The jet was fast approaching their destination. Its flight path gradually dropped from higher altitudes to lower ones. Rosa peered out of the window during the descent. Wispy white clouds gave way to the sight of a vibrant coastal city. The Mediterranean Sea hugged the shores in a glimmering stretch of crystalline blue. The city itself, Reggio Calabria, was nestled by the foothills of the Aspromonte Mountains. Buildings with terracotta roofing and stuccoed walls colored in vintage creams, salmon-hued peaches, mustard yellows, and saffron golds were clustered along the rocky terrain.

"Your home," Rosa admired out loud, "c'est beau."

It is beautiful.

He gazed at her and smiled softly. "I agree. Molto bella."

She looked his way. Dark eyes pierced amber ones. The unwavering manner Cristiano was staring at her made it feel as though he wasn't talking about the beauty of the city, sea, or mountains at all. Rosa blushed and lowered her lashes. A whore like her should've felt ridiculous for reacting like a goddamn schoolgirl to this man. But she wasn't embarrassed by her feelings for Cristiano. A newfound sense of ease had risen between them after they shared their tragedies with each other. Rosa felt as though she understood him, at least, well enough to lower her guard and bask in the sweet sensations he kept stirring in her heart.

Cristiano asked, "Is this your first time in Italia, Rosa?"

Rosa blinked and tried to recall the last time she passed through Italy. No recollections came to mind. Throughout her years of being trafficked across Europe and, later, in her extensive travels for, hum, work, she had yet to set foot in Italy, surprisingly enough.

"Oui," Rosa replied, tilting her face back toward him, "I am something of a vierge when it comes to your motherland."

He murmured, teasing, "A virgin, you say? You will give Italia your innocence, then?"

"Only if you promise to be gentle," she teased back in chiding tones.

"I cannot promise anything," Cristiano refuted with a slight smirk, drawing Rosa from her seat onto his lap until her softer, curvier body rested flush against his solid muscled frame, "you have a way of turning saints into sinners, and I have never been a good man."

She slid her palms over his shoulders. "Maybe you are right, mon beau. Or maybe I have a way of turning big bad wolves into lambs."

Looking a little miffed, he pulled back from her and protested, "I am no lamb."

"Non?"

"No."

Grinning, she leaned over to kiss him. "And here I thought you had already agreed to be my little bitch?"

Frowning, he feigned forgetfulness. "Did I?"

One of her hands slipped down to fondle his cock over his trousers. "Dieu, I cannot wait to be the one in charge of our petit jeu."

Little game.

His breath gave a hitch as he hardened in her grasp. "Only when you and I are alone, anima gemelli."

"Of course," she said a wicked curve on her mouth.

Cristiano narrowed his eyes and reached under Rosa's skirt to give her inner thigh a light warning squeeze. "In front of everyone else, you will behave and play nice, no?"

"I will be a fucking saint," Rosa promised with a wink, "as long as you behave and play nice with me, mon petit agneau."

My little lamb.

He eyed her with a blend of aggravation and amusement. "You are impossible."

She taunted, "Do you regret bringing someone as impossible as me into your life?"

Cristiano gave her ass a quick slap. "No."

Rosa arched an eyebrow. "Non?"

"I would not have it any other way," he confessed as a small smile graced his mouth. "Soon, I hope, my home will become yours as well."

Home?

The word caught her by surprise. It carried such meaning for someone like Rosa. As a girl, home had been in Rabat. Always Rabat. With her family. Never had any other city or person felt safe enough, warm enough, loving enough to be called "home." After she was taken from Morocco, Rosa had become a prisoner in Mesrine's web of fuckery. He had housed her, fed her, and fucked her, but his twisted domain of stripping, prostitution, and abuse had been the very opposite of a home. Life with him had been pure hell.

Wide-eyed with wonder, Rosa studied Cristiano carefully. His black, soulless eyes had never looked more devilish. Yet, she trusted him. This man in her arms was different from the others. So fucking different. He had to be different. For the sake of her sanity. She simply didn't have it in her to survive another heartbreak.

Timidly, she dared to place a trickle of faith in Cristiano. Out of all the bastards she had known, this bastard might be the only one who could give her a sense of home again, a real one, all the while helping her destroy Mesrine. Cristiano almost felt too good to be true. A wave of self-preservation fought against her growing affections for the man. It railed against the secret yearning she harbored to belong somewhere again. To be cared for and protected by someone again.

