With darkness enveloping them, his taunt echoed across her psyche.

Got you.

Got you.

Got you.

Even in the shadows, Rosa didn't need to see the bastard to know his voice by heart. The low, husky timbre of it sent shivers down her spine. Alarm pounded alongside every pulse. A voice within urged Rosa to get the hell away. Not because she was frightened of him per se. But because she was terrified of how readily he always managed to turn her world upside down.

How badly would he wreck her this time?

Yet, in the here and now, tucked against his larger frame, Rosa continued grasping for reasons to stay. He was still alive. Not dead. Thank fuck. Perhaps, she shouldn't run. A part of her wished to linger and hear him out. At the very least, she needed to check if he'd downed any questionable drinks in the past hour.

Reason kept tumbling out the window. Rosa was growing lightheaded and breathless. His proximity was fucking with her ability to think clearly. The closet seemed too small and tight for two people. Most of the empty space was being swallowed by his height and bulk, pressing them even closer together. Rosa didn't mind, though. She felt ashamed for craving his touch so much. Wearing a face of indifference, Rosa could lie to the world, but she couldn't deceive herself. She'd fucking missed him.

It was laughably tragic. Emotion tended to be a troublesome, fickle thing, twining her to him when she ought to sever the thread. Both of her feet refused to run. This reluctance rendered Rosa useless in these addictive seconds at his side. Her brow furrowed with disapproval. She needed to snap out of it. Summoning every last shred of resolve, Rosa refused to let him get under her skin. The bastard didn't deserve grace or benevolence.

The only thing he deserved, she determined bitterly, was a swift kick to the balls for snatching her into the dark like a goddamn villain.

Riding on this surge of adrenaline, Rosa attempted to ram her elbow into his crotch. She moved swiftly and surely, but he blocked her with ease. Putain. Rosa scowled in annoyance. He'd always held the upper hand when they were in close combat. Shifting tactics, she made a hard lunge for the door. Between fight and flight, escape appeared to be the better option. Using every muscle in her body, Rosa strained to break away. His grip was iron. Again, he held her back as though she was the bird and him—a steel cage.

Why was the bastard so goddamn strong?

His fingers tightened around her neck, silently warning her to behave. She could feel the fresh blood on his hand. Still fresh. Warm and wet. It was going to stain her skin. His muscles felt taut and coiled against her body. He was almost shaking with tension, and his breaths sounded a bit more pained than usual.

Was the bastard hurt again—or had he been playing with someone else's blood?

She couldn't tell. Rosa simply prayed that the blood didn't belong to him.

Dieu.

What if the ricin was already in his system?

If so, his chances for survival weren't high. The bastard was still in recovery from her bullet for fuck's sake. His body couldn't take more abuse. Maybe karma was catching up at last. Much like her, he'd lived like there was no tomorrow and sinned enough to deserve a thousand deaths. Rosa wondered how many times fate would continue to let them outrun the reaper.

Was his luck about to end today?

Immediately, the possibility of losing him for good shattered her deepest resentments. Guilt crept through the cracks, twisting anger into anguish. With her sight obscured by the shadows, her other senses spiked with awareness, noticing every little connection between them. Especially touch. There was something in the way that he clung to her. Desperate. Like he'd never let go now that she was caught. Yet gentle. Like he couldn't bear to hurt her. This paradox of cradling her while caging her was quite telling. Only he would embrace her with such intensity. It illuminated the faceless shadow of his identity, filling the darkness with little doubt in her mind.

He knew.

Somehow, earlier, the bastard had seen through her disguise in the courtyard when they made eye contact. Stubbornly, Rosa didn't feel like surrendering yet. The cat may have escaped the bag, but her mask and wig were still on. She might as well play dumb and milk the situation for a few more seconds.

"What do you want?" she demanded in a small, frightened voice that sounded nothing like Rosa Lenoir and very much like Eve Davies.

"You," Cristiano declared without a moment's hesitation.

Rosa begged, "Please let me go. You have the wrong girl. I am sure of it."

She felt his head dip toward her in the dark. His lips brushed against her cheek—barely touching—in an almost kiss. "I disagree."

Her face grew warm. Heat flooded her core. This time, she trembled with genuine anticipation even while pretending to be someone else, "I do not even know who you are."

He laughed darkly. "But I know you very well... Eve."

Her eyes went wide.

Eve.

