**Author's Note**

Hi All,

I just wanted to say thank you for your readership! I especially want to thank those of you who have left a comment or two over the past several chapters, it warms my heart. :) A lot of you are guests, so I can't respond to you, but know your comments are deeply appreciated.

As far as the future for this fic, I will be following canon as closely as possible, with a few artistic liberties thrown in to suit my theory as to who Raymond Reddington is. As of the season 7 finale, I have the endgame decided for this story, and approximately 115 named chapters in the wings. I hope to keep you all along for the ride!

Stay safe, stay healthy, and Happy Reading.

- The Author


The Armel Estate - Céret, France - December 23rd, 1999

"Bienvenue, Bienvenue!"

Raymond, Dembe and Rosalie were quickly ushered across the home's stone threshold and into the warm, inviting foyer.

The two men halted to take in their surroundings, the grandeur of what was more a castle than a château.

Red shouldn't have been surprised.

As the boss of the Corsican mafia, Florian Armel held the crown to one of the most powerful and lucrative criminal enterprises in all of Europe. The historic home was known as the Château d'Aubiry, an illustrious monument to the bourgeoisie of the Belle Époque period in French history.

The group parted and Red was left face to face with the lady of the château. A petite frenchwoman with a radiant smile stepped forward, the very definition of grace and sophistication as she welcomed the newcomers to her domain.

Raymond saw so much of Rosalie Øllegaard in Marietta Armel, the resemblance was uncanny.

Like her adopted daughter, Madame Armel exuded an air of hospitality and warmth which permeated the ions in the air around her. She had that same glint of mischief and cleverness lingering behind the pale, alluring amber of her eyes.

Her attire was a testament to the beauty of French minimalism, a pair of perfectly tailored dark wool trousers and a cream merino sweater framing her svelte figure. Her platinum blonde locks shone like silk, the wavy tendrils framing her face in a comely French bob.

Marietta was elegant, vivacious…In a word, lovely.

Red flashed her a roguish smile and took her hand, brushing his lips gently to its soft surface while Rosalie stepped in to make the appropriate introductions.

She rested her hand significantly on Red's shoulder. "Maman, c'est ma moitié, Raymond Reddington. Raymond, this is Marietta Armel."

Marietta beamed her delight at the young fugitive, gathering him in her arms as though he were her own son. "We are thrilled to have you with us for the holidays. Joyeaux Noël, Raymond dear."

Red was touched by the warm welcome, cradled as he was in a mother's embrace. "Merry Christmas, my dear Madame Armel. It's a pleasure to be invited into your home." He kissed the dimples of her cheeks in turn before emphatically declaring, "I've been dying to meet you."

Marietta let out an elated laugh and pinched his cheek, her throaty voice coming in a conspiratorial whisper. "Please, call me Marietta. We are going to have a grand old time, you and I."

Rosalie tittered and tugged her companion away from his newfound partner in crime, revealing Dembe to her keen gaze.

"Et vous?" Marietta turned to her left and flung her arms wide once more, "You must be Dembe."

The younger man grinned sheepishly, stooping to embrace Marietta and thank her for her hospitality.

"Dembe's a dear, dear friend of ours," Rosalie murmured fondly, turning to wrap Florian in a tight embrace.

"Bonjour, mon trésor." He whispered, squeezing her tightly and pressing his lips to her temple.

His hand extended past Rosalie to Raymond, who took it and shook. "Florian."

The old mobster released his ward, his bear-sized hand still clasped firmly in Reddington's as he stepped toe to toe with him. Icy blue eyes seemed to pierce the very fabric of Red's soul, the kind of look which would crumple a lesser man.

Raymond held his gaze, unflinching.

A stifling silence followed for the space of a heartbeat, the whole of the group waiting with baited breath before a genial smile lifted Florian's features.

"It's good to see you, my boy."


The Armels lead their guests through the château's bustling interior and toward the staircase leading to the upper floors.

Waiters, maids, housemen and the like scurried every which way, preparing the home's final touches for the affair that evening. A caterer came trotting up to Marietta just as a florist came up alongside Rosalie, both individuals firing off questions in rapid French.

Neither woman missed a step in their response, considering the request for a beat before responding in a smooth, measured lilt.

Red noticed the florist seemed relieved with Rosalie's response, going as far as to hug her and kiss her cheek before hurrying off once more.

Golden spindles of sunlight poured over them as they passed through the entrance hall, its intricate atrium soaring four stories above their heads to a magnificent glass dome.

The floors above were supported by blood red pillars, each resting on a pedestal of white marble which created a barrier of balconettes overlooking the open floor below. The effect was simply breathtaking, bathing the whole of the home in glimmers of refracted light.

Rosalie smiled to herself as they finally reached the foot of the banister at the other end of the hall.

This was one of her most favorite things about the château.

Each wall following the sprawling staircase leading upstairs was painted with a magnificent fresco. The artwork continued throughout every floor; nude maidens bathing in a pool, frolicking through a garden in bloom, draped sensually in fine silks and gossamer, Rosalie knew each one by heart.

Raymond stared at the pieces overlooking the first set of steps for a long moment, his hand resting on the elaborate iron and gold handrail. "Magnificent. Absolutely magnificent."

Rosalie grinned and slipped her arm into his, "I promise you'll get a tour of each and every one before we leave."

The assurance brought a smile to his lips, his hand lifting to rest atop hers.

They followed the staircase up to the third floor, where the home's multitude of bedrooms were.

Florian and Marietta's suite was directly off the stairs, whereupon the two took their leave, allowing Rosalie to get Raymond and Dembe settled while they continued preparations for that evening.

The trio continued on, around the floor's open center to the opposite wing of the house.

The men's heads swiveled back and forth, taking in the unique architectural features and priceless artwork. Heavy doors broke up the ornate moulding here and there, framed by a fresco on each side, leading to rooms as of yet unseen.

They stopped at the last entry on their right, whose doors Rosalie unlatched to reveal an exquisite guest suite. The lavish space was decorated in a traditional Asian style, combining with aspects of Vietnamese design to create an inviting, exotic retreat. The deep red walls held antique calligraphy scrolls, and each hand painted with intricate depictions of landscapes, wildlife, mountains, and people. Ornately carved panels bordered the dark mahogany bed, whose plush mattress could have easily fit three men of Dembe's stature. The heavy curtains draping the bed and the arched windows were a deep peacock blue, giving the entire room a sumptuous allure.

The stone halls outside echoed with loud, booming barks, and Raymond and Dembe had to do a double-take as what appeared to be two small bears came bounding around the corner.

The massive white blurs hurtled up to the woman between them, nearly knocking her flat with their exuberance.

Rosalie squealed before kneeling to hug the giant creatures, practically disappearing into their heavy white fluff.

Red realized what at first glance looked like baby polar bears were in fact two very large dogs. The animals' size and stunning white coats convinced him they were native to the region.

Château d'Aubiry was famously perched in the foothills of the Pyrenees mountains, which delineated the border between France and Spain. Over hundreds of years, a breed known as the Great Pyrenees emerged from the area as a shepherd for sheep and protector of local farms. It was only natural that the Armels, being stewards of one of the region's most historic homes, would choose to keep a few native pets.

The larger of the two dogs trotted up to him, sniffing cautiously at his hand before extending its head, requesting a pat.

Raymond was happy to oblige, "Now who might you be?"

Rosalie was busy cooing in a baby voice to the smaller Pyrenees, cuddling the happy pup to her in a joyous embrace. She stopped at the looks of sheer amusement being directed her way. "What?"

Dembe sniggered, bending at the knees to extend a gentle hand toward the dog. "What are their names?"

"The big fellow by Raymond is Pascal, and this lovely little lady is Odette." Rosalie stood, watching fondly as Pascal took it in turns to be petted by both men while Odette sat obediently at her feet.

"They're yours," Red gathered, seeing Odette poised protectively beside Rosalie, the dog's regal head nearly bumping the woman's hip.

Rosalie nodded, "They act as companions and guard dogs while I am in Céret or Corsica. I used to bring them with me until I essentially moved to South America…" A brief silence fell, and she gave Dembe's arm a squeeze, "We'll leave you to relax for a bit, hmm? The party starts at seven."

He nodded and began to unpack his things, which had been brought ahead of them by the house's staff.


Raymond and Rosalie took their leave, wandering out of the room and toward the end of the hall. Pascal and Odette flanked them on either side, following them along the familiar path to Rosalie's room.

When they rounded the corner, Red's hands clapped together in recognition, an appreciative sigh leaping from his lungs. "I've seen this place before. L'eau à la bouche, that fluffy little ode to 1960's nouvelle vague. Françoise Brion, Alexandra Stewart, and Bernadette Lafont…My god, a ménage à trois if there ever was one. That film had everything, a deceased grandmother with a colossal fortune, her granddaughter falling for the lawyer upon the reading of the will; the whole thing was delightfully absurd, and I hadn't realized it was filmed in this very home."

Rosalie nodded, "That it was, though it was long before Florian bought the place. I'm surprised you've seen the film."

Red's mouth broke into a mischievous grin, "I always did enjoy the trope about the butler and the saucy French maid. I don't suppose you have a feather duster lingering about anywhere, do you?"

Rosalie couldn't help but laugh, shaking her head for his antics. "You're incorrigible."

A pair of ornate double doors occupied the center of the wall marking the end of the home's southernmost wing, a magnificent fresco bordering either side of the entrance.

One was of a fair-haired maiden hidden in the depths of a forest, the tendrils of a weeping willow winding wildly around her arms and torso while she clutched a young babe protectively to her bosom. The other looked to be a wood nymph wandering through a green meadow flush with flowers in bloom, a crown of wild roses adorning her wild curls.

Rosalie flung the double doors wide and Raymond had to admit, the space was not at all what he expected.

There was a certain color palate he associated with his companion, one which instinctively came to mind whenever he thought of her. It was evident in everything she wore: deep forest greens, soft creams, stormy grays, oceanic blues and the occasional warm taupe. Rarely was Rosalie seen in confluences of reds or purples. On the occasion she did don such hues, it was always in the darkest of shades, and the effect was always striking.

The room which expanded before him was indeed striking, and a complete departure from Rosalie's usual style.

The dark wood furniture was all Louis XVI, from the large canopy bed to the cozy seating area with its beautifully embroidered chairs and antique lamps. The walls were a moody indigo with slate undertones, large arching windows occupying the majority of the exterior wall to allow sunlight to pour into the room. The ornate moulding glinted gold in the afternoon sun, drawing Red's eyes upward to the painted ceiling, depicting an epic scene of a trident-wielding Amphitrite standing atop the waves of a raging sea.