Despite these doubts, however, she found herself echoing Cristiano's sentiments, "I hope so, too."

He kissed her then. Cristiano kept his lips soft and gentle against hers. With a breathy sigh, Rosa practically melted into him. Everything about this man felt right to her. Her fears dissipated in his arms. She felt serene. Untroubled. If only for the remainder of this flight. Until they needed to fire their first shots against Mesrine.

Minutes later, their jet touched ground in Reggio Calabria Airport. As their entourage left the aircraft, a mix of apprehension and anticipation buzzed through Rosa. She was in Italy. With her mon beau. To start a war. The road ahead would likely be violent and bloody, but it also marked a promising new chapter in her once miserable story. Rosa's chest brimmed with hope even while thoughts of Nijah and Cristiano's father, mother, and sister continued to weigh on her mind. The wrongful deaths of her baby and her mon beau's family needed to be avenged. She would show Mesrine no mercy. Cristiano had been right. The fucker deserved to writhe like a fucking maggot in the flames of hell.

Rosa followed Cristiano and their companions off the runway and into the airport. Once they entered the arrivals terminal, Marcello approached Cristiano while they maneuvered through the crowds. Marcello used his phone to write messages to Cristiano. Rosa quickened her stride to peer over their shoulders, catching a glimpse of the two men's rapid-fire text exchanges—

Cristiano asked: Where is the burner now?

Marcello answered: It is still with Giorgio.

They found their way out of the terminal and waited on a busy curb. A long line of buses, cars, and taxis crept by, unloading travelers while picking up arriving passengers. In time, two discreet black SUVs pulled up beside them. Rosa stepped into the first vehicle with Cristiano and Giorgio. Marcello, Evita, and Clarisse piled into the second automobile. Both SUVs took off for Catanzaro.

To Cristiano's home.

Si Dieu le veut, to her future "home."

God willing.

How Rosa longed for fortune to favor her, for once, and deliver her heart's desires. As their SUV sped away from the airport, every uneventful minute that ticked by felt like a blessing. But it also set Rosa on edge.

Why did this feel like the hush before the shitstorm?

She had felt safer in the skies. 12,000 meters above ground and far beyond Mesrine's reach. Gone was her peace from Cristiano's kiss in their private cabin among the clouds. They were back on harsh, solid ground now. They were within striking distance. Mesrine had warned her that his men were everywhere. She would be a fool to doubt his word. Paranoia reared its ugly head. Rosa pulled out her phone to inspect it. No new messages or calls. Perhaps, Marcello had been successful, after all.

Was she truly immune, though, to Mesrine's prying eyes and sharp ears?

Or would the fucker and his minions end up finding her in Catanzaro before she could end them?

The SUV rolled down the freeway. Scenery flew by the window: Dry, hilly Mediterranean landscape, dotted with olive, oak, and pine trees, served as the backdrop for small Renaissance-era villages. The sights were charming. Calming even. Then, out of nowhere, the blue skies began to darken. Echoes of thunder rolled at a distance. Rosa didn't consider herself to be a superstitious bitch, but she couldn't help worrying that this sudden change in weather was an omen of sorts.

Her expression grew tense. Full of concern. Rosa turned to Cristiano. Her mouth parted to ask him something before snapping shut. Just in time, she remembered that they were no longer in the security of the jet's private cabin. The burner phone was now with Giorgio, and the big brute was sitting barely two away from them in the SUV. Mesrine would be able to hear everything through that sucker. Rosa knew that she needed to put on a performance for Mesrine's sake while, simultaneously, finding a discreet way to communicate with Cristiano.

She proceeded to retrieve Cristiano's phone from his pocket and deliberately asked out loud, "What are your plans for the rest of the day?"

Rosa asked this question to toss Mesrine a bone. To make him believe that she was doing her due diligence in ferreting out Cristiano's weaknesses and hidden plans.

Yet, at the same time, she tapped out her real concerns on Cristiano's phone screen: Are you sure my personal phone is secure? Mesrine will not be able to track our location on the burner phone, n'est-ce pas?

Right?

After reading her message, Cristiano composed a reply: Your phone is secure. Mesrine will not be able to spy on you. I am confident in Marcello's abilities.

Cristiano then glanced over to Giorgio, gesturing to the man's blazer pocket, while he instructed Rosa, "Take out your phone, and I will show you."

