With a pleasant smile and composed attitude, Rosa answered the door to receive the wheelchair from the hotel staff.

Then, she went on to incite another brawl with Mr. Massera.

This particular fight, however, stayed purely verbal and didn't spiral into a physical altercation like their last one. Over the next ten minutes, they spat at one another like two feuding children on a schoolyard playground.

Rosa insisted in sullen tones, "I want to carry my Beretta."

Mr. Massera set his jaw and argued, "Only if I get to carry mine, Miss Lenoir."

She arched an eyebrow. "How do I know you will not turn on me?"

He arched one back at her. "I could say the same for you."

"What if we need to defend ourselves later?"

"Who is planning to attack us at this hour?"

"You said it yourself! Everyone has enemies in our line of work, non?"

"Then," Mr. Massera quipped with mocking eyes, "we find another way to deal with them. Unless, of course, you are useless without your firearm?"

Her lovely face pinched with irritation.

Rosa sashayed up to him with determined steps, brushing her useless breasts against his chest as she used her useless hand to caress his cheek.

She bit back a smirk when his breath hitched at her touch.

She then rose on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, intimately, sweetly, like a paramour, even though her words were full of scorn, "Fine. We will do things your way, mon beau. If we get shot, we get shot. I am not afraid of death. But, I wonder, how you feel about death?"

As Mr. Massera gazed down at Rosa, his dark eyes grew darker still. To her surprise, he didn't retaliate in anger or spite. Nor did he answer her right away. Instead, he slowly lifted his hand to her face, brushing his thumb lightly across the plumpness of her lower lip.

The featherlight grazing of his thumb on her lip sent a shiver of pleasure through Rosa.

Heat simmered around them, bathing the moment in sensuality.

When Mr. Massera finally broke the tension between them, his voice pulled at Rosa in low, mesmerizing tones, "Unlike you, Miss Lenoir, I am not ready to die yet. I still have a few more scores to... settle... before I go, but—"

Rosa's eyes were now riveted on him. She couldn't seem to help herself. The man was intriguing as fuck, and he kept drawing her to him like a foolish moth to a deadly flame.

Rosa prompted softly, "What?"

His hand fell from her face.

"I think," he mused, "it would be nice to be fearless. There is freedom in fearlessness. I envy you."

"Do not envy me," she sighed out an exaggerated breath, "my life has actually been quite... sad. I am a depressed bitch at heart. That is probably why I do not mind dying."

This drew a strained chuckle from him. "At any rate, do not get us killed tonight. I want to live."

He wanted to live?

She pursed her lips pensively.

But why, though?

As someone who had next to nothing to live for, Rosa wondered what it was that kept Mr. Massera so attached to his life?

Curiosity pushed her to ask, "What sort of scores are you trying to settle? Does someone owe you a lot of money or something?"

Mr. Massera's laughter faded completely then.

His expression turned hard and cold when he answered, "Something like that."

Rosa watched him with growing interest.

It seemed, she surmised, that Mr. Massera had a vendetta of sorts against those who had wronged him?

But Rosa decided not to press him further on the matter. Maybe later. Not now, though.

Eventually, Rosa and Mr. Massera arrived at a reluctant agreement to leave both of their guns behind in her suite. This was the only way, Rosa reasoned, that they could work together to get rid of Hugo's body on equal footing since she didn't trust him with a weapon, and he didn't trust her with one, either, and they really couldn't waste any more time arguing over this shit. Hugo was rotting away in her bathtub with each passing minute.

Once this conflict was resolved between them, Rosa and Mr. Massera got to work.

Over the next few hours, they conspired and collaborated together in a mad dash of preparations to transport Hugo to his final resting place. They scrambled to secure all of the necessary tools and equipment—hoodie, sunglasses, plastic trash bags, rope, and a pillow case—before wheeling Hugo through the hotel and loading him into the rental car. From there, they drove to a remote beach near the outskirts of Lisbon.

Around 4:00 am, Rosa and Mr. Massera were finally able to take their rented speedboat out to sea, far away from the shoreline, far away from the prying eyes of locals and tourists, to dispose of Hugo Granger. Under a shroud of darkness with only the stars above to witness their crime, Rosa and Mr. Massera tied a counterweight—a pillowcase full of large rocks they had gathered earlier from the side of the road—to the dead man's legs before tossing him overboard.

As their boat rocked over the shadowy waves, Rosa peered over the edge, watching in silence as Hugo's corpse sank into the ocean like a disappearing phantom.

Another day, another dead body.

Relief bloomed in her. Their job was done. Then, resentment bloomed as well. Rosa glanced over to the living man in the boat beside her, frowning slightly at him. At the time, Mr. Massera had blindsighted her with his sudden appearance and the news of Hugo's death. She had been thrown into the chaos with little time to process her options. Now that the crisis had been averted, Rosa couldn't help blaming Mr. Massera for bringing her into this mess.

