Author's Note

Hello, my lubs! Alice here. This is embarrassing, haha. But I forgot to include a key plot point in the last chapter, so I went back and added it to Chapter 62. Feel free to re-read Chapter 62, but here's the summary if you just want to get on with your day with the CliffsNotes version of what I added:

Cristiano convinced Mesrine to hand over the hotel room key card where Sienna and Angelina are being held. Cristiano then offers the key card to Rosa when he asks her to save Sienna and Angelina in his place, and she accepts it from him.

Hopefully, this brings everyone up to speed as we dive into Chapter 63. <3

***

Like a ghostly wind, unseen and unheard, Rosa slipped out an inconspicuous side door. She raced through a courtyard, past the gates, and down a winding pathway through the neighborhood. Rosa didn't stop to catch a breath until the villa was beyond reach and out of sight. The Vitales were now behind her. Mesrine as well. And mon beau.

Dieu.

Mon beau.

Her heart broke all over again. The temptation to turn back was overwhelming. Parting with Cristiano felt like losing a vital piece of herself. He was her twin flame. She was his soulmate. Dark and deadly, their demons had always mirrored each other.

With a clenched jaw, Rosa clung to her purpose, using it like a lifeline to keep from drowning in emotions. She kept her gaze locked ahead, fixing on the blue skies above and the cerulean waters along the coast. It was the only way she could march onward without him. Rosa scanned her surroundings. Cobblestone streets snaked through a quiet, upscale neighborhood, leading to a busier intersection.

I need you.

She kept moving.

To go.

Exhaustion weighed on her body, but Rosa didn't stumble or falter.

In my place.

The haunting gravity of Cristiano's words pushed her forward, fueling every step. He was counting on her to save his family, and she refused to fail him. Her love for the bastard wouldn't allow it. Through hell or high water, she intended to track down Sienna and Angelina. She'd protect his sister and niece fiercely as though these strangers were her blood—safeguarding them for him—until they could be reunited.

But when might that fateful moment come?

A tide of foreboding rose in her. Their reunion could take hours. Or days. Or weeks.

What if Mesrine found a way to turn the tables back in his favor?

Or would Cristiano be able to keep Mesrine in the palm of his hand?

Rosa tried not to let the precarious situation she'd left Cristiano in consume her thoughts.

You better survive, mon beau.

Her heart gave a hard, strained thud.

At least, she comforted herself, the hole in his shoulder was no longer bleeding.

But words could only do so much. Concern for him didn't cease to writhe with a tide of foreboding. Mesrine might be subdued, but the fucker was still breathing, and Cristiano was hurt. Tables might turn, and hell could be unleashed in the blink of an eye. Each pulse pounded with trepidation even while Rosa assured herself again and again—Cristiano wouldn't allow Mesrine to kill him. He was too ruthless to let the fucker win. Cristiano would find a way to snap Mesrine's spine first if his life was on the line. He'd do anything to see Sienna and Angelina again.

Right?

Right.

Desperation fueled her determination. Rosa ran and ran until she reached the intersection, flagging down a taxi at the first opportunity.

Winded and breathless, Rosa struggled to relay her destination as she slid into the backseat, "Via Mariano Stabile. 241."

In broken English, the driver asked, "You want the Palazzo Manzoni?"

She prayed that Mesrine hadn't lied to them. "Oui."

The driver frowned. "I just came from there. There is a bad accident near the hotel. Traffic may delay by twenty minutes. Probably more."

"Putain," Rosa cursed under her breath.

"I could drop you off at Via Dante and Via Gaetano Diata," he offered. "Walking the rest of the way may be faster."

"How long is the walk?"

"Five minutes."

"That is fine. Just hurry. Please," Rosa begged the driver. "I will pay you double the fare."

"I will do my best, signorina," he promised.

The driver's foot hit the gas, and they sped away with a lurch. As the Vitales' neighborhood disappeared from view, fear and heartache were gradually replaced by a sense of amazement. She was finally on her way to rescue Sienna and Angelina. Nothing about today had gone according to plan. Yet, everything was working out, somehow. Against the odds, she'd escaped Mesrine again with life and limbs attached, and mon beau had proven himself worthy.

Of her trust.

Of her heart.

Of her everything.

