to be fixated on describing the small, physical details. Like the make and model of the firearm. The location of the bullet entry. Each word felt devoid of emotion. Cristiano spoke of the event like an observant bystander reporting on a crime scene rather than a son who had watched his father die right before his eyes. For a moment, Rosa's eyelids snapped shut. Already, the scene Cristiano relayed to her felt far too gruesome for any ten-year-old boy to witness. To think, this was, very likely, only the tip of the iceberg, a mere glimpse into the depths of his horrific memories.

The pace of his speech quickened. His tone became sharper. "Once my father was out of the way, the men went after my mother and Sienna. I can still hear the desperation in my mother's cries. The way she begged them to take her. Only her. And to leave my sister alone. Those sons of bitches, of course, did not listen."

"Fuck," Rosa cursed under her breath.

Anger coursed through her body. Fury splintered into heartbreak. Rosa could already sense what Cristiano was about to reveal to her. Those men had clearly violated his mother and sister on some level. Rosa, herself, had been a victim of such monsters and the atrocities they committed against women. On a bone-deep level, she could relate to the agony that Cristiano's mother and sister must have felt while they were at the mercy of their assailants. Rosa could understand their terror. She understood them very well. As a whore entrapped by Mesrine for years. As a mother helpless to save her own infant daughter.

The cold rage in Cristiano's dark eyes seemed to mirror her turmoil as he proceeded, "The man with the snake tattoo started mocking my mother. He called her a traditrice. Traitor. Too traitorous for his men to touch. The man said that he had been sent to teach her a lesson."

His mother was a traitor?

A traitor who needed to be taught a lesson?

Rosa stifled a gasp. She frowned as her mind began to spin. The rumors that Mesrine had spilled about Cristiano's true lineage began to creep through her thoughts.

His mother is believed to be Aberto De León's sister.

Rosa's grip tightened around his hand as she demanded, "Sent by who?"

"I do not know."

Was Cristiano lying to her?

Rosa attempted to probe a little more, "Why did he call your mother a traitor?"

"He claimed that she had turned her back on famigila."

Could the "famiglia" he was referring to be the De Leóns?

In a tentative, indirect manner, she inquired, "Was your mother ever involved with... Cosa Nostra?"

Cristiano didn't answer her question. At the moment, he appeared to be overwhelmed by his memories, by his grief, and she didn't possess the heart to push her interrogation any further.

Brokenly, he whispered, "I can still hear the sound of my sister's screams when they tore away her innocence."

"Oh, Dieu," Rosa breathed out in absolute distress.

Right away, she recognized gut-wrenching fragments of Nijah in Sienna. She saw broken pieces of herself in Cristiano's mother. An unexpected wave of grief overtook Rosa's senses. What ifs circled around her consciousness, and Mesrine's photographs of the mysterious amber-eyed girl slithered past her defenses.

If her baby had lived, would she have been able to protect Nijah from the evil men in their world?

Or would she have failed like Cristiano's poor mother—

Cristiano's voice cut into her stricken thoughts. "The entire time, they forced my mother to watch them assault my sister. After they were done, they put a bullet in Sienna. Then, they killed my mother."

Rosa's heart dropped. Out of nowhere, the cabin felt cold. So fucking cold. Like ice. Like darkness. Like everything wrong and ugly in the world had abruptly descended upon her conscience.

She glanced over to Cristiano. There was no life in him. Just stillness and sadness. He possessed the mien of a man who had walked through the fires of hell and, somehow, lived to tell the tale. Her heart ached for the beautiful bastard.

Again, instinct drove Rosa to wrap her arms around Cristiano. She drew him close and mumbled against his chest, "If you know these fuckers⁠, tell me their names. S'il vous plaît. I will hunt them down for you and your family. I will skin them alive. Pro bono."

Locked in their embrace, he glanced down and offered her a surprised smile. "You would do that... for me?"

She nodded resolutely. A fierce gleam entered her eyes. "I would take pleasure in killing them. Slowly. To make sure they suffer the most painful deaths."

Admiration and appreciation flickered across his face. "Your offer is generous, but there is no need, Rosa. I spent most of my twenties hunting them down myself. To avenge my family. I have already dispatched two of them."

Only two of them?

What about the third fucker?

Frowning, she remarked, "It seems unlike you to leave loose ends... untied."

"You are not wrong. I am still searching for the man with the snake tattoo," admitted Cristiano. "But most of the evidence I have found suggests that he died years ago. I tracked him down too late."

"If he is truly dead, then I am sorry you will not be able to send him to hell with your own gun."

Cristiano placed his thumb and forefinger beneath Rosa's chin and tilted her face up to meet his eyes, murmuring, "That is also how I feel about the bastard's death. You know me well."