If only the hotel suite hadn't been tied to her name, if only Mr. Massera hadn't left Hugo's corpse in her bathtub, Rosa would've been more than willing to find a way to ditch Mr. Massera to complete this unsavory task on his own.

"We are both going to hell," she muttered drolly.

Mr. Massera's head tilted towards her. "What?"

Rosa grimaced and shook her head. "Nothing."

Soon, the sun began to rise over the horizon of the Atlantic, casting pale gold light across the indigo-black waters. It would have been a very romantic setting—two people, together, on a boat, watching the sun rise—if not for the lifeless third wheel they had brought with them.

"Ready to head back?" he asked.

She nodded. "Might as well."

Mr. Massera stared at her for a moment longer.

"What?" Rosa grumbled, eyeing him cautiously.

He remarked, "We make a good team."

Her amber eyes widened by a fraction when she found herself agreeing with him.

The man was actually... right.

For two strangers who had never worked together before, everything had gone remarkably smoothly for them tonight.

Yet, Rosa hesitated before admitting, "I guess we do."

They had literally gotten away with murder and dumping the body in the Atlantic. Rosa should've felt more at ease now that this most pressing problem had been sorted out, but her mind couldn't seem to rest. The enigma that was Mr. Massera kept messing with her. Rosa hadn't trusted the bastard before learning that he shot a man in her hotel suite, and she certainly didn't know how to feel about him after everything they had gone through tonight. His true motives remained a mystery to her.

Darkly, Rosa wondered if—at some point—Mr. Massera planned to kill her like he had killed Hugo.

Question after question after question seethed inside her like a brewing storm as Mr. Massera took control of the steering wheel and started navigating them back to shore. Their boat shot across the waves. The engine hummed loudly in Rosa's ear. The air smelled of the sea and the gasoline from their boat. The salty spray felt cool on her face.

Morning light gradually illuminated the sky, a new day had dawned, but Rosa didn't feel renewed or refreshed. She was drained from the inside out.

What a night.

What a fucking night.

Rosa didn't want to think anymore. Maybe it was her exhaustion talking, but she no longer cared whether or not Mr. Massera would kill her at this point.

So, she forced her brain to stop.

To just be.

To listen to the engine's hum.

To smell the sea.

To feel the spray.

As they sped back to shore, lush hills, jagged cliffs, pastel-colored buildings with red-topped terracotta roofs came into view, rising over the flat, sandy Lisbon beach to draw them inland. Mr. Massera returned their boat to the dock. Rosa went to wait for him in their rental car. On the drive to the hotel, he left her alone for the most part. They only spoke when she was helping him navigate through the unfamiliar roads and highways of Lisbon. During the quiet lulls that stretched between them, Rosa observed that he seemed to be lost in his thoughts as well.

When they returned to the hotel, Rosa didn't spare Mr. Massera a backwards glance as she climbed out of the car. With brisk steps, she headed straight for her suite. Her mind and body were ready to shut down. All she wanted to do was pass out in bed for the next twelve hours. She assumed her companion needed some rest as well.

Without slowing her stride, Rosa called to him over her shoulder, "Go back to wherever you are staying. I need to sleep. I will touch base with you after I wake up."

"But I left something in your room," he reminded her. "I would like to have it back."

Oh, that was right.

His Beretta.

Rosa's steps faltered and halted to a standstill.

With a suppressed, inward groan, she turned back to face him. Annoyance dripped from her voice when she snapped, "Can't it wait?"

He asserted, "No, I need it back. Now."

Rosa grumbled through a sleepy yawn, "Well, that is too bad because you are not welcome in my room."

His mouth quirked. "You still do not trust me after a night like tonight?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course not. I still do not know anything about you even after 'a night like tonight.'"

Mr. Massera snorted derisively. "Is this the thanks I get for saving your life?"

Rosa rolled her eyes again. Doubt began to creep through her.

Did this bastard really save her life?

Who knew if he was telling the truth about Hugo?

Mockingly, Rosa mimicked his tone, "Is this the thanks I get for helping you clean up your mess?"

He shot back, "In case you forgot, I can enter a room with or without an invite. Let me get what I need, now, and I will get out of your hair—or else I will come back later when you are asleep and helpless."

She glared at him.

He glared back at her.

Huffing and scoffing, Rosa sighed in exasperation, "Ugh, fine! You are so stubborn. And rude. Come get your precious, little precious, then, so you can get the fuck out of my hair."

"Grazie. I knew you were a reasonable woman."

"Fuck you."

"Only if you beg me."

"Shut up."

With a maddening smirk, Mr. Massera followed Rosa back to her suite as she continued to curse at him under her breath.