Love filled the void that had tormented her soul for years. Back at the villa, they'd been a truly formidable force. Hope dared to rise despite the horrors she endured just now and the buckets of blood that had been spilled at the wedding. A faint smile tugged at Rosa's mouth. She imagined the chaos they'd raise together once this nightmarish ordeal was over. Rosa couldn't wait to set the world on fire with the beautiful bastard. At last, she was ready to give herself to Cristiano, entirely, fully, completely, and claim him as her man without reservation.

Feeling much more at peace, she glanced out the window. Shops and villas flew by. They were about fifteen minutes away from the hotel. While counting down the minutes, Rosa pulled out her phone to check for updates. Amber eyes scanned the screen.

Sure enough, there was a message waiting for her from Mrs. Vitale: Thank you for apprehending Mesrine and his men for us.

Rosa wrote back: De rien, cherie!

The older woman's reply came swiftly: I'll be sending you the cleaning bill, though. Bloodstains tend to be a bitch to remove.

Rosa scowled irritably. It wasn't her fault that men made messes when you struck them with bullets and blades. But Rosa supposed she was somewhat obligated to foot the bill after everything Mrs. Vitale had done for her.

A message from Harry was next: I apologize for my oversight today. It won't happen again.

Rosa wrinkled her nose with distaste. An apology meant nothing unless it was accompanied by a solution or a sacrifice. Harry was offering neither despite his epic fuck up today. Suspicions rooted even deeper. Her most trusted acquaintance no longer felt trustworthy at all.

She decided to test him, typing: Did you know that Mesrine tried to kill all of his adversaries this afternoon?

Harry responded with a speck of intel: My sources might've mentioned something about the ricin.

Rosa didn't let him off the hook, pushing for more: I want a list of Mesrine's targets.

He played coy: It'll cost you.

She snorted and replied: Name your price, and tell me what you know.

Within minutes, Harry sent her a list of names. Names that had been on Armand's phone. Names that Cristiano had mentioned to her. Harry's list was fairly comprehensive. But it wasn't complete. He'd included everyone except one key player.

Leonardo Vosa.

Why did Harry leave him out on purpose?

A grimace tightened her mouth. With his graying, almost-white head of hair and full beard, Harry reminded her of Santa Claus far more than a criminal mastermind. Until now, Rosa had believed the old fox to be an antisocial hermit with no grand ambitions left in him. His best years were behind him, and he wanted nothing more than to live out the rest of his days in peace. Rosa assumed the only reason he still picked up the phone whenever she called was to help pay for his retirement with an odd job here and there. This belief was the only reason she continued to do business with him.

Her mind raced back to the intel he'd supplied over the years. His sources were frighteningly thorough and accurate. Yet, Rosa realized upon reflection, the trail of cookie crumbs he left often led her to succeed on assignments that, curiously enough, always benefitted the same individual.

Leonardo Vosa.

Gaspare De León's death had left a gaping hole in the multimillion-dollar empire his family established through underground arms trade. Jean-Luc Favreau's untimely end had destabilized one of the top contenders in line to seize the De León empire. Furthermore, Harry had failed to warn her about Cristiano's plans to hand her over to Mesrine when a man of his talents should've been able to ferret out the deep, dark truth. He chose to withhold information from her, revealing worthless details about Cristiano Massera's background as a fucking school teacher instead of pointing out his secret blood ties to the De Leóns. He'd played her like a puppet under the guise of an impartial unbiased agent.

Clearly, Rosa realized darkly, she'd been so fucking wrong about Harry.

The old fox wasn't as ambitionless at all. She was quite certain of his agenda now. Harry had, again, sent her useless intel about the wedding, enabling Mesrine to take out Cristiano and everyone else who stood in the way of claiming the De Leóns' kingless kingdom.

As anger simmered beneath her composed expression, worry spiked as well. Rosa glanced down at her phone again, frowning deeply. Mrs. Vitale had replied to her messages. Harry, too. But there was nothing from Cristiano.

Why hadn't he texted her?

She messaged him again: On my way to save some bitches. Keep yourself safe. Remember. If you die on me, I will kill you again.

Feeling somewhat silly, Rosa fought disappointment when he didn't reply right away. Rosa tried not to make a mountain out of a molehill. She'd been with him less than half an hour ago. Most likely, he was too preoccupied with Mesrine's nonsense to send her an update. Rosa knew it was imperative to let him focus on his task so that she, too, could succeed at hers.