With this one word, he'd gone straight for the kill. They hadn't even been in the closet for more than five minutes yet. She wasn't surprised. Cristiano had never been one to beat around the bush, after all, when he coveted something. Or someone.

Like her.

Still, she chose to play hard to get, "My name is not Eve."

"You are right. It is not Eve. Would you prefer that I call you Rosa or Inés instead?"

This bastard.

Her expression grew surly. Playing the fool had been fun while it lasted. But it was time to address matters of actual substance. Shrugging off the guise of Eve Davies for the first time in his presence, Rosa commended Cristiano, "Well done, mon beau. You have found me."

He admitted, "It was not easy to do so."

"It should have been impossible."

"Nothing is impossible when you exist," Cristiano revealed quietly. "You have become more than an obsession. Whether you go by Inés, Rosa, or Eve—you are mine. I will always come for you."

"Even if I die?" she quipped. "Hell is not for the faint of heart, you know."

"If hell ever takes you," he spoke as though this was an absolute and irrefutable truth, "I burn, too."

Rosa's chest thickened with emotion as she struggled to rewire her senses. Enough with these hellish hypotheticals. Their present reality was hellish enough. He might die on her if she wasted another second.

With a heightened sense of urgency, Rosa demanded, "The blood on your hand—"

"What about it?"

"Is it yours?"

"No."

"Who does it belong to?"

"A fucker who deserved to bleed."

"Did you kill this fucker?"

"Maybe."

"Were you hurt in the process?"

Cristiano sounded smug when he remarked, "You seem very worried about me."

Her heart thundered anxiously as she lied, "Not at all. I am simply worried about being tasked with disappearing another dead body. Specifically? Yours."

He chuckled. "Relax. You will not be burdened with my corpse. I only have a few scrapes and bruises."

"You will not perish then?"

"I think I will live."

He better.

Amber eyes narrowed in the dark. It was too soon to celebrate. Rosa had one more question for him. "Have you accepted drinks from anyone at this wedding?"

"Of course not. There are many people at this wedding who would love to poison me."

Relief overwhelmed her. Dieu merci. She should've known. Cristiano was much too paranoid and far too clever to fall for Mesrine's underhanded schemes. Her hysteria waned a little. It seemed that her mon beau hadn't been poisoned. Yet. She no longer knew what to prioritize in this interrogation. There were too many questions and not enough time to ask them.

Feeling like a mess, Rosa mumbled, "How did you find out about... Eve?"

"I spoke to a friend of yours."

Rosa snorted. "You know I do not have friends."

Again, Cristiano didn't pull any punches when he challenged her, "What about Harrison Murray?"

She froze. "What about him?"

"You do not consider him to be a friend?"

"Non."

"He will be disappointed to hear it."

Merde.

Cristiano managed to track down Harry?

Her Harry?

She growled, "A real friend would not sell me out."

"Everyone has a price," Cristiano refuted, "and no one is without weakness."

This gave her pause. Harrison Murray wasn't even his real name, and he should've been harder to trace than a fucking ghost. Either Cristiano was far too competent for his own good. Or Harry wanted Cristiano to find him. Frankly, neither scenario worked in her favor. Especially if the latter proved true. Harry was definitely up to something, and that something might send her to an early grave.

Unease about her oldest confidant took root. The weight in her chest grew heavier. It felt suffocating.

To cope, Rosa unleashed some of this restlessness on Cristiano, muttering under her breath, "You are holding me too tight, mon beau."

"Instead of complaining, perhaps, you should consider the reasons why I must restrain you in this stranglehold."

"Because you are an asshole?"

"Says the woman who just rammed her elbow into my balls."

"You deserved it."

"For what?"

Rosa wanted to punish him as much as she wished to save him. "For manhandling me like a ragdoll."

"That is because you are known to be a bit trigger-happy. You shot me not too long ago in case you have forgotten."

Rosa sniffed. "Whatever. You deserved that, too."

"If I were to ease up," he sighed, maintaining a steady, firm grip on her, "I am pretty sure that you would shoot me again."

"What a heartless thing to say," she taunted softly, "about the woman you claim to love."

His grip on her throat relaxed by a fraction. "Loving you does not mean I have a death wish."

"You do not trust me?"

Cristiano nuzzled her neck affectionately while answering diplomatically, "I trust in the blood that you are capable of spilling. The hole in my shoulder still aches, you know."