"I do not know you well enough yet," Rosa countered gently, "but I know you better now."

He shot her a pointed look. "I have never spoken about my family to anyone. You already know me better than most people."

"Do I?"

"You do."

Rosa pressed her cheek against his chest. She could hear the pounding of his heart, listening until each frenetic beat quieted to a steadier, calmer rhythm. Silence enveloped them in a soft, bittersweet lull.

She spoke up first, "Thank you for telling me about your family, Cristiano."

"You are... welcome."

"I am honored," Rosa added in low, sincere tones, "to have your trust."

He arched an eyebrow. "You are... honored?"

She started, "Your trust in me has given me a reason to trust in you—"

A very solid reason to trust in him. Born from calamity. Cristiano had witnessed the horrors of what men like Mesrine could inflict on others. On his father. On his mother and sister. Firsthand. His childhood had been destroyed by it. He had lost his entire family because of it. Unlike Mesrine, who had always been cruel for cruelty's sake and relished in power plays, the darkness in Cristiano seemed to be driven by pain. Even after all this time, he appeared deeply aggrieved by the deaths of his father, mother, and sister. Cristiano had once mentioned how much he abhorred men who took advantage of women, and, now, Rosa understood the why behind his hatred. Cristiano's past filled her with more confidence in his character as much as it pained her to know how much he had suffered as a boy.

She continued, "I fully appreciate the weight of what you have shared with me, and I will not let you down. You have removed many doubts from my mind."

Dark eyes flicked toward her. "Does this mean you will stay with me? And agree to my terms, at least, in public?"

Rosa pulled away from their embrace and, nodding readily, looked up to meet his gaze. "I will stay with you and play the part of your little bitch, at least, in front of your associates. As long as you agree to be my little bitch whenever we are alone."

Cristiano released a hollow-sounding laugh. "Deal. I am glad I have managed to win you over."

Worry creased her brow. "Why do you sound so unhappy about it, then?"

He shrugged. "Reminiscing about the past has a way of making me feel like shit."

Her eyes went wide. It suddenly occurred to Rosa that, until now, Cristiano hadn't mentioned a single word about his own reaction regarding his family's violent and heartrending demise. Throughout his entire narration, he had spoken like an outsider reporting on someone else's tragedy. Yet, as Cristiano stood before her, she observed that his eyes remained haunted. His demeanor was stiff and withdrawn. Cristiano looked very much like a survivor trying to hold his trauma at bay. Rosa recognized this look on him since she had been forced to wrestle away her demons, one too many times, in a similar way.

She rose on her toes to press a light, tender kiss upon his cheek. He turned his face to capture her lips, kissing her fully on the mouth. Their lips parted moments later, but their eyes lingered on one another.

Emotions thudded powerfully in her chest, and, as Rosa stared back at Cristiano, she spoke with her whole heart, "No matter what has happened in your past, mon beau, you are not alone in your present. You have me now. Your pain is felt. Your rage is warranted. Our pasts have fucked with both of us. Grief and loss are good friends of ours. I am sorry for making you relive such memories. I know the toll it takes on a person. All too well."

He reached over to caress her cheek. "Do not be sorry, Rosa. I am alive, no?"

She placed her hand over his larger one and leaned into his palm. "Oui, I am very thankful that you are alive. More than you will ever know."

Her words seemed to strike a chord in him. Cristiano swallowed. Hard. "I admit..."

She prompted, "Yes?"

"There are times when I do not feel thankful to be alive. My family died to protect me. I do not deserve to be here. They suffered while I hid in that fucking closet. Frozen by fear. I was such a codardo."

The acrid, self-loathing bite in his tone was drenched with survivor's guilt.

Her expression grew softer still. "You were only a boy. It was your father and mother's duty to protect you. Believe me, it is every parent's wish to shield their children from harm."

Rosa thought of Nijah, of everything she would've sacrificed to save her daughter, of how she wouldn't hesitate to give up her own life if such a sacrifice could bring her baby back from the dead.

With a curious look, Cristiano inquired, "What do you know about parents and children?"

"I know more than you think," she supplied quietly.

His eyebrows lifted up. "Is that so?"

Cristiano had offered up his painful past to gain her trust. She felt compelled to do the same for him. Rosa coughed. "Contrary to what you might believe, I was not always a cold-blooded gun for hire."

Instantly, the weight of his entire attention shifted onto her. He studied her with concern, seeming to sense that she was about to reveal something of significance. "No?"

In a voice that carried a definite tremble, Rosa took in a deep breath and revealed, "I-I was a mother once, too. Her name was... Nijah... and she was my whole fucking world."

***

codardo

coward