Fini les tergiversations.

No more dilly-dallying.

Rosa wrenched her thoughts back to Harry. The truth needed to be verified to catch his lies. She chose to contact Mrs. Vitale again: Leonardo Vosa was also one of Mesrine's targets. Did Mesrine's men get to Vosa?

A response came within the minute: Vosa was fine last time I checked, but he's no longer at the wedding.

Rosa frowned and asked: Where did he go?

Seconds later, Mrs. Vitale's answer raised even more questions: Not sure. But Vosa left shortly after the ceremony began. He claimed there was an emergency.

What about mon beau?

Was the bastard's shoulder bleeding again?

Unable to resist, Rosa then inquired: Have you seen Cristiano?

Mrs. Vitale informed her: Unfortunately, no. I've been too busy putting out fires. I'll let you know if I run into him, though.

Trying to quell her rising anxiety, she thanked the green-eyed surgeon: Merci.

The taxi wove in and out of traffic. Rosa stared out the backseat window with a riveted gaze, tracking her driver's every turn like a hawk. She was almost there.

Via Mariano Stabile.

241.

She reached for the door handle, gripping it tight. Rosa refused to waste a single second. She paid her fare. Double as promised. Then, her door swung open before the taxi came to a full stop.

Rosa's stilettos hit the pavement at the corner of Via Dante and Via Gaetano Diata. Her destination was still five minutes away on foot. With anxious strides, she cut through the crowd of pedestrians on the street. Rosa passed by the Politeama Theatre with its large triumphal arch framing the entrance. She didn't stop to look. If anything, her steps quickened with each passing second.

Approximately five minutes later, Rosa entered the lobby of Pallazzo Manzoni. She pulled out the hotel key card. Room 432 was scrawled on the backside. She took the elevator up to the fourth floor and navigated a maze of winding hallways. Rosa passed by a row of doors.

426.

428.

430.

Then, she saw it.

432.

Taking in a deep breath, she reached for her gun and swiped the key card against the card reader on the door. The red light blinked three times before turning green. A light, mechanical click turned the lock.

With her Beretta locked and loaded, Rosa crept into the room as though she had every right to trespass. Staying close to the wall, she listened for voices and movement. The room remained silent. It sounded empty. Rosa scanned her surroundings. Two queen beds. A small desk. An armchair. Nothing looked particularly amiss. But there were no signs of Angelina or Sienna.

Putain.

Had Mesrine lied to them?

A soft, child-like whimper floated from the closet. Rosa grew tense as she headed toward the cries.

Her hand pressed against the closet door. It swung open to reveal a frail-looking child crouched in the corner. Rosa stifled a gasp. The girl's thin arms hugged her bony knees, and her little face was soaked in tears. Everything about the child felt so achingly familiar. The olive skin. The wavy hair. The amber eyes.

Nijah.

A fierce need to protect this small, precious life overwhelmed her being. Rosa's heart soared with a grieving parent's desperation. Then, it splintered once more.

Non.

Not Nijah.

The instinct to guard this child from harm didn't wane, though. If anything, it grew stronger. Her heart swelled with a mother's love. Unbreakable, unconditional, unending.

Why the hell was she alone?

Where was Sienna?

The child wailed when she saw Rosa's gun. "Are you here to kill me?"

"I am not going to hurt you." Rosa assured her while quickly stowing her weapon away. "See?"

The child glared back as though she didn't believe her. "Papa says that everyone lies. Are you lying to me?"

"Non, I am here to help you."

Suspicion continued to cloud the child's features. "I do not want your help. You are a stranger. Go away. I am probably safer without you."

This cheeky brat!

At the same time, however, it also broke Rosa's heart to see glimpses of herself in this child. Especially when the child was so young. Rosa recognized her sharp edges and wariness. The world hadn't been kind to girls like them. It turned their minds and hearts hard, brittle, and rightfully distrustful of everything and everyone who might bring them harm.

Rosa tried to break through her defenses, "I am a friend of your maman. She sent me here to save you from the bad man. So we must tell each other the truth. Or else I cannot do my job properly."

The child snorted with indignation.