She too was nude, save for a clever wisp of pink silk which circled her hips, its tails and her golden hair whipping in the wind behind her. The sky in the scene was nearly black, shocks of white lightning illuminating a few far flung corners of the painting, one strip leading directly to the fingertips of Neptune alongside her. The god of the sea had a formidable look about him, the curls of his white hair and beard swirling wildly in the storm. A swath of blue silk wrapped his shoulder, down his torso and along his hips while two golden cords were clenched in his fist to reign in the pair of white Hippocamps rearing beneath them.

"Remarkable," Red whispered, turning about to further admire the space's impressive interior.

Rosalie stood in the doorway, watching his reaction with keen eyes. "I take it you approve?"

"It really is splendid." He rested his palm on an intricately carved bedpost, the other hand slipping into his trouser pocket. "Your criminal upbringing was certainly different from mine."

His companion gave a non-committal shrug,"Yes, I suppose so."

Raymond laughed aloud, "You suppose, hmm? You were Cinderella-ed away by a mob boss while I was left penniless in a whore house outside of Asunción, and you suppose our experiences were different?"

His teasing brought a bright smile to her features, making them both laugh.

Pascal and Odette were riled by the sound, circling Rosalie in search of attention. "Mon flâneuses," she crooned, patting each of the dogs in turn before gesturing to the door, "Aller à Maman, aller."

Pascal went trotting off but Odette remained, circling once then curling up on the enormous Persian rug beside the room's pale stone fireplace.

"You always were a stubborn one." Rosalie sighed and closed the bedroom door, giving them their privacy.

Red sauntered up to her with a bravado which made her cheeks burn hot. "How much time do we have?"

Her lips pursed thoughtfully while masculine arms encircled her waist. "Well…"

His warm mouth placed gentle kisses to her cheeks, her neck.

"I need to shower and do my hair-"

He worked his way down to her shoulder, nipping and laving his tongue over the soft skin there.

"M-my makeup…"

Raymond's deep timbre purred sensually against her pulse point, "Allow me to join you."

"You need to do your makeup too?"

Rosalie's playful quip coaxed a dark chuckle from his mouth, the sound tickling along her skin. "I was referring to the shower."

She let out a little scoff, placing a hand to his chest and creating some space between them. "You, me, naked in the bath? That's a recipe for a tardy slip, if we even make it to the party."

Red shrugged, "I suppose such antics could be considered problematic." He grinned when a soft titter of amusement reached his ears, followed by a groan of dismay.

"Tonight is important. I can't be running late, even for the sake of my lover." Heated gray eyes gave the man one more appreciative once-over, "After the party? All bets are off."

Raymond hummed his intrigue but allowed her to get ready all the same.

She moved across the room to grab her overnight bag, pulling the necessities from its depths while Red continued to stroll the room, admiring the artwork and various trinkets with curiosity.

"I'm sure I'll find a way to occupy myself while you primp and preen. I won't lie, I'm dying to know what a woman like you keeps in her lingerie chests."


Rosalie was soon showered and draped in a silk dressing gown, taking a seat at her vanity to begin the arduous task of taming her lengthy locks. "Should we discuss how we are going to handle tonight?"

"What do you mean?" Red asked, pulling his tux from its garment bag and hanging it on the valet stand beside the wardrobe.

"Our relationship. We've kept it quiet from the world at large thus far, trusting the truth to only a few close friends and associates. We should come up with a plan for how we will present ourselves. This whole affair is going to involve some of Europe's biggest players; there's no telling who they might inform about our involvement."

Raymond discarded his shirt, hearing a pair of feet tiptoeing behind him. "I'm of the mindset that if someone asks directly, we would answer and request their discretion. If they don't ask, we don't tell. There's no sense in willingly drawing a target on our backs."

Rosalie's arms wrapped around him, her fingertips idly playing through his chest hair while her cheek rested between his shoulder blades. "And if they do ask, what shall I call you?"

Red lifted her hands to his lips, kissing the back of each. "What did you call me when you introduced me to Marietta?"

She breathed a comfortable sigh, pressing her lips to his shoulder before patting his chest fondly. "Ma moitié, it's the French equivalent of 'my other half.'"

A soft smile graced his lips, "I'm confident the right pronoun will come to us if and when we have need of it. Until then, I'm perfectly content with your chosen moniker."


"Raymond Reddington, you open this door right now!"

The man in question chuckled softly to himself from the steamy confines of the ensuite.

It seemed Rosalie had discovered his various misdeeds.

While his counterpart hummed happily in the shower...Red had absconded with every last scrap of lace from her drawers, save for one. He had never been part of a one-man panty raid before, but the prospect had certainly been thrilling. Once he acquired his chosen contraband, the fugitive retreated to the dressing room, locking the trove of delicates in his suitcase and eagerly awaiting her retaliation.

Rosalie burst into the bathroom holding one pair of burgundy silk and lace panties aloft, still clad in her dressing gown.

Red stood at the sink in naught but a towel, serenely patting his cheeks and jawline with aftershave. He had been finishing up when she strode in, ready to chastise him for his thievery.

The sight brought Rosalie's tirade to an immediate, screeching halt.

The echoing silence had Raymond smirking devilishly and all but swaggering across the room. "I believe you came to tell me off?"

His comment was duly ignored. Rosalie closed the last few steps between them and pressed her soft, warm hands to his chest. "More important things have come up." She murmured, leaning forward and placing her lips to his sternum.

The scent of him gave her goosebumps. Rosalie could pick up the scent of his aftershave as her lips trailed up toward his neck. She hummed contentedly, nuzzling just beneath his jaw.

Their previous discussion seemed to have left her body crackling like a live wire. It was only natural that, when confronted with the shirtless object of her arousal, her desire came back ten fold.

When her hands dropped to grasp the towel at his waist, Red snagged her wrists.

"Soon." His tone was pained but appeasing, in truth, he wanted nothing more than for her to continue her intoxicating exploration. However, Raymond was certain they would be late if they started fooling about now, and it would do no good for Florian to come up and catch them en flagrante.

"How about now?" Rosalie countered, guiding him back toward the bedroom.

Red moved reluctantly, trying like hell to come up with a reason why they shouldn't while any noble intentions he'd had were rapidly abandoning ship in favor of what she was offering.

Rosalie's lips claimed his mouth, deepening the contact instantly. Her tongue pleaded for entrance, wanting desperately to tangle with his.

Red acquiesced with a husky moan of approval, sucking the little pink muscle teasingly before allowing it to battle with his. He was unyielding in his exploration, dictating the rhythm and depth of the kiss so his partner was soon shivering against him. His large hands grasped at her, pulling her deeper into his influence before one dipped low beneath the hem of her robe.

Raymond couldn't help a deep, rumbling growl as his palm cupped the valley between her legs. The space was hot and her thighs were wet with a slickness which had nothing to do with her earlier shower.

Disregarding their plans, Red fell back onto the bed, taking his wriggling passenger with him.

He rolled to get her beneath him and steadily worked his way down the length of her body toward her hips, where he nipped sharply, earning a loud yelp of surprise.

"You have to be quiet little dove, regardless of what delectable things I might decide to do with you."

"R-Raymond don't do that." Rosalie whined in a whisper, watching his tongue dart out to trail her sex.

"Why?" He questioned impishly, placing an incentivizing kiss to her center.

Rosalie bit back a moan at the direct contact, completely forgetting she had it in her power to wriggle away. "You know I can't be quiet when you…when you do that."

Red chuckled darkly, slipping his tongue deep inside her and fluttering it just how she liked. "You're just going to have to find a way, little dove."

A whimper of pleasure tore from her lips under his tutelage; she was perilously close to losing the upper hand entirely. A chime could be heard from the clock on the mantel, signaling they had thirty minutes before they had to be downstairs, the realization bringing Rosalie back to the present.

"N-no."

"No? You were the one who started this." Raymond challenged, lifting his head, placing a playful nip to her thighs when they snapped shut. He wanted to continue his tour of the treasure hidden between those silky limbs, and he was determined she should relent. His fingers wriggled into the tight space to fondle her clit further, reveling in the undeniable arousal pooling there.

He grinned when he felt her resistance waver, providing a bit more room for his fingertips to torment.

"I know, but we have to stop," she managed with a bit more conviction, her legs pressing closed once more. She rolled away only to be trapped beneath him.

A growl issued from Red's throat. He didn't like that word, not one bit. He nipped her earlobe in retaliation, making her entire frame tremble with need.

"I want you," he husked in her ear, "I want to taste you, to tongue that sensitive little pearl of yours until I hear my name in that lovely little moan I so enjoy, and I want it now."

"We can't, we're out of time," Rosalie mewed, her desire painfully evident as she snuck from his grasp. She managed to make it off the bed this time, tossing a coy smile his way. "You're just going to have to wait, darling."

Raymond glowered from his place on the mattress, distinctly ruffled and looking awfully surly.

Rosalie scurried into the dressing room, trying to hide the playful grin lighting her features.

Her lover came prowling in seconds later, catching her amusement with a heated, predatory stare.

His large hand expertly cuffed the rounded cheek of her backside, eliciting a delighted squeak from his companion.

He knew she liked that. Raymond knew all the things which could bring her trembling to his bed.

"I don't enjoy being denied, Rosalie. Not when I know you're every bit as aroused as I am. You're positively quivering."

"I would never deny you." Rosalie bent provocatively over the vanity's countertop, resting her chin in an upturned palm and pursing her lips in a mock pout. She purposefully swiveled her hips back and forth in front of him, brushing tauntingly against the bulge beneath his towel. "I'm merely suggesting we wait until after the party, love. Are you equally as opposed to waiting?"

"You know I have precious little patience when it comes to my more carnal desires." His hands reached forward to engulf the dip of her waist, watching with avid interest as her slender figure disappeared into his grasp.

She couldn't restrain a soft mew at the feel of his rough palms warming her. "Good things come to men who wait. Those carnal desires will give us a ready-made excuse to sneak off when we've had enough of the party."

Red tilted his head, "If not assuaged, those desires will ensure I spend the entirety of this shindig making eyes at you."

"What a pity," her tone teased, "Here I thought you enjoyed a good battle of wills."

His demeanor perked up immediately, "That depends, little dove. What do I get if I survive such a test?"

"I'll let you open one of your Christmas presents early."

"Oh?" His eyes lifted to the mirror, catching her watching him intently. "Gifts are always appreciated my dear, but what I'm truly aching for doesn't cost a dime."

A dark spark of mischief lit Rosalie's features. "No? Last time, I recall being forced to pay a whole dollar for Full Frontal Fugitive."