Both Cristiano and his burly righthand man seemed to catch on to her ploy. Cristiano spoke loud enough for Mesrine to hear while Giorgio pulled a cheap-looking phone from his blazer and handed it to Rosa. She accepted the phone as though it was her own. In case Mesrine was watching through the camera.

"Look here," Giorgio grunted. He used his thick thumbs to navigate into an app that appeared to be some sort of GPS software.

Rosa frowned as she tried to decipher its significance.

Cristiano muttered, "We have some shipments to take care of in the 14th district."

The 14th district?

Rosa didn't understand what he was going on about, but she continued to play her part for Mesrine, "What kind of shipments?"

Cristiano proceeded to type out an explanation: Earlier, Marcello informed me that he has synced the GPS location of this burner to a random phone belonging to a local in Marseille. This should convince Mesrine that you are back in France at the moment.

Understanding clicked for Rosa right as Cristiano tossed out another brusque bullshit-driven answer, "Shipments that are worth one million euros. Do not ask any more questions if you know what is good for you."

Rosa scoffed dramatically, feigning annoyance at his secrecy. "Why must you always be so tight-lipped? I was hired to work for you, non? I cannot do my job if I know nothing."

In hard tones, Cristiano asserted, "Trust must be earned. Prove yourself to me first. Then, I will reveal more to you. Little by little."

She mumbled, "I see."

Giorgio tucked the burner back inside his blazer. Mesrine would no longer be able to see them, but he could still hear them. She prayed that their charade had been convincing enough to throw Mesrine off their scent.

Rosa prompted through text: We are safe, then?

Cristiano responded: Location-wise, yes. But Mesrine can still hear and see us through the burner. Giving him some access to our conversations is the only way to keep him from growing too suspicious.

Rosa scowled but wrote back: I agree. This will suffice for now. What are we going to do about him in the future?

Cristiano messaged: I will speak with Vosa once we arrive in Catanzaro. To set him against Mesrine.

She pointed out: I thought Vosa was already at odds with Mesrine over the De León arms trafficking supply chain?

Cristiano countered: Vosa is only at odds with Mesrine because of business. It is nothing personal. I need to make it more personal. Vosa must hate Mesrine.

Why?

It will make things easier for us going forward.

Rosa wrote: Tell me how I can help.

He promised: We can talk more tonight. In the privacy of our bedroom.

Rosa's eyes widened slightly. The bastard was already assuming that she would be sleeping in his room. Before she could form a response, the graying skies thundered again. Fat droplets of rain began to pummel the windshield and windows. Visibility on the road worsened significantly. They lost track of the SUV with Marcello, Evita, and Clarisse amid the storm. When Rosa, Cristiano, and Giorgio finally arrived at an aged and grungy-looking apartment complex near downtown Catanzaro, the rain had stopped, but the second SUV was nowhere in sight.

Where were Marcello, Evita, and Clarisse?

None of them picked up their phones when Cristiano called them. Rosa sensed that something had gone wrong. Very wrong.

As Cristiano ushered Rosa up the stairs to his flat, she probed, "Where do you think they could be?"

"I do not know," he replied in steady tones, "but I will find out."

Paranoia surged in her again. Guilt accompanied it as well. "Do you think Mesrine has something to do with their delayed arrival?"

"Anything is possible," was all he supplied.

Once they were inside the flat, Cristiano immediately sent Giorgio to investigate the whereabouts of their missing associates.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Not until I know what has happened to Marcello and the girls," he responded. "For now, make yourself comfortable. My home is your home."

"Très bien," Rosa relented with some reluctance, "but keep me updated."

"I will."

Rosa glanced around at her new surroundings. She wandered through the space with the curiosity of a skittish kitten. Looking but not touching anything.

Cristiano's place was sparsely decorated. Very neat and tidy. There was only one bedroom, one bathroom, a living room with a couch and TV, and a small kitchenette. Rosa tried to do as Cristiano had asked and get settled in, but her mind, rife with worry and restlessness, kept drifting elsewhere.

This whole ordeal reeked of Mesrine's villainy.

Around 6:30 pm, Cristiano received a phone call from Giorgio. She rushed to his side. Rosa watched with bated breath as his face remained taut and emotionless throughout the conversation. The man certainly possessed a damned good poker face.

The moment he hung up, she demanded, "Where are they? What has happened?"

Grimly, Cristiano informed Rosa, "There has been a car accident."

"What?"

"Marcello is dead, Clarisse and Evita are in critical condition, and their driver is missing from the wreckage."