In bed, Cristiano was already fast asleep beside Rosa.

Infuriating bastard.

Indignation burned away like an internal flame.

How could he possibly rest on a night like tonight?

Especially when her mind was so restless. Escape consumed her thoughts. Every meticulous detail needed to be analyzed before she could act.

The How.

The When.

The What Ifs.

A man like Cristiano would flatten mountains and drain the seas for the sake of his endgame. Hell, after their first meeting in Marseille, he tracked her all the way to Portugal with ease. Given enough motivation, he'd have no trouble hunting her down in London.

Unless, a devilish voice whispered in her head, he believes you to be dead.

A lifetime ago, Inès Nadir had escaped Mesrine by suicide.

Could she pull the same shit on Cristiano and get away with it?

Rosa doubted Cristiano would be as easy to fool. If she couldn't escape him as a ghost, then he'd need to be subdued another way.

By a bullet.

If necessary.

Dieu.

A shiver crawled down her spine.

She closed her eyes, seeking respite, but, much like the night before, sleep continued to evade her. Try as she might, Rosa couldn't relax her senses. Her eyelids reopened. With a wide, troubled gaze, she spent another hour watching shadows creep around the room. Her ears obsessed over the steadiness of Cristiano's deep breaths. Frowning, Rosa shifted on the mattress to face him in the dark. Moonlight spilled across his handsome features. Emotion gripped her throat.

How could such a beautiful man be so cruel?

She couldn't decide whether to kill him.

Or fuck him one last time.

Each rise of her lungs, heavy and thick with distress, now strained to draw breath. While he slept on, Rosa placed a trembling hand over his chest. It lifted and fell in a slow, rhythmic cadence. Every pulse of his heart thudded against her palm, pumping his veins with blood. Cristiano felt very much alive beneath her touch.

Full of breath.

Brimming with life.

Rosa knew numerous ways to end a man's existence: The organs which dealt the most damage when bullets ripped through them. The proper veins to slit for optimum blood loss. The exact dosage of poisonous chemicals that might turn a body into a corpse.

A grim thought captured her mind.

If Cristiano tried to stop her from escaping, would she have the heart to still his breaths forever?

To let him bleed out right before her eyes?

Fuck.

She didn't know. More than anything, Rosa resented his power over her. This innate ability of his to devastate her. Rosa prayed for the strength to choose herself as she'd as always done in the past. To save her own ass at others' expense. But, even now, Rosa knew, in her heart of hearts, she's grown too soft for her own good. The thought of walking away from Cristiano pained her. She felt bonded to him like no other. Villain though he may be, the black of his damaged soul mirrored her own, so much so that their destinies seemed too twined to sever. They were twin flames burning together in a hell of their own making. If she ever took his life, a part of herself would probably die as well.

She withdrew her hand and rolled away from Cristiano. Rosa tossed and turned until the moon's ghostly white glow warmed to the golden hues of sunrise. She glanced toward the window.

Was it morning at last?

Her thoughts turned to the future.

London.

She couldn't envision herself living there indefinitely. The weather in the UK was abysmal. Cold, dreary, and far too gray for her liking. If she managed to survive the next few weeks, Rosa intended to relocate at the first opportunity. Somewhere with sand, sea, and sun.

Hawaii?

Bali, perhaps?

Or maybe she should simply return home.

To Morocco.

Her breath caught slightly at this possibility. Unlike Rosa Lenoir, Eve Davies possessed no bloodied body count. No ties to the criminal underworld. No betrayal by the only man she ever cared for. Nor the soul-ending grief of losing one's child. There was nothing stopping Eve from living a life of bliss and boredom in Rabat. Heartening anticipation rose in her chest even while marrow-deep exhaustion dimmed her soul. The thought of letting go and starting anew made her want to weep. With hope or anguish, however, Rosa couldn't quite tell.

Rosa willed her muscles not to tense up when a pair of strong arms tightened around her waist. Soon, a broad chest pressed against her bare back, and a soft kiss brushed her shoulder. Cristiano's lips trailed up her neck to nip at her ear. "Did you sleep well?"

The sharp graze of his teeth felt playful yet aggressive, and the bastard's voice, sexy, low, and still husky from sleep, sent her heart racing.

With a gulp, Rosa forced a deep breath into her lungs then released it like a gentle summer breeze. She needed to stay calm and act as though nothing was amiss. Her behavior as of late was already very suspect in Cristiano's eyes.