Red burst out laughing, recalling that exquisite day in Hong Kong with overwhelming fondness. "Aha, well, I'm afraid you've got me there."

An unspoken bet was being placed between them. Both parties were looking forward to the chess match which would quietly unfold in the midst of a crowded room, its pieces lining up throughout the night in a mental game only they were privy to.

Red leaned and kissed her shoulder, "I hope you're prepared for an eventful evening. I'll be keeping my eyes on my prize."

Rosalie was undeterred, "Whatever will I do knowing a formidable felon of whom I'm already terribly fond, is mentally cataloguing all the wicked ways he plans on making love to me tonight?"

Raymond heard a giggle when he turned to leave the dressing room, forced to step away from temptation itself.

"Oh, and Raymond?"

His eyes crinkled in amusement before he turned back around.

The same lone pair of panties dangled absentmindedly from Rosalie's finger, "I'm going to need the matching top."

Red gave a weary sigh, grinning for his lot in life as his companion waggled her eyebrows tauntingly in his direction.

The match had already begun.


Twenty minutes later, Rosalie completed the finishing touches to her attire. Applying a quick drop of perfume to her wrists and neck, she stepped out of the dressing room and into the bedroom.

Red stood at the suite's entrance in the sharpest of black tuxedos, wrangling his cufflinks into submission.

The change from his iconic three-piece suit was a welcome departure, the tux's picture perfect cut outlining the height and breadth of his masculine frame to a T.

"Wow."

His head lifted to catch a pair of feminine eyes roaming him in blatant appreciation.

Rosalie's hair was neatly pinned in a twisted chignon at the nape of her neck. A delicate pair of drop earrings dangled from her earlobes, their white diamonds twinkling in the light. The only other jewelry she wore was the ring he had given her that morning. The dark stone stood out against the pale champagne organza of her dress, a small forest in a sea of palest gold.

"I take it you approve?"

Rosalie nodded, reaching to help slip the fiddly cufflink into place. "You're awfully handsome on any given day, but decked in a perfectly tailored tux?" She gave a soft wolf whistle and turned her back to him.

"Zip me?"

Raymond chuckled, taking a moment to appreciate the bare curvature of her spine, trailing a teasing finger down its length. He grasped the zipper's minute tab and pulled it slowly upward, the metal making the faintest ticking sound as each of its teeth clasped securely.

Once finished, Red pressed his lips to Rosalie's exposed shoulder, "I'm going to enjoy taking this off of you later."

"I'll hold you to that, handsome."

"As long as you hold me," he retorted with a smirk, threading her arm through his and leading them both out into the hallway.

Dembe stepped out of his room when they rounded the corner, outfitted in an all-black tuxedo.

Rosalie let out a long whistle, slipping her other arm through his. "Hey there, slick."

Raymond sniggered to himself, "Careful Dembe, I think you may have an admirer."

"He's going to be beating the ladies away with a stick."

Dembe shook his head at Rosalie's goading, refusing to add fuel to the fire.

The two fugitives shared a conspiratorial glance when they finally reached the bottom of the staircase.

"Don't worry sweetheart, we'll keep you safe." Rosalie ushered them both toward the parlour with but one sage warning, "Just avoid Solange...she bites."

A stunning young woman with dark hair and a dazzling smile turned at the sound of her name. She caught sight of Dembe and blushed, shaking her head to indicate the scandalous rumor Rosalie had just instigated had absolutely no merit.

Dembe followed a chortling Raymond with but one scandalized look at Rosalie, who waved impishly back at him.


Red and Dembe entered the room ahead of Rosalie, who lingered back to enter with the Armels, as was her place. The two hardly made it five feet into the room before being pounced upon by a pretty young waitress.

"Bonjour, Messieurs, these are for you." She held out a tray bearing two tall champagne flutes, "The one on the left is for Monsieur Zuma. Mademoiselle Øllegaard intimated your dietary preferences and the staff has been notified accordingly."

Dembe bestowed a rare smile and lifted his glass in thanks, "Merci Beaucoup."

Raymond took his glass with a nod and turned to the crowd. "Rosalie wasn't kidding," he murmured in an undertone, "I'm counting a couple dozen key players in the immediate vicinity."

The extravagant parlour was bursting at the seams with international fugitives, crime lords, and syndicate bosses from every corner of Europe. Were it not for the Armel's reputation and the evening's strict no-weapons policy, a number of these individuals would not be able to coexist in the same room. As it was, Red could easily see the separations of factions in the crowded room.

The Sicilians were staunchly avoiding the Stiddari, who refused to turn their backs on the members of the High Camorra, who in turn could not be bothered with the likes of anyone other than their own kind.

Every European country seemed represented in some way, while high profile locales like Italy, France, Germany, and Britain boasted more than one faction. Members of several warring factions bestowed a curt nod to Reddington as he passed by, having known him or done business with him in the past half dozen or so years.

Dembe took a long sip of his sparkling cider, "We knew the Armels were well connected. They're the top of the food chain in European operations, outstripping everyone except for the Geneva syndicate."

An ominous cracking sound issued from Raymond's jaw when the sea of guests parted to reveal the very man they were discussing.

"Oh hell…"


"Bienvenue and Welcome, new friends, old friends, former enemies and newfound allies."

Florian's booming voice carried over the din of the room with ease, drawing all eyes to the front of the parlour where he, Marietta, and Rosalie stood.

"My family and I are all thrilled to host you all once more for the celebration of another prosperous year. Tonight, we invite you to eat, drink, and make merry as gratitude for the friends and allies who make our world complete. May fair fortune smile on us all in the new millennium."

The attendees applauded, raising their glasses in a toast to their hosts. A string quartet began to play from a far corner of the room, and the guests returned to their conversations once more.

Rosalie took a quick look around the room, searching for her closest companions.

She caught sight of Dembe standing guard about a foot from Raymond, who was speaking to an absolute lion of a man with fair hair and a towering build whom Rosalie recognized immediately.

His name was Werner Von Hauser. The man's syndicate held the keys to every shipping route and private air strip in and out of Europe. One could not do business in the continent properly without having the blessing of Von Hauser Senior. Rosalie had met him in November of '93, a year after the poor man had lost his only son to a kidnapping gone awry and mere weeks after Rosalie first went to live with the Armel's.

Florian had orchestrated the meeting, as Rosalie had needed both men's' blessings to begin expanding her network throughout Europe.

Like many crime bosses, Werner was first and foremost a gentleman. He had been thoroughly intrigued by Rosalie's business plan, investing heavily in her Western Europe expansions in exchange for early access to the network. Thankfully, the investment was returned with considerable interest, and Rosalie had been out from under the debt she had owed him for a while now.

Their working relationship was significantly less involved, but she still provided Werner access to her homes whenever he was in a pinch or when needed to travel in a locale where he did not already own a property.

Werner and Raymond appeared to know each other rather well, if their body language was anything to go by.

Rosalie watched the exchange for a long moment, making the necessary greetings to guests as they passed by when Red finally looked directly at her.

Their eyes met and held, her companion laid bare to Rosalie's scrutiny.

He was putting on a good show, but Raymond was visibly uncomfortable. She could see the tension hidden in his jawline and moved to intercept post haste.

"Hello Werner, it's been an awfully long time."

The older of the two gentlemen turned at the warm welcome, his intimidating demeanor now directed at Rosalie.

"Well, well, look who we have here!" Werner stooped to bestow a chaste kiss to each of her cheeks, "Raymond my boy, I don't suppose you've met Florian's young protegé? This is Rosalie Øllegaard, she's runs an extensive network of luxury safehouses throughout Europe."

The two fugitives shared a secretive smile.

Red lifted her hand and placed a lingering kiss to its surface. She could feel him inhale a deep, calming breath, the warm exhale ghosting soothingly over her skin. "It's a delight to see you again, my dear."

"Raymond," Rosalie turned to Werner and explained, "Your associate and I have had the pleasure of working opposite sides on a handful of deals this year. I had a number of expansions negotiated with hotel groups worldwide, and Ray happened to be the broker."

Von Hauser's brows lifted in surprised intrigue, "I had no idea, you must be doing well if they've got Raymond involved."

"There was also that little exchange in Geneva." Raymond smirked, bringing up their cover from the altercation with Howard Bukowski and the Coroner.

Rosalie's eyes narrowed playfully, "You just love bringing that up. Don't you?"

A cheery hand appeared over the heads of the crowd, waving Von Hauser toward the bar.

The man let out an amused chuckle, "Oh, my apologies, there is an old friend requesting my presence. It's been great seeing you both."

He hugged Rosalie and reached out to shake Red's hand once more, leaning to murmur in the other man's ear. "Careful with her, Raymond. Florian is notoriously protective of his daughter. Word on the street says she's absolutely lethal as well."

Werner gave him a subtle wink, nodded to Dembe, then patted Rosalie's cheek and took his leave.

Rosalie watched the man wander off into the crowd, waiting until she could only see the top of his head before turning to Raymond. He was still tracking Von Hauser across the room, his pallor a sickly green.

"Hey, are you alright?"

Raymond visibly flinched, his eyes snapping from Werner to Rosalie. "Fine, I'm fine. You know Werner?"

"In passing. He invested in my network in the early days." She looked suspiciously between the two men, "Florian mentioned the two of you struck quite the alliance. I always wondered how you managed to move so easily in Eastern Europe, now I know."

Red was still a little pale, but he quickly brushed it off, turning in search of a server. "I don't suppose there are any more of those gruyere pastry puffs lurking around, is there?"

The diversion tactic did not go unnoticed. Rosalie leaned into his ear and murmured, "I'll get you all the gougères your heart desires if you assure me everything's okay."

Raymond nodded, his voice coming as a low whisper. "Everything's fine, little dove. I just hadn't expected to see him here."

The endearment combined with the weight of his hand at the small of her back served to soothe her concerns.

A tray of gougères appeared mysteriously along with a handful of other guests, some were Raymond's acquaintances, others were part of Rosalie's circle. Syndicate bosses, associates and independent contractors alike spoke with them at length about everything under the sun. All were polite, friendly and well-spoken, making the cocktail hour pass quite quickly and pleasantly.

Dembe and Rosalie were laughing with the very Solange she had warned about when Red noticed a young criminal with jet black hair and a mean-looking demeanour watching their group quite closely.

"Is that Victor Mesrine?"

Rosalie rotated slowly, looking over Raymond's shoulder at the person in question. "Yes, nephew of the notorious Jacques Mesrine. Victor is well-known in French circles. He's a bit of a problem child, but nothing too nefarious."

