Rosa

Chapter 39

As the jet soared toward Italy, Rosa's steely attitude from moments ago melted away. Sympathy swelled in her chest. It was laced with dread, though, clenching her very being as she processed the anguish in Cristiano's confession. The bastard was finally opening up to her. She felt torn between wanting to learn the truth of his past while protecting him from his demons.

Pain twisted his handsome face as he pressed onward, "There were three of them..."

Cristiano gave a pause. Rosa waited some more.

His dark eyes shut. She imagined he might be reliving the past in his mind's eye. When Cristiano's eyelids finally lifted open, memories tumbled from his mouth in a strained manner, "I remember seeing a tall man. His height almost reached the ceiling. I remember his partner had a tattoo across his knuckles. It was a black snake. I remember the third fucker was short. Thin. I will never forget any of their faces."

"Oh, mon beau..." Her amber eyes shone with compassion. Softly, she dared to ask, "What did those fuckers do to your family?"

His lips parted to reply, but words seemed to be lost on him. Nostrils flaring, Cristiano breathed in deeply several times as though to calm himself, releasing each subsequent breath in long, shaky exhales. Rosa had never seen him look so vulnerable, so defeated. She wanted to weep for him. Instinct drove her to gravitate toward him. Unable to stop herself, Rosa reached over to grasp his hand in a firm yet gentle hold. She hoped her touch might comfort him in the same way he had consoled her during her breakdown over Mesrine and Nijah.

Bitterly, Rosa lamented, sorrow seemed to follow the pair of them wherever they went. Yet, sorrow also seemed to unite them. Like two nomads wandering through a vast, unforgiving desert. Seeking respite from their past. Seeking revenge from those who had wronged them.

Donning a grateful expression, he gave her palm a light squeeze. Cristiano held onto her, and she didn't let go, as he found his voice again.

He answered, seemingly lost in trance, "At one point, my father lunged for one of their guns, the short fucker didn't hesitate to pull the trigger. I believe he was carrying a Heckler & Koch pistol. An HK45. It was a clean shot. Right through the temple."

There was a chilling, clinical detachment in his tone. He appeared to be fixated on describing the small, physical details. Like the make and model of the firearm. The location of the bullet entry. Each word felt devoid of emotion. Cristiano spoke of the event like an observant bystander reporting on a crime scene rather than a son who had watched his father die right before his eyes. For a moment, Rosa's eyelids snapped shut. Already, the scene Cristiano relayed to her felt far too gruesome for any ten-year-old boy to witness. To think, this was, very likely, only the tip of the iceberg, a mere glimpse into the depths of his horrific memories.

The pace of his speech quickened. His tone became sharper. "Once my father was out of the way, the men went after my mother and Sienna. I can still hear the desperation in my mother's cries. The way she begged them to take her. Only her. And to leave my sister alone. Those sons of bitches, of course, did not listen."

"Fuck," Rosa cursed under her breath.

Anger coursed through her body. Fury splintered into heartbreak. Rosa could already sense what Cristiano was about to reveal to her. Those men had clearly violated his mother and sister on some level. Rosa, herself, had been a victim of such monsters and the atrocities they committed against women. On a bone-deep level, she could relate to the agony that Cristiano's mother and sister must have felt while they were at the mercy of their assailants. Rosa could understand their terror. She understood them very well. As a whore entrapped by Mesrine for years. As a mother helpless to save her own infant daughter.