Keeping perfectly still so as not to upset her anymore, Rosa insisted softly, "Please believe me, mon ange."

My angel.

The child's eyes grew wide. Then, she began to tear up again. A faint whimper escaped her.

Rosa struggled not to panic. "Oh, non, non, non! Why are you crying again?"

Unable to maintain her composure, the child's lower lip trembled as she wailed, "Maman always calls me mon ange. I miss her."

"Where is your maman?"

She sniffled. "The bad man took her away!"

"But he left you behind?"

"He said I'd slow them down."

"What is your name?

The child sniffled again. "Nijah."

Oh.

But to hear her daughter's name uttered by a daughter who wasn't hers. It was fucking her up all over again.

Ignoring the yearning in her chest, Rosa tutted gently, "Non. I want your real name. The one your maman gave you."

The child whispered, "The bad man says I am not allowed to use that name anymore."

"Give me the truth," Rosa reminded her, "s'il vous plaît."

The child averted her gaze as though trying to decide whether or not to trust her.

"Do you know his name?"

The child glanced back at Rosa. "I think Maman called him... Vosa."

The fuck?

Rosa's mind reeled slightly.

Leonardo Vosa had come here?

Was he conspiring with Mesrine?

Or was Mesrine working for him?

Either way, this was terrible news for Cristiano. Vosa was likely to fuck him over if he now possessed Sienna as a bargaining chip.

Rosa demanded, "What did the bad man look like?"

"Like..."

She prompted, "Like who?"

Angelina hesitated. "Père... Noël."

Father Christmas.

"Why do you think he looks like Père Noël?"

"Because of his hair and beard. It is almost all white."

"Are you sure his name was Vosa?"

"Oui," Angelina confirmed with a nod. "But he had a funny way of talking. He did not sound like Papa at all."

A stroke of intuition struck Rosa. She chased after her hunch, asking, "Did Vosa sound like Harry Potter when he spoke English?"

Angelina frowned. "Who is Harry Potter?"

Putain.

The child didn't look much older than three or four. Rosa tried to find a better frame of reference, "Sorry, I meant—did he sound like Peppa Pig when he spoke?"

The child's face lit up with understanding. "Very much so."

Amber eyes sharpened with a new revelation. So, despite the Italian-ness of his name, Vosa didn't speak English with an Italian accent. He spoke like a fucking Brit.

Comme c'est curieux.

How curious.

Could it be?

Perhaps, Harrison Murray was more than just Harry.

Perhaps, like her, the old fuck also went by other names.

Names—like Leonardo Vosa.

She held out her hand to the child. "Come, Angelina, I will take you somewhere safe. Then, I will go after Père Noël and save your maman, too."

Angelina glanced at her open palm with trepidation. "But the bad man is dangerous. He has a gun. What if he kills you?"

Rosa smiled. "Do not worry, mon ange. I have a gun, too. And I never miss."

"Will you kill him for me? And maman?"

"Oui."

Seemingly satisfied at last, Angelina placed her smaller hand in Rosa's hand. "Can you kill my papa, too?"

"Who is your papa?"

"Julien Mesrine," Angelina muttered as she wrinkled her nose in disgust. "But he is not really my papa. He just forces me to call him Papa. I hate him. I hate him so much."

"I will kill him for you as well."

Angelina looked at her with a somber expression. "You promise?"

Intently, Rosa held her gaze. "I swear on my life."

Then, she gave the girl a gentle tug. Hand in hand, Angelina let her lead them out the door. One taller. One smaller. Both victims of the same monster. Broken by his brutality. Together, their jagged pieces fit well. Not quite like mother and daughter. But a bond was forged between them, nonetheless.

There was something empowering about the thought of exacting justice for Angelina. It healed some of the sorrow that Nijah's passing had left in her. Rosa couldn't wait to see the look on Cristiano's face once they were all reunited and the bad, bad men were all dead. Her pulse skipped with anticipation. Rosa tried to ignore the fact that Cristiano had yet to reply to her message.

Garde-toi en vie, mon beau, je déposerai bientôt des cadavres à vos pieds.

Keep yourself alive, my beautiful one, and I will soon lay corpses at your feet.

***

Hehe, I was so tempted to leave you guys on another cliffhanger, but I decided to remove the last scene and save it for the next chapter. Muahaha. 

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