Raymond lifted baleful eyes toward the man in question, who wisely averted his gaze from the pair.

Rosalie gave his forearm a comforting squeeze, "Pay him no mind, he'll be gone in no time. The real fun happens after the meal, when the rest of the guests leave. The after-dinner cocktails and cigars are always family and Le Milieu only."


Dinner was a lavish affair, the immaculately set table stretching nearly the whole length of the enormous formal dining room. They enjoyed course after course of haute French cuisine from consommé to caviar, steamed shellfish to braised lamb shanks.

Raymond enjoyed the meal immensely. Between the food, the superb wine selections, and the silk stocking-clad toes playing footsie with him beneath the table, it was a delightful evening.

The noise was kept to a low rumble, allowing the guests to hear their companions without issue as they dined and discussed their various businesses at length.

Red and Rosalie were far too busy attempting to silently out maneuver one another to pursue many conversations of consequence. Regardless, they were both of the mindset that they spent enough time talking shop. Tonight, there were much more exciting things to discuss.

"I haven't the foggiest idea how you've managed to sneak your foot that far up my pant leg."

Rosalie smiled unassumingly and took another scoop of sorbet to cleanse her palate. "You should know by now, I'm quite bendy."

The quip caused Marietta to laugh heartily into her wine glass. She was seated on Rosalie's immediate right.

"Sorry about that, Maman..." Rosalie apologized sheepishly, her cheeks flushing a bright pink at being caught outright.

Red too was chuckling into his wine glass, carefully avoiding drawing further attention to themselves.

"Smooth," he taunted in a whisper, reaching over and placing his hand on her inner thigh.

It was a simple gesture, and there were at least three layers of fabric between Raymond's hand and her skin, but he could tell the action set Rosalie's entire body on high alert. He squeezed gently, allowing her to feel the full width and breadth of his hand on her, so very close to such an intimate area.

It felt as though a fire had broken out between his palm and the surface of her thigh, the heat transference between them making Red's pulse race as well.

His thumb had just begun to trace maddening circles along her skin when dessert was served, a perfectly light and fluffy gâteaux.

Rosalie was spared by the distraction, as her companion's sweet tooth won out for the time being.

Raymond spared but one parting squeeze before taking up his fork and devouring the delectable slice with gusto.


At half past ten it was finally time for the excess guests to part.

Members of Le Milieu and the Unione Corse filed into the smoking lounge, settling in to plush leather chesterfields, upholstered club chairs and the occasional bar stool as they wound down the night.

The respective bosses were all prepping cigars and pipes when Florian noticed his preferred lighter, an anniversary gift from his Marietta, was missing from its usual place.

"You left it in our room, mon cher." Marietta reminded, pointing to the ceiling above.

"I'll get it, Pére." Rosalie hadn't yet taken a seat and would be happy for a brief respite from all the socializing.

Florian beamed appreciatively, "Merci, mon trésor. I believe it is on our coffee table, if it's not too much trouble."

Rosalie smiled and waved off his concern, stepping out into the cool hallway and taking her time on her way up the flights of stairs.

Raymond watched from his spot at the bar as she left, contentedly prepping a cigar and holding it out for Dembe, who politely declined, as always.

"I believe I owe you an apology, young man."

Red turned to see Florian upon him, having just finished packing his pipe with tobacco.

He slapped his back in open camaraderie and rested his elbows on the bar beside Raymond. "I was hard on you back in August. I hope you understand I only want what's best for Rosalie. I spoke with Horace when he returned to us and it seems I misjudged your intentions."

Raymond blinked repeatedly, rather surprised by this sudden declaration. "I didn't realize Horace had spoken to you about me."

"He did," Florian nodded, "He had nothing but uncomplimentary things to say about you."

A scowl took over Red's features, a bubble of indignation bursting inside his gut.

Florian smiled sagely at his sudden change of demeanour. "That is how I know you're a decent man with good intentions where my Rosalie is concerned. I trusted Horace. In my eyes, he was the only acceptable choice for my daughter's personal guard; the only man worthy of being the silent gatekeeper to her empire. He took the job of right hand to a high profile criminal and left when she showed her stripes. His opinion is now worth about as much to me as this napkin."

A server came over and poured them each a glass of their preferred vintage.

"One could imagine your fury when he turned up on your doorstep in Corsica."

Florian's shrewd blue eyes zeroed in on Red, "You had him followed."

Raymond gave a curt nod, "He had intimate knowledge of Rosalie's operation, and to a lesser extent, my own. I couldn't simply take for granted that he had returned to your employ."

"À la nôtre," Florian lifted his cognac in a toast, taking a drink. "I don't fault you for following him, it's what I would have done. I've made it abundantly clear if he so much as breaths a word about either of you it will be the end of him."

A poignant silence settled for the span of a few minutes as both men sipped their drinks in a pensive fashion.

"I wanted to thank you for your involvement in the expansions these past several months." Florian added after a while, "I will not lie, I was terribly concerned when all of this came about. Horace abandoned her at the worst possible moment, left her in the eye of a storm to fend for herself. Yet you were there. You battened the hatches and sheltered her from the worst of it. For that I am in your debt."

Raymond had to admit he was pleasantly surprise by the man's attitude, considering the last time they had spoken, Red threatened to bounce Florian from his plane in the middle of nowhere.

"The anger has yet to abate for me," the other man confided, continuing where he left off, "Horace will remain in my employ for the foreseeable future. He knows too much to be fired and Rosalie would never forgive me if I shot him. Otto Henschke is keeping an eye on him for me. If he so much as blinks in the wrong direction we will know immediately."

"How is Otto?" Red asked, "I haven't seen hide nor hair of him since Rosalie removed him from her guard."

Florian shrugged, "He's doing just fine. He was loyal to me, so I put him right back into his previous role with the Corsicans as one of the guards to our estate on Corsica."

"And Horace?" Red deduced from the concise language that Horace Jabare was no longer guarding anyone in the Armel's immediate circle.

"Like I said, he left her at the worst possible moment. He is helping run security for this house, but nothing more intensive than that. He seems content."

"Who has taken his place, the boisterous fellow over there? I noticed he was seated at your right hand pretty much all evening."

Both Reddington and Florian spared a glance for the youth across the room. He had the look of les beaux voyous...haughty features, a steady hand and a cocksure posture. He seemed genial enough, if the body language of his compatriots was anything to go by. In all, he gave the impression of a poster boy for new money fugitives.

"Achille Fabron, my eventual successor, if he ever manages to remove his head from his backside."

Raymond snorted with laughter as the man flashed a dazzling smile from beneath his reddish brown beard. "He certainly looks like a rapscallion in the making."

Florian sighed, "Between you and I, I would much rather hand Rosalie the reigns. Achille has the credentials but he makes me nervous. He reminds me of myself when I was young and foolhardy."

"You turned out alright upon becoming the active boss." Raymond chuckled at Florian's commiserating glance before something about the room made his hair stand on end.

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

"Yes, I came out alright in the end but I had no other choice. I wasn't given my role, I was thrust into it upon Marcel Francisci's demise. That circumstance put the fear of God in me. Abdicating now would be tantamount to handing Achille the keys to Europe, all the while crossing my fingers in hope that he doesn't turn out to be a tyrant-"

Florian suddenly sensed the change as well, his eyes quickly scanning the room as unease settled into his bones, "Something isn't right, I can feel it."

Red let out a hiss of discontent when he recognized whom he had not seen leaving the party.

"Where's that little weasel Victor Mesrine?"


Rosalie had just stepped into the master suite, the immaculate bay of rooms was pitch black until she managed to locate a lamp on a nearby side table. She flipped its switch, allowing her a generous sphere of light in what was still a very large, very dark room.

She heard a rustling sound and jumped, only to see Pascal stirring from his place on the floor.

The dog sauntered toward the bedroom door, sniffing curiously at the hall.

"There's nothing for you to eat out there. Bernard might have a few leftovers for you tomorrow, but nothing for today."

Rosalie carefully wound her way through the various end tables, sofas and chairs to the coffee table, where a heavy gold lighter lay, its intricate etchings flickering in the lamp's low light.

Pascal issued a deep, warning growl.

The sound caused Rosalie to whip around once more, seeing nothing but the partially closed bedroom door.

All the hairs on Pascals spine were standing on end. His stance was rigid, and his eyes would not leave the door.

Rosalie quickly pocketed the lighter and tiptoed to the other side of the room, keeping out of sight as the door swung a little wider. She pulled a firearm from beneath the nearest nightstand and eased closer and closer to the door. Taking a steadying breath, she reached and grasped the handle. Another deep breath in and out, and she ripped the door open, aiming out into the dark hall.

No one was there.

Rosalie lowered her weapon and scowled at the dog. "Really, Pascal? That was hardly nec-"

Cold metal met the back of Rosalie's head, and a rough male voice whispered, "Don't make a sound, cherie. Don't even breath."


Florian nodded at the three men standing at the bar with them, and all six quietly slipped out of the lounge, making a run for the stairs.

They hurried up the three flights, Dembe reaching the top first with Red hot on his heels. The moment his right foot hit the landing a number of loud, vicious barks echoed from the Armel's bedroom.


"You and I are going to take a little trip to see a friend of mine."

"Mesrine." Rosalie caught his reflection in an antiqued mirror on the fireplace's mantel.

Victor reached forward, wrenching the loaded gun from her hands then tossed it on the bed and continued nudging her forward. "Yes. Now, if you want to make it out of here alive, I suggest you get moving. We're going to take the hidden passage to the elevator."

"How do you know about that?" She asked, trying to stall as long as humanly possible.

"No questions." Victor grabbed the back of her neck and used the leverage to force her forward.

A number of things happened all at once.

Pascal sensed his owner was being harmed and began to bark and snarl furiously at the intruder, sinking his teeth into Mesrine's ankle when he did not desist.

Rosalie took the opportunity and swung her arm out, catching Victor in the wrist and sending his firearm flying. A fight ensued as both attempted to reach the weapon first.

A number of footsteps could be heard scrambling toward the room when another intruder burst through the door to the hidden passage, using the handle of his gun to knock Victor to the ground.

The man crumpled into an unconscious heap, and a muscular arm thrust out to catch Rosalie around the middle before she could fall headlong into a glass side table.

She lifted her head and found herself nose to nose with a familiar face.

"Horace?"


The six men burst into the room just in time to see Victor crumple to the floor while Horace kept his former charge from being thrown forcefully into some nearby furniture.

Florian's nostrils flared as he stared down the barrel of his firearm. "What the hell are you doing in here?"