"Well enough." Rosa flashed him an easy smile. "How long are you planning to stay in Palermo?"

He arched his eyebrow back at her. "Until the wedding."

"It has not been postponed in light of recent events?"

Recent events—

Being that Cristiano had the balls to abduct the owner of the goddamn venue.

"No," he responded, "now that Vitale has been delivered back home, festivities will proceed as planned."

This meant Monte and Mariposa's special day was still happening in about two weeks. "Ah, très bien."

Cristiano sought out Rosa's hand, lacing his fingers in between hers. "I have a very important task for you on the day of the wedding."

Rosa intended to be long gone by then, but she played along, "What do you need from me?"

"I cannot tell you yet."

"Cannot?" she grumbled. "Or will not?"

His grip tightened around her fingers. "Soon. I promise you will know everything very soon."

"Your promises will be the death of me," Rosa remarked with a light scowl. "How long do you intend to make me wait this time?"

"Two days. There are a few more details I must iron out with my men."

Details to iron out—

Like how he was going to trade her for his sister and niece?

A hard edge sharpened her golden eyes. "You are lucky that I have the patience of a saint."

Rosa harbored every intention of disappearing in the next two days.

Cristiano urged, "I do not need your patience. Give me your trust."

Rosa chuckled as though she was joking, "Dit l'araignée à la mouche."

Said the spider to the fly.

Instead of laughing with her, a grimace fell over his face. Cristiano seemed to sense the very real hostility in her lighthearted remark. "No matter what you may think of me at the moment, I swear, I am fighting for us. I intend to lay the world at your feet. Heads may roll, blood will spill, but no harm will come to you."

Rosa's lashes fluttered. He sounded so fucking earnest. Her brow creased with despair. "Just..."

Intently, he searched for her eyes. "What is it?"

"Try not get us killed," she pleaded. Rosa's tone carried a light, teasing note, but unease crept over her features.

"Many have tried to put a bullet in my skull—and failed. Do not worry, I am a difficult fucker to kill," vowed Cristiano. "However, if ever we reach the end of our rope, I swear, I will die before I let anything happen to you."

Tragedy saddened her smile. "When you say such things, it feels like you are taunting fate."

He reached over to caress her face. "Maybe I am. But I cannot help it. Every man has a weakness, Rosa. Mine happens to be... you."

She despised the way his touch soothed her soul. The way his words calmed her turmoil.

"I never wanted to become your weakness," confessed Rosa, "I only wanted to be... yours."

"You are mine," Cristiano growled, "and I have no intention of letting you go."

Disbelief rang in her voice, "Ever?"

Absolute certainty filled his answer, "Ever."

"You would not give me away to another man?" she prodded, testing him again.

Another man—

Like Mesrine?

He affirmed, "Never."

Rosa taunted, "Not even for all the riches and bitches in the world?"

"The Devil Himself could not pry you from my arms."

She thought of his sister and niece. "Bullshit."

"I am being sincere."

"Are you, though?" Rosa glared. "Break my heart, mon beau, and I will break your legs."

He cocked an eyebrow. "So violent."

"Violence is all I know."

"I would let you put a bullet in me," Cristiano returned thickly, "if that is what your heart desires."

Rosa laughed. "You are mad."

He shrugged. "Mad for you."

"Psychotique," she muttered, "is what you are."

"Very much so," he agreed in low tones, "when it comes to you."

She held his gaze as unruly, unresolved feelings thrummed between them. Despite all the reasons to keep her guard up, Rosa remained undeniably drawn to Cristiano. Ignoring the ache in her chest, Rosa decided to give in to his chaos. She leaned forward to kiss him. He groaned and pulled her closer. Tongues collided amid the intoxicating push and pull of their lips. His arms tightened around her. Desperately, Rosa clung to him. Neither of them wanted to let go.

From this point on, she realized with dismay, every kiss might be their last. Every touch was a farewell. Savoring what little was left of their time together, Rosa surrendered to him.

The lies on his lips had never tasted so sweet.

***

As morning stretched toward noon, stress and anxiety pulsed between them. Every time Rosa tried to leave the motel, Cristiano would send one of his men to "guard" her. What she couldn't determine was whether he was trying to protect her from their enemies—or if he was simply using this as an excuse to keep a closer eye on her movements.

The only time Cristiano sent his men away was when she was alone with him.