Rosa smirked. "Just remember. I only miss vital organs when shooting men I love. My aim is fatal with the others."

Cristiano appeared to care about one word in her entire statement as he growled sullenly, "Men?"

"Man," she corrected herself.

"Jealous?"

"Insanely so."

"Do not worry about them. Worry about yourself," Rosa drawled. "Piss me off again and you will not live long."

"Dio, how I have missed you and your vicious charm." Unfazed by her threat, Cristiano's head dipped down to kiss her neck as though he couldn't stop himself. "How much longer do you plan to hold your grudge?"

Despite her conflicted feelings for him, she still sighed in contentment when his lips trailed up to graze her temple. "Forever."

Cristiano nipped her skin. "Then I will wait forever."

Desire flared in her. "Is that what you have been doing during my absence?"

"No, waiting is for those who do not know how to get what they want. I have been busy."

Instantly, Mrs. Vitale's ominous texts about his nefarious activities came to mind.

Marcello tells me that he's been ripping the continent apart, leaving a trail of broken bones and missing persons in his wake.

She arched an eyebrow. "With what?"

"You will see."

"Huh."

"I understand that I may be the last man you wish to see right now," he murmured, "but I have done all that I can. Going forward, I need your help."

"You are right," agreed Rosa. They'd wasted enough time flirting with each other. Angelina was waiting, and she needed to warn Cristiano about Mesrine. "You do need my help. There is ricin at this wedding—compliments of Mesrine—and some of it is meant for you. Do not take a bite or sip of anything. Stay on guard."

When it became clear that she cared enough to try and save him, Cristiano's hand began to ease around her neck. "When you say such things, it almost feels like you care whether I live or die."

"Perhaps," muttered Rosa, "I do care."

Slowly, he let her go. "Why don't you want Mesrine to kill me?"

"Take a guess," she whispered thickly.

"You hate him more than you hate me?"

Rosa released a pained laugh. "Non, you bastard, I hate you more than anyone."

He winced in the shadows. "Even more than you love me?"

"Non," she whispered again. "Fuck me but the love is stronger."

"Stronger than your hate?"

"Oui."

Tenderly, he raised his hand to cradle her face. "You swear it?"

Free to move at last, Rosa turned around to face him, searching for his eyes in the dark. "I love you, mon beau, and what I will swear is this—if you arrive in hell before me, I will never forgive you."

He fell silent for a moment before responding, "After you left, nothing felt right. I needed you to come back."

"You needed me?"

"Like air," he answered, "and water."

"I could disappear again."

"You can abandon me as many times as you wish, but I will never leave you, Rosa. I may be an unforgivable sinner, but my soul belongs to you and not the devil," Cristiano vowed, his gaze riveted on her. "You have me. Until hell no longer burns. You have me. Until the stars lose their shine. You have me. I love you so much that it fucking hurts. You are the only woman who can fuck with my demons while slaughtering our enemies with a smile. I have been in awe of you from the moment I laid eyes on you."

"Since Marseille?"

"Since Marseille," he confirmed. "I became fixated with you. You were all I could think about. All I could see. All I wanted to touch and feel and taste. Now? You continue to surprise me. Delight me. Captivate me. I do not know if I will ever stop falling for you."

His confession felt like a rain storm following a century-long drought. Her heart was about to burst. It felt so overwhelming to be on the receiving end of such love. Such bliss seemed too good to be true. As expected, the bastard had managed to turn her world upside down within a span of minutes.

She exhaled in wonder, "Do you mean it?"

He smiled faintly. "I am yours, Rosa. Completamente."

Why was the bastard proclaiming his undying love as though this moment would be his last?

Rosa frowned. "I—"

Before she could finish, however, Cristiano's massive body suddenly tilted to the left as though drugged and intoxicated. He swayed then stumbled over his own feet. Her arm shot out. Rosa caught him before he hit the ground. Using her body to support him, she propped him against the wall. As her hand gripped his shoulder, the fabric on his blazer felt warm and wet. It had been bone dry minutes ago when she'd been pressed against him.

Could it be blood?

His blood?

She gasped and whimpered, immediately fearing for his life, "You fucking liar! I thought you said that the blood was not yours?"

***

Eep! What's going on with Cristiano?

Thoughts?

Feelings?

Predictions?

Follow me on Wattpad @uxecila or on Instagram @tafanwrites for more updates. Next chapter will be posted in one week on Friday, May 24, 2024. <3