"I was making my rounds and saw him follow her up the stairs." Horace snapped irritably, carefully setting Rosalie back on her feet. His dark eyes narrowed to slits as carefully checked her for injuries before turning back to his employer.

Each of the five men plus Florian had guns trained on Rosalie's former guard, but Raymond and Dembe quickly lowered theirs.

"Glad to see we all followed the 'No Weapons Policy' as requested." Red joked, turning about to count the number of offenders who had thankfully ignored the house rules.

The other men smirked, holstering their weapons as well. They watched in stoic silence while Raymond strode past them, gathering Rosalie into a meaningful embrace.

"Are you alright? He didn't hurt you?"

Pointed looks were exchanged as the young woman relaxed into his hold, a heavy sigh of relief rushing from her lips.

"I'm perfectly fine, love."

The three mobsters at the back of the group nodded to one another, finally understanding the dynamic between the two young fugitives.

"Explain." Florian growled at Horace, his gun still firmly in hand.

Horace holstered his weapon and held his hands up in deference. "I turned at the end of the main hall and saw Mesrine follow her up the stairs. To save time, I took the hidden passage up to the third floor. I exited the elevator to the sounds of an altercation and found the two of them here in a fist fight over a firearm."

"It's true, Pére. Horace arrived just in time." Rosalie knew there was no love lost between Florian and her old guard but she, for one, was grateful that Horace was there and vigilant.

The unconscious man at their feet began to stir, his head lifting feebly before falling with a thud on the floor.

"Caïd."

It was the tallest of the three mobsters, a man with fair hair and a brooding complexion. His arm was in a black sling overtop his tux, the perfect hiding spot for his firearm, which he stowed with but one careless glance at Florian.

"We need to move him somewhere the others won't hear. Le Milieu, they would consider such an act a declaration of war. We need to divine whether or not he was working alone before getting the others involved."

Florian took a step toward Rosalie, placing a comforting hand to her curls, almost as if to assure himself of her safety. His gaze turned to the man with the sling. "Jacques, please locate my wife and bring her with you to the lower chamber."

Jacques gave a swift nod and exited the room. The two men flanking him stepped forward and hoisted Victor from the floor, dragging him out of the room with his feet trailing limply behind him.

Rosalie stepped away from Raymond for a moment, leaning to peak around Florian's shoulder. "Thank you, Horace."

He gave a small salute, "Don't mention it, Rosie. I'm glad you're okay."

A somewhat awkward silence settled, the room's occupants shuffling uncomfortably before Florian let out a huff of frustration.

"Mon Fille, downstairs. Now. Raymond, please escort her."

The fugitives left the room without argument, making for the stairs with Dembe in tow.

"This was unexpected," Red slipped Rosalie's hand through his arm, keeping her tight to his side. "You're sure you're alright? Did Victor mention what he wanted with you?"

She shook her head, "No, he only said he was going to take me to a friend of his. He knew about the secret passage out of the master suite too, which was unnerving."

The three reached the landing on the first floor and Rosalie halted their momentum.

"What?" Red asked, having expected them to return to the lounge.

"I need to go to the lower chamber, Marietta is likely there already."

Dembe remained close, circling back to stand beside his friend. "What is the lower chamber?"

Rosalie's expression turned dark, "It's the stone underbelly of the house. Certain illegal artifacts are hidden there, as are a couple holding cells. Florian is not the type to sweep things under the rug. He wants answers, and he won't return to the others until he has them."

Raymond considered her for a moment, "If his plan is to bludgeon the truth out of Victor, why would he request Marietta's presence?"

"The Armels are and have always been a singular unit. One does not act without the other." Rosalie's chin lifted and her shoulders settled back, her posture straightening with the action.

Red softened at her body's attempt to fortify itself for what must come next. "This includes you."

She nodded, "You and Dembe should go back to the party, you needn't be subjected to this."

He could sense she wished not to go alone. However, Rosalie knew better than anyone how rare it was that Raymond was the one being protected from the filth and violence of their world. True to form, she had selflessly given him an out.

"Dembe, please go and enjoy yourself. Rosalie and I will be back momentarily."

Dembe did not argue, glad to be relieved of duty in this instance. He gave them both a squeeze to the shoulder before heading back to the quiet of the lounge.

"This life often weighs heavy on him, I know it. It weighs heavy on you both." Rosalie cupped Red's cheek and gently turned him to face her. "Really Raymond, it's so seldom you're spared from all of this. I don't need you to-"

"I know you don't." He turned to place his lips to her palm, "However, Florian and Marietta shouldn't be the only singular unit in this house. You and I could stand to learn from their example."

"Really?" Rosalie's features remained carefully guarded, "You're sure?"

Red took her hand in his, "Lead the way, little dove."

She hesitated for a beat, seeming to search him for any lingering uncertainty. Raymond assumed she found what she was looking for, as she gave his hand a squeeze and led him into a hairpin turn away from the foot of the stairs.

They passed a fresco of yet another maiden, but this one was depicted beside a pillar topped with a roaring fire. From this panel's moulding, Rosalie managed to pull a brass key.

Turning toward the east wall, she slid the key into a lock hidden in the surface of the red marble pillar they were hidden behind.

The panel in front of them sprung open a fraction of an inch, and Rosalie opened it just wide enough to allow Raymond and herself entrance. The space looked to be nothing more than a small, empty linen closet upon first glance. The key was left in the lock for Florian, whom they knew would be following them in a matter of moments. Once the panel was closed, the room revealed its true nature as an elevator.

The floor beneath them vibrated for a few minutes as the lift brought them down into the depths of the château. It halted with a small lurch and the door opened to reveal a long stone tunnel, its length flanked with sconces casting a hazy yellow glow.

Rosalie took his hand once more and lead the way along the cobbled walkway which opened into a soaring atrium. The room was shaped as an elongated octagon with small hallways leading out of the center toward various holding cells and storage cellars for contraband.

"Cherie."

Marietta came sweeping toward them from the nearest hallway, gathering Rosalie in her arms and letting out a long, calming exhale.

The two women whispered in rapid French, sharing confidences about what had happened. The frenchman whose arm was in a sling gave Reddington a singular nod.

The reunion was broken up by the sound of a heavy metal gate clanging closed. The two other men who had accompanied them upstairs exited the archway directly opposite them, dragging Victor Mesrine between them.

It became obvious once his limp frame was deposited into a wooden chair in the center of the room, there had been a bit of coercion going on while the respective parties made their way to the lower chamber.

Blood dripped steadily from Victor's nose, the crimson river already covering the top half of his dress shirt. One of his eyes was beginning to swell shut, and Red was certain from its unnatural angle, his left arm had already been broken. Regardless, the two men handcuffed him to the chair with little regard to injuries.


Another clang was soon heard, and the room's occupants turned to see three men striding purposefully through the main tunnel.

Achille stood to the left while a dark-haired young man Rosalie had identified as Cedric stood on the right, and Florian Armel occupied the middle, taking up a majority of the hallway's width.

As he stood in the mouth of the tunnel removing his tuxedo jacket, Red was forcefully reminded that there was a reason why Rosalie had always referred to Florian as l'ours.

The bear.

It was easy to forget, with the man's amiable reputation as a dapper gentleman, that Florian Armel was in fact an active caïd, the boss of the Corsican Mafia. An evening of pomp and circumstance, family and friends, they all made it very easy to be lured into a false sense of security.

That was Victor's fatal error. He allowed himself to believe the lie, that the Armel's would ever let their guard down, even for a night.

They most certainly did not, and the true power of that family was about to come crashing down around him.

Florian carefully removed his cufflinks, placing them in Rosalie's upturned palms for safekeeping. His sleeves were meticulously rolled up, baring his powerful forearms to the cold room. In all that time, his eyes did not once leave his captive.

One look from Florian's icy gaze was enough to give a man frostbite, and the look he spared for the intruder to his domain was enough to suck all the air from the atrium.

The volatile stare was broken for only one member of the group.

Marietta.

Raymond looked on in undeniable curiosity as Florian Armel turned to his wife, looking very much as though he were silently conferring with her, seeking her agreement.

Marietta lifted her chin, her petite shoulders squaring themselves and her bosom puffing proudly at her husband's attention. The glinting amber of her eyes blinked only once before she placed her left hand to his chest, directly above his heart.

Red caught the most minute bow of Florian's head. The man then lifted his wife's hand, placed a kiss to her palm, and turned to the room at large once more.

Rosalie took her place at Marietta's side, both women standing straight-backed and unflinching.

Victor had enough sense to cower at the fury being directed at him.

Florian took two strides, coming within three feet of him and resting his hands on his knees.

"I want to know who gave you the idea that you could lay a finger on my daughter?"

The question was met with terrified silence.

A grave mistake.

In the blink of an eye, he lifted his leg and kicked out, catching Victor's shoulder and sending the wooden chair flying backward with him in it. "I'm not known for being a patient man, Victor. Now, who sent you to take her?"

"Please!...I can't say!"

Watching Florian Armel was like a masterclass in intimidation techniques. Red couldn't help but make a few mental notes of the more impressive tactics used.

What was perhaps most unnerving about the whole exchange was the calmness with which Florian interrogated Mesrine. His voice never rose, he never seemed harried or exasperated. He was perfectly serene, even as he threw the other man bodily across the room for the umpteenth time. The man could give Ted Brimley a run for his money.

"Oh you'll speak. Of that much I am absolutely certain." Florian issued a low, hollow chuckle and motioned for two of his men to return the chair to its sitting position. "The question is whether you'll tell me what I want to know before or after I begin ripping you limb from limb with my bare hands."

Victor visibly paled at the statement, beginning to mutter and plead in a low, frantic voice.

Florian moved slowly toward him, taking slow, agonizing steps.

"The chair you're in has been in this chamber for over a century. Do you know why?"

The younger man shook his head vigorously, "N-No, no wait...wait!"

His pleas were ignored. With a snap of his fingers, Florian had the hand cuff removed from Victor's right hand. Before the man could do anything with the appendage, Florian had snatched his wrist and laid the limb flat against the arm of the chair.

His expression was positively jovial as he divulged the answer. "I've found this chair's arms are the prefect angle for dislocating elbows."

A tiny bit of pressure on his arm was all it took for Victor to crack.

"No, no, no! I'll tell you! I'll tell you everything!"

A chair was immediately drawn up across from Victor, who was panting in abject terror. Florian wasted little time in drilling him for intel, making it no secret that the fate of Victor's remaining limbs depended on his helpfulness.

"Begin."

Victor exhaled a shaky breath and obeyed, "I was approached by a man two weeks ago at an underground nightclub in Corsica. A German fellow cornered me in the bathroom..."