Yet, within the confines of their tiny motel room, the pair of them barely spoke to each other, Cristiano took call after call on his phone in Italian, Rosa kept her eyes glued on her laptop screen. She followed the instructions on Mrs. Vitale's flash drive to schedule times and locations to pick up her new documents as Eve Davies. Although, through it all, she remained hyper-aware of his presence, and he, in turn, seemed to be watching her every move from the corner of his eye.

Rosa couldn't help but feel as though they were both testing the waters, toying with the volatility of their circumstances to see who might crack first. Rosa was determined not to lose. Unlike him, her life and liberty were at stake.

A choice needed to be made before she could finalize her plans for escape.

Should she flee with a bunch of dangerous mafioso swarming around her?

Or slip away while Cristiano was asleep?

After some consideration, Rosa decided to take her chances with Cristiano. The less people involved, the less likely something could go wrong.

Minute by minute, a countdown kept ticking away in the back of her head. Twenty-eight hours until the death of Rosa Lenoir and the birth of Eve Davies. Unlike the desperation Rosa had felt when she attempted to escape Mesrine, however, she felt strangely reluctant to walk away from Cristiano forever.

Pushing aside such foolish feelings, Rosa busied herself by setting all the logistics in place—transportation, travel documents, her new identification, weapons, clothes, food, shelter, a secure line of communication—while Cristiano kept an ever watchful eye on her even though neither of them addressed the matter head-on. They danced around one another like devils. The bastard's silence unnerved her. His inaction felt too intentional.

Was he setting a trap?

"Is there something on your mind, mon beau?" Rosa demanded.

"No." He frowned. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you are pouting more than usual."

"Am I?" Cristiano mused quietly. "Maybe you are right. Maybe there is something bothering me."

She tilted her head to the side. "Oh?"

He shot her a pointed look. "You looked quite busy this morning. On your laptop. What were you doing?"

"Watching cat videos," she replied flippantly.

"Nothing else?"

"Nothing else."

Cristiano's devil-black eyes pierced through her. "Then, it seems, we are at an impasse."

Rosa pursed her lips. "Or... you could break your stupid rules for once and tell me about your plans."

He shook his head. "Give me one more day. I am still making... preparations."

Preparations—

To exchange her for his family?

She sighed sullenly. "An impasse, indeed."

Her flight to London was leaving in twenty hours. Until this very moment, Rosa didn't realize that she'd still been hoping for Cristiano to change her mind. If he wasn't going to give her a reason to stay, then so be it. At last, Rosa let go of her last shred of hope.

Around 1 pm, Cristiano invited her to lunch, and she accepted as though her world hadn't just fallen apart. They ate pizza with wine. In between bites, Cristiano reached under the table to retrieve a small white takeout bag. He handed it to her. Rosa's eyes went wide when a familiar sweet, doughy scent wafted from the inside. "What is this?"

"Dessert," he answered quietly.

After peering inside the bag, Rosa gasped. She was greeted by the sight of a dozen perfectly fried sfenj. They even had powdered sugar dusted over them. Her head whipped toward him in disbelief. "How did you find these in the middle of Palermo?"

"I have my ways."

"I must admit," she offered grudgingly, "I am impressed."

"I am sure they are not as good as your grandmother's recipe," Cristiano mumbled, "but these will have to do until you take me to Morocco."

Snippets from not too long ago flashed across her mind.

I shall treat you to a dozen of my grandmother's sfenj.

She'd uttered those exact words to Cristiano right after he confessed to be a De León. Right after he had fucked her to kingdom come. Rosa's heart thudded with anguish as his gaze lingered on her face. Back then, she still believed in him. In them. The present felt so bitter in comparison.

Rosa gulped, swallowing the tide of emotion crawling up her throat. "You... remembered."

He gazed at her as though she was the only woman in his whole fucking universe. "How could I forget?"

Rosa steeled herself against his wiles.

How dare he act as though they still had a future together?

She removed one of the spongy rings from the bag. Angrily, Rosa took a bite of the sfenj. Her teeth tore into it like a she-wolf devouring prey.

"How is it?" Cristiano asked as though he feared she might be disappointed.

It was fucking delicious.

It tasted like her childhood.

It made her want to weep.

"Next time," Rosa clipped coldly, "you do not have to go through so much trouble."

His face fell.

She ignored the pained clench of her heart.

Because, as far as Rosa was concerned, there would be no "next time."