Raymond and Rosalie turned to one another, sharing a look of gobsmacked recognition.

Surely this couldn't be the same German they'd been hunting since August?

Victor went on, "He provided me with a floorplan of the château including the locations of all the secret passages. I was to wait until Ms. Øllegaard was alone, take her, and escape through the passageways.

Florian's upper lip twitched in a snarl, "What were you to do upon securing her?"

"An associate was supposed to make contact, I'm not sure where or when, then we were to take her to the Port of Leucate, where his associate would be waiting."

Red stepped forward at this, "What time frame were you given to bring her to the Port of Leucate?"

"Within the hour," Victor sputtered around a mouthful of blood, "He is expecting me at the main dock before midnight."

Florian gave a curt nod. "Jacques?"

The man in the sling looked to his two compatriots. "Francis, Christopher and I will go. We have time to catch the associate if we hurry."

A wave of Florian's hand, and they were off, striding swiftly down the tunnel and into the elevator.

Attention returned to Victor, who quailed in his seat, afraid of what might come next.

"You will live, for now," Florian assured, "If my men can't manage to find your rat-faced friends, however, I will extract every drop of information you possess then leave you here to rot. Understood?"

Victor's bloodshot eyes dilated in abject terror, a minute nod the only thing confirming he had heard Florian's warning.

The latter stood, turning to the room at large, "Cedric, Achille, return him to the holding cell. We're finished here."


"You and Raymond should feel free to retire. I'll let Dembe know you've returned to your room." Marietta had turned once the orders were given, giving her daughter an out from the rest of the evening.

Rosalie hugged her in thanks, then moved to whisper in Raymond's ear. "Care to sneak off into the night?"

He nodded fervently, stepping aside to kiss Marietta's cheek before snagging Rosalie's arm and leading her hurriedly back to the elevator.

They rode in silence back to the third floor, emerging in the corridor closest to the stairs.

The walk back to Rosalie's room was tense and uncomfortable. The pair felt like they couldn't say anything until they were in the sanctuary of their room.

Upon reaching the entrance, they both halted, drawing their weapons. Raymond from the small of his back, Rosalie from her upper thigh.

The doors swung wide to reveal Pascal and Odette, pacing nervously around the sitting area.

The two fugitives moved swiftly and silently through the suite, checking every room and passageway for any sign of intruders.

Once the bank of rooms had been cleared, they both let out a long, exhausted breath.

"How did he find us here?"

"I think you mean how did he find you here." Red growled, setting his gun on the nightstand and toeing off his shoes.

"Excuse me?" Rosalie turned from the vanity where she had been removing her earrings, gaping incredulously at him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," he snapped, "All I'm saying is that it's been made pretty clear the German is after you."

"Oh, I see, and that's somehow my fault?" She pitched the earrings onto the tabletop with a disgruntled huff and moved to the ensuite to remove her makeup.

Raymond heaved a sigh and removed his jacket, "I'm not saying it's your fault, I'm saying I don't understand what he wants with you."

Rosalie's voice echoed clearly from the bath, "Fisi made it pretty clear the German was trying to get to me so he could lure you out of my network, thus making you easier to catch. I seem to be targeted as the middle man."

"Oh, so now it's my fault?" Red stuck his head into the bathroom, catching her brushing her teeth with angry vigor.

She huffed at seeing him in the doorway, grumbling around her toothbrush, "That's not what I meant and you damn well know it."

"Don't talk with your mouth full."

Raymond couldn't seem to help the snarky comeback, which was promptly met with a carton of tissues being chucked at his shoulder when he turned to retreat.

Rosalie spat the remaining toothpaste into the sink, rinsing her mouth out and drying her hands with but one querulous look at her lover.

He bent at the knees and picked up the flimsy carton. In truth, he had barely registered the item making contact with him. He strode over to the sink and silently placed the item back where it belonged.

"That wasn't nice, little dove."

"You started it, darling."

Rosalie turned, crossing her arms in front of her chest in a way which Red was struggling not to find endearing. He thought perhaps by pitching the tissues at him and calling him 'darling' she had been trying to derail the conversation to somewhere more pleasant, but one look at her delicate features told him she was not about to bite.

She hurled a glare his way and stomped back toward the bedroom. "Stop smirking at me like that. I don't appreciate you making me feel like this is my fault."

They were still arguing, then.

Red could contend with that. His discontented psyche readily offered up a bit of intel which had been bothering him all night.

"When were you going to tell me the entire European underground is convinced you're the heir apparent to the Corsicans?" He stood in the doorframe with a stony expression, watching Rosalie's eyes roll exasperatedly in the vanity mirror.

"A red herring if there ever was one...I wasn't planning on telling you because I was never going to take the job."

Raymond caught the turn of phrase "So, Florian has approached you about taking over his syndicate."

"I'm sorry, now you're pissed over me being offered an empire I have no inclination of running? While we're discussing dirty secrets lingering between us, why don't you tell me what on God's green earth happened between you and Werner Von Hauser?"

He halted, "What about Von Hauser?"

"You lied to my face, telling me you were fine when you were white as a sheet. What was that all about?"

"Don't change the subject," Red dodged, his face contorting with suspicion. "Florian's offered you the Corsicans and you weren't going to say a damn word to me about it."

Rosalie threw her hands up in the air, her irritation complete. "Yes. He's offered it a number of times, but time and again I've turned him down. Florian makes no secret of the fact that he wishes I would take over, but in case you haven't noticed, I've been rather busy building my own business. I'm an innkeeper by nature, I think he's found a reasonable alternative in Achille, I like what I do, and I'm good at it. And, not that it's anybody's business but my own, but I don't think I could handle it. Being deep in the filthy underground all day every day, the kinds of things he's had to do...I think it would smother every good thing in me."

Raymond was pointedly silent.

Her world was not built that way, true, but his most certainly was. He was eyeballs deep in the darkest parts of the underground every damn day, and he knew how it left its mark. That being said, Red found himself rather put out by her declaration.

She noticed his uncharacteristic lack of response. "What?"

"Nothing." He stepped back into the ensuite to brush his teeth.

Rosalie bit back the diatribe she longed to hurl his way, pinching the bridge of her nose and sighing audibly once more.

She walked over to place her ring on her nightstand and saw the button down Red had been wearing earlier that day laying unassumingly on her pillow.

Even in the midst of an argument, Raymond was still thoughtful.

Rosalie, on the other hand...it dawned on her that she had essentially told Red working in the depths of the underground sucked the goodness out of a person; out of him. Hanging her head, she grasped the garment and stepped back into the bathroom, coming up alongside him and turning around, silently requesting he unzip her.

"I recall you mentioning how much you were looking forward to taking this off tonight."

Red dried his mouth and hands on a nearby towel, then grasped the tab of her zipper, slowly guiding it down her spine to the small of her back.

He couldn't deny he had been looking forward to baring that slip of skin, watching with heated curiosity as every little freckle and curve was made visible to him. It didn't soothe his frustrations, however. The satisfaction he would normally feel was somewhat hollowed by the fact they were arguing and a resolution was still out of reach.

Rosalie caught his dispassionate gaze in the mirror, "Can we talk about it? Please. I don't want us to just brush this aside."

Raymond sighed heavily, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Can't we just go to bed and pretend this didn't happen?"

He wished she would let it go. All he really wanted to do was crawl between the cool cotton sheets and spend the rest of that wretched night wrapped up in her.

Someone had once again tried and failed to take Rosalie from him, and Raymond was terrified they would eventually succeed. Fate had favored them thus far, but it was unrealistic to believe they would always be this lucky. How long could they last before she paid the price for her association with him?

"It's not like you to just push things aside..." Rosalie knew she was treading dangerous territory, her posture shrinking slightly at the exasperated expression on Red's face. She tried to explain, "What I said about the dark acts one must commit when working in the criminal underground...I did not in any way mean that as a slight or a judgement against you or Florian. What I meant was that it takes a certain kind of internal fortitude to do the job and not lost yourself. I don't think I have that fortitude. I don't think I would have a prayer of coming out whole on the other side."

Red's scowl deepened. "Nobody comes out whole on the other side, Rosalie. I told you back in New York, it robs me every day." A nasty, unpleasant though came over him, "Do you think your work isn't just as dirty as mine, just as amoral? Do you think you're somehow less of a wanton criminal because you don't have to handle the dirtier aspects of our world?"

She had said she didn't mean it as a judgement, sure, but was that really true?

"On the contrary, I know it is." Rosalie turned to face him when she heard only a scathing tutting noise in response. "Raymond, my world is the same, yet very different. My network, it's nothing more than appearances. It is incredibly easy for me to completely dissociate from just how wretched my business truly is. The pieces which are robbed from me every day are much smaller than the ones taken from you and Florian. They're much harder to notice." She shook her head, biting back a well of emotion as the cold truth came to her, "My life's work is lipstick on a pig, allowing the world's most notorious felons safety and security, making them feel like they're not who they are; like they're not hunted, nationless, like their whole world isn't just a house of cards waiting for the perfect moment to crumble down around them. That's what I do."

His voice was deathly quiet when he responded, "Is that what you do with me?"

Rosalie's brow furrowed in confusion. "Of course it is. From the moment you and I began working together that has been my job in regards to you."

This, it seemed, was the wrong answer. "So all of this between us, what, is that just part of your job?"

The accusation stung. There wasn't an ounce of truth to it, and the very idea he would think such a thing hurt Rosalie to her very core.

"Absolutely not. Why on earth would you think-?"

"What the hell else am I supposed to think, Rosalie?" Raymond stormed out of the ensuite, his companion hot on his heels. "You just said it yourself, your job is to make your clients feel hidden and stable. You've certainly done that with me. Is that what this is? I've fallen for the ruse you offer everyone?"

Rosalie halted in her tracks, looking every bit as though he had just slapped her. "Raymond Reddington you're different and you damn well know it. You were different than the rest from the very start. Yes, I consider it my job to meet your basic needs of shelter and secrecy, that's what our agreement stipulates, but we both know there is so much more than all of that."

Tears fell in hot lines down her cheeks. "Raymond...You have all the pieces of me which no one else gets to have. You have the parts of me which wish to make your life happy, not just satisfactory, to make you feel safe, not just hidden. Yes, harboring you is part of my job, but...but loving you? That's not something I could ever, ever fake."

She turned on her heel, placing her hand on the moulding beside the dressing room door. A panel in the wall opened to reveal another secret passage. Inside stood a green spiral staircase leading upward to a space as of yet unseen.

Red's tone turned to one of concern when she stepped into the passage. "We haven't cleared that room-"

"It's locked with a biometric scanner."

She disappeared behind the panel and up the stairs without another word, leaving Raymond standing in the bedroom, still in his tux and wondering what would be left of them come morning.


It was three a.m. and Red still hadn't slept.

The bed was cold without its other occupant, whom he assumed was sleeping in the hidden room upstairs. He grunted his discomfort, a hand stretching out to the mattress's left side once more only to come up empty.

Weary green eyes traveled surreptitiously to the hidden panel leading to the spiral staircase. Its opening was ajar, a soft yellow light outlining its edges.

He supposed he should be encouraged by the fact she hadn't outright locked him out.

Did Rosalie perhaps want him to come up there?

Raymond huffed and went back to scowling at the empty pillows beside him.

He would not beg for her company.


Three-thirty in the morning and Rosalie still sat curled up on the chaise in the upper room, wrapped in one of Raymond's shirts.

Odette had wound her way up the stairs, sensing her distress. She now lay with her fluffy white head in Rosalie's lap, soulful dark eyes watching her keenly.

Rosalie had so looked forward to showing him this place. Now, instead, she was using it to salve her wounds, tucked away from her companion. Hiding.

Did he even care? Was it eating him alive to be down there while she was up here?

It was killing her.

The woman drew the throw blanket more tightly around her, her eyes following the travel posters lining the walls and ceilings for the umpteenth time.

Why couldn't she just keep her mouth shut? Did she really have to fight him on this?

Rosalie knew the answer.

She knew what was bothering her, but deep down she refused to press the issue. A disagreement about handling a threat was one thing, but knowing Raymond was lying about Von Hauser was another entirely.

Truthfully, Rosalie absolutely hated being in conflict with those closest to her. She would do just about anything to avoid it. For her subconscious, that desire seemed to take the form of instigating an argument over something inconsequential rather than voicing what was truly upsetting her.

The fire crackled and popped in the hearth, the singular light in an otherwise dark and lonely space.


Four a.m. saw Raymond throwing the covers off the bed and storming across the room.

He wrenched the panel open and climbed the stairs two at a time.

Upon reaching the top of the spiral, he walked a lengthy hall only to realize the hidden room was actually the house's central dome.

Rosalie stirred from her place on the chaise lounge beside the stone fireplace. She obviously hadn't slept any more than he had.

Raymond blurted his thoughts in a mad rush, causing Odette to scuttle from her owner's lap and out of the room.

"This isn't our fault. What happened tonight is not our fault. Not yours. Not mine. This has nothing to do with our relationship and everything to do with the German getting in the way."

Rosalie drew her knees up to her chest, "You're right, it is his fault."

Red nodded, at somewhat of a loss as to what he should say next. Her immediate agreement took the fury right out of him.

He eventually settled on the truth, "If we are in agreement, then why are we fighting about it?"

Rosalie hesitated, wondering if she should be honest and risk another argument.

No.

"…I don't know, but I hate being up here while you're down there, and I don't like being at odds with you."

Raymond's expression softened and he took a few tentative steps forward, "Little dove, why didn't you come back to me?"

He closed the distance between them when Rosalie's bottom lip began to tremble in earnest. Gathering her into his lap, he wrapped her in a tight embrace which she readily reciprocated.

"I was upset and I thought we both needed a moment to cool down, but then I didn't know how to come back down without us getting into another fight."

Tears threatened to escape as Rosalie did what did not come naturally and bit back the truth about what was bothering her. She just wanted to stay there in his arms; she didn't want to fight anymore.

"Come to bed, Rosalie." Raymond whispered into the hollow of her neck, his hands rubbing her back soothingly. "Please. We botched the job this time, but that's normal, we aren't always going to agree. We didn't communicate as well as we usually do, it happens. Someone tried to take you and all I want is for you to come back to our bed, in my arms, where you belong."

Rosalie made no answer, merely nodding and allowing him to lead her back along the hallway, down the spiral staircase and back into the bedroom.

Pascal and Odette lay curled up at the foot of their bed, each lifting their heads when the two humans re-entered the room.

Red slipped back into bed, followed immediately by Rosalie, whom he tucked snugly against his chest.

"I'm sorry we fought." She sniffed, burrowing tightly into his hold.

"Me too."

A heavy sigh escaped them both as they settled in, both falling quickly into a restless sleep.


The Armel Estate - Céret, France - December 24th, 1999

Raymond awoke to an empty bed the following morning.

He didn't hear any sounds to indicate Rosalie was in the suite, either. Red had known there was something still bothering her last night. A part of him had wanted to hash it out, but getting into another fight had been the last thing he wanted. He couldn't help but wonder if today would bring about a resolution.

A glance around the room showed a small, folded slip of paper on his nightstand.

His hand reached out and lifted the note so he could read it.

Gone to the kitchen, I promised Dembe kolaches.

xo- Rosalie

Red showered and shaved, donning a pair of dark jeans and a sage green cashmere sweater before leaving the room.

Pascal had waited for him, sitting patiently in the doorways to the bath and the dressing room until he was ready to leave.

He ruffled the fur on the dog's head and stepped out into the hall, making his way to Dembe's room. Dembe wasn't there, so Raymond continued his solitary walk down to the first floor with Pascal trotting at his side.

There was a fair bit of noise coming from the kitchen, where a number of the Armel's inner circle sat drinking coffee and waiting for breakfast to be served. Glinting copper pots hung from the ceiling's rack and open shelves on the walls held glass jars bearing all kinds of unique and exotic ingredients.

Raymond saw Rosalie and Dembe clad in matching white aprons, standing at the large flour-coated butcher block island in the kitchen's center. A baking tray lay on the countertop between them, along with a bowl of dough and two juice glasses.

Rosalie could be heard gently instructing on how to roll the dough.

"You just take a piece a bit bigger than a golf ball, and put it on the bench. You can put the glass over it and roll it into a ball that way, or, you can just make a claw like this." Her fingers made a kind of cage around the lump of dough and swirled it deftly along the counter, making a perfect sphere.

Dembe mirrored her actions perfectly, grabbing a bit of dough and swirling it twice across the bench before popping it on the tray next to hers.

"Perfect! Let's get these rolled so they can rest." She clapped her hands together, sending a little cloud of flour into the air.

"Raymond, my boy."

Florian's call disrupted the impromptu lesson.

Rosalie's eyes lifted from the task to settle on him.

Red gave a small wave, unsure where they stood as of yet.

He felt a wave of immense relief consume him when she gave him a small smile and waved back. She then lifted a large pastry bag holding a deep purple filling so he could see she was also making his favorite, giving him a playful wink before returning to her work.

Raymond smiled to himself as he turned away from the kitchen, heading to the entrance hall where Florian was waving him over.

The three men from the previous night, including the one whose arm was in a sling, all nodded and gestured in greeting before taking their leave and heading for the kitchen as well.

Florian inhaled deeply and turned on the ball of his foot, "Walk with me?"

Red knew better than to decline, and instead fell in step with him. They grabbed their coats and exited out into the château's sprawling courtyard.

Florian turned on a dime and headed for the rear of the home, where Raymond could see three enormous glass greenhouses glinting in the morning sun.

"Now," Florian began, "Unfortunately, there was nobody at the Port of Leucate when we got there. I have people looking through surveillance to see if anyone even showed up. Until then, I would very much like to hear about this German fellow and what he seems to want with the two of you."


By the time they reached the greenhouses, Raymond had divulged everything they knew about the German and his associate.

He couldn't deny it was a comfort to seek the other man's perspective on the matter, to know for certain whether they were missing something obvious.

"I see," Florian mused, leading the way into the sheltered warmth of the greenhouses. "You and Rosalie have discussed this at length, yes?"

"Of course." Raymond paused to take in the beauty contained with in the greenhouse's soaring ceilings. He could see Rosalie's hand in all of it, from the neatly planted rows of vegetables to the flowering

Florian seemed to understand, "She has a green thumb, my daughter. These greenhouses were designed by Gustave Eiffel, and sadly sat idle for many years. When Rosalie came to live with us, it was one of the first things she took over. Between her, the groundskeeper, and the house's chef, she filled these buildings with life. Flowers are cultivate year-round, native species nursed back to abundance, she brings bounty to everything she touches, not at all unlike my Marietta."

"I can see why you two were drawn to Rosalie from the start," Red mentioned, "The resemblance is striking. She could easily pass for your kin."

"She is," Florian agreed, "In all but blood, and if Marietta could give her that, she would."

"Yet you haven't named her as an Armel?" Raymond couldn't deny he was curious about their familial connection and how far it really extended.

The older man chuckled to himself, "If I had it to do over again, I would. Fearing a connection with us would close too many doors for her, I advised Rosalie to choose an alias of her own. That was the last decision I ever made without my wife's input. Marietta didn't speak to me for a month."

Both men sniggered at this, able to perfectly picture petite little Marietta blustering about the house in an unrivaled fury.

The topic of Madame Armel brought Raymond back to another curiosity which he had pondering. "If I may ask…Why did you bring your wife and daughter to witness such brutality last night? What was gained by having them be there to watch you deal with Victor?"

Florian's hands clapped together in delight as they stepped into the second greenhouse, which was nothing but rose and peony varieties. The blooms scattered the room in every size and color, some even climbing the building's back wall.

"There is a universal truth, one you must learn quickly, young man." Florian cupped the oxblood petals of a deep red rose, bringing it to his prominent nose and inhaling deeply.

Raymond turned to face him, a lone brow lifted in question. "What must I learn?"

"Armel women are not wallflowers." Florian's eyes lifted, glinting with an irreverent amusement gained only by decades of surmounting all manner of trials and tribulations.

"There are some men who wish to shelter their wives, to guard and keep them from the cold hard truth of our world. Common criminals make this mistake. Men like you and I, we cannot entertain such fragile displays of male ego. Marietta and Rosalie are not the caliber of women one can cosset away, and you and I are not the type of men willing to endure such foolish endeavors."

They stepped into the last greenhouse, which was bursting at the seams with varying sizes and colors of poinsettias. As he admired the shelves upon shelves of potted blooms, Red wasn't certain he entirely agreed with such a sentiment. He relished the balance he and Rosalie had struck. She was not cosseted by any means, but she did not fight him when he sought to care for her, nor did he fight her when she wished to do the same.

Florian caught the furrow of his forehead when they exited the building and rounded the lane, coming upon a tranquil pond tucked amongst the trees. "Don't be mistaken, my dear boy. In times of peace and plenty, I take great enjoyment in coddling and doting upon my wife. However, in times of war and in times of want…Now that was where our union was forged. To this day, I never shelter her from it, but rather revel in her fortitude. I take comfort in the sanctuary that is our relationship. Because, when all is said and done, Marietta is the sentinel who guards the gates of my soul. Whatever must be done, whatever mistakes may be made along the way, I know I can trust that she will be there with me every step of the way. I included Marietta because her place is at my side, and I refuse to allow her or anyone else in my immediate circle to ever forget that."

Raymond was moved by the other man's passionate remarks, "And Rosalie? Why did you include her?"

"For the very same reasons. She is my own, I included her so that she never forgets what a true partnership looks like; what it means to be a united front. If this threat seeks to come knocking on your door, the two of you must be unshakeable when it does. Regardless of what happens. You can't protect each other from every little thing, but you can ensure you don't make the same mistake twice. You can ensure that when all is lost, when everything crumbles at your feet, the two of you are what's left standing atop the rubble." Florian bent and lifted a smooth stone from the water's edge, skipping it with ease across the pond's nearly-frozen surface.

"The rest will fall into place."


"Hey."

Rosalie was sorting through items in the pantry when a familiar voice called to her. A head of black hair peeked around the doorframe, and the towering figure of Horace Asim Jabare came shuffling into the room. "Hey."

The silence was a tad awkward before Horace asked, "How are things? You and I never really had a chance to catch up."

"Things are good," came Rosalie's somewhat robotic answer, "Teddy has been a godsend, so, thank you for picking at least one good guard in our time together."

Horace winced, "Yeah…I'm really sorry for bailing on you."

Rosalie waved him off, "It wasn't what you were expecting, I get it."

Dembe appeared from around the corner, "Rosalie, I think they are ready-" He halted upon catching sight of Horace, then immediately held out his hand. "It is good to see you again."

"Same," he agreed, shaking Dembe's hand with a small half-smile.

"I'll be out in a moment with the icing, sweetheart. Would you mind taking them out for me?"

Dembe grinned and gave a cheery wave before returning to the kitchen.

"I should let you go." Horace turned to leave, but Rosalie caught his arm.

"Hey, I'm not trying to lure you back or anything, but if you get tired of being night security for the château…Let me know, maybe Raymond and I could work something out which doesn't involve the nastier aspects of our life on the run. Besides, I kind of miss you."

"Kind of?" He teased with a grin, "Kind of miss me. Ouch."

Rosalie laughed with a shrug, "Just a bit...Give it some thought, will you?"

Horace scratched his chin thoughtfully, "Going anywhere warm?"

Her nose wrinkled as she considered their upcoming travels. "Not until the second week of February. We'll be in Palmira, Colombia then, that might be warm. Teddy will know how to get in touch should you change your mind."

She held her arms out, offering a hug, which Horace took before saying his goodbyes once more, leaving his former colleagues to their baking.


Raymond and Florian returned to the warmth of the château a few minutes later, just as the night guards were disembarking. The former gestured that his companion should continue on while he prodded the shoulder of a passing guard, asking for a word.

Horace followed him into a nearby alcove, his expression one of polite suspicion.

"Reddington."

Red's tongue prodding the inside of his cheek as he considered what he wished to say to Horace. "I wanted to thank you for last night, for your hand in keeping Rosalie safe, it's much appreciated."

"It's my job," Horace shrugged, still as bristly as ever.

Raymond nodded, "Well, listen, I know you and I have butted heads from time to time, but good security is difficult to find these days. I don't know if it was your dream to run night crew for a castle owned by a disgruntled crime boss, but if you're ever looking for a change of pace, let us know."

"Sorry?" The man's countenance was thoroughly confused, "You do know I left because of the way things were heading, right?"

"I do," Red assured, "I'm just saying I know Florian hasn't exactly been easy on you since your return, and although I actually kind of loathe you for leaving Rosalie in the lurch, the fact of the matter is she misses you."

Horace pursed his lips, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "I've told you before, Reddington, I don't like the way you do business. She's going to get hurt one of these days, we all know it."

Raymond was undeterred, though his back teeth were making an ominous cracking noise from all the pressure he was putting on them.

"I can't predict the future, Horace. I can't tell you what's going to happen. I can tell you that I'm not operating without a healthy dose of fear. I readily admit I'm terrified that beautiful woman might one day be hurt or captured or persecuted for her connection to me. I'd be a fool if I wasn't afraid. I'm doing everything in my power to keep that from happening. I'm not going to beg you to come back, even for her sake. Just think it over. I know she would be happy to have you around again."

With that, Red turned on his heel and headed back to the kitchen.


When Raymond reached the opening to the spacious room, he found Florian blocking half of the doorway, watching intently.

Rosalie was dutifully holding court; however, it was not a gaggle of young women with whom she associated, but a trio of some of France's most illustrious gangsters, the very men who had come to their aid the night before.

Florian watched the proceedings with unguarded pride and reluctant amusement. The little blonde was perched in the center of the lion's den, sipping her tea and poking fun at one of Corsica's most notorious sons, Jackie le Mat, whom she affectionately referred to as 'Tomcat'. Francis 'The Belgian' Vanverberghe and Christian 'The Big Blond' Oraison sat on her opposite side, eagerly goading her into spats of bickering in fervid French.

"Come now, Tomcat, what is this, third wife's the charm?" The smile she bestowed from her teacup was a very impish one.

No one could get away with such latitude with Jackie le Mat. The man had been shot 22 times in 1977 and was somehow still kicking, though his right arm was paralyzed and rested in a sling the majority of the time. Despite her cheek, Jackie roared with laughter, eagerly teasing the young fugitive. "Well, you keep turning down my marriage proposals, what else is a dapper fellow like myself supposed to do?"

Rosalie lifted her chin in a playful fashion. "Now Jacques, you know full well I'm far too preoccupied for such frivolity. If Francis asked me, on the other hand..."

A low roar of laughter met this quip, in the midst of which Red heard a small psst.

Marietta waved him over to a smaller table, where she sat quietly observing the proceedings. "The view is much better from here." She winked and poured him a cup of tea, watching intently as he watched Rosalie.

Raymond took the seat and the offered cup, enjoying a long sip before leaning conspiratorially toward her. "Did I ever tell you the story of how Rosalie and I first met?"

Marietta beamed excitedly, shaking her head and resting her chin in her palm, eager to hear the tale.


Rosalie watched her companion from across the room as he spoke to Marietta.

She had never truly stopped to admire how the man told a story. He gesticulated and roared, he rumbled and purred, his eyes crinkled in sly amusement at the recollection of a particularly clever heist just as they rolled expressively when deploring the useless tactics of law enforcement. The man could weave a tale like a fine oriental carpet, each and every strand bearing its own unique texture and mixture of hues.

Rosalie tilted her head to the side, smiling adoringly at him as she watched him

The gesture actually made Raymond falter, the warmth and affection in her gaze permeating his thoughts.

Marietta looked between the two with a sly, knowing grin. Her clever eyes turned to her husband, slender brows waggling significantly at him.

Florian caught what she was referring to, the sight causing him to laugh and shake his head.


Raymond waited until Rosalie stood once more, heading to the pantry to check on the cooling of her baked goods.

He quickly took his leave from the Armels and followed her, stepping into the pantry and closing the door behind him.

Rosalie jumped in surprise, turning in shock only to be pulled into Red's arms.

His mouth brushed against hers, seeking her reaction to his advances.

She allowed it, leaning into him without hesitation.

When he gently sucked her bottom lip, it eased a moan from her throat, her hands moving to thread themselves through his hair, her nails scraping his scalp teasingly.

Raymond cupped her cheek, holding Rosalie to his pleasure while he coaxed some of his favorite sounds from her.

Her pulse was pounding and her breath came in sharp bursts when he finally released her.

"I know you're still upset. Can we talk about it?" Red's walk with Florian had shown him the real issue in his and Rosalie's argument, and he wanted dearly to mend the rift between them.

At his request, Rosalie couldn't hold back the words if she tried, unleashing everything which had crossed her mind between last night and that morning. "I'm upset because someone in this world seems intent on ripping me from your arms and for the first time, you and I don't seem to be standing as one. Instead of facing this together and handling it our way, we crumbled in on ourselves and blamed each other. We fought over something that shouldn't matter, and not to stick my thumb back in it, but I'm sure you were lying to me about Von Hauser."

She buried her face in her hands, resting her back against the pantry counter and taking a deep breath to steady herself. "Us arguing because we're both afraid and unsure of what we should do? That, I can understand. We can handle fear; we can handle uncertainty...What really worries me, Raymond, what kept me up last night, was the knowledge you're actively withholding part of yourself from me which I'm almost certain has nothing to do with your name."

Red's eyes were wide with surprise. He had been completely unaware of how badly this had been bothering her.

Rosalie brushed the corners of her eyes with a finger, a small sniff escaping her lips.

"You promised you wouldn't withhold any part of yourself from me and yet here you are. Which, for me, begs the question: What other promises will you break? What other lies will you tell while assuring me you're speaking the truth?"

That statement alone was enough to convince Raymond they could not wait one minute more to resolve the issue.

"Is there somewhere we can go that's absolutely private?"

Rosalie tilted her head, "Um, the dome. Nobody knows that room is there except for myself and the Armels."

Red took a deep breath and grabbed her by the hand, leading them from the pantry and back through the kitchen, carefully avoiding any of the house's other guests.

They ascended the stairs, bumping into Dembe on his way to the library.

He merely waved and carried on his merry way, understanding there was something personal afoot.

The two made quick time across the third floor, into Rosalie's room and up the spiral staircase, closing and locking each door behind them.

Raymond took a long look around the open room, admiring all he hadn't seen the night before. "I didn't manage to truly see this space last night, it was too dark."

His eyes scanned the room, admiring its shelves upon shelves of books and records, the polished baby grand piano in the room's corner catching his curiosity. "You play?"

Rosalie looked to where he was pointing and nodded, "I learned when I was very young, I still enjoy tickling the ivories now and again."

A somewhat uncomfortable quiet blanketed the room, both occupants fretting over an argument which had yet to come.

"In the pantry, I wanted to tell you," Raymond faltered, trying to find the exact words he needed, "I wanted to tell you, because I desperately need you to know...I love the way you look at me."

A small smile tugged at Rosalie's lips, falling when she saw how tense Red was.

"I don't want to do or say anything that will ever change the way you look at me."

The statement was whispered with a kind of desperation which worried her. Her stomach plummeted, "You aren't going to tell me what's going on because you think it will change the way I look at you?"

A lone finger chucked her chin, "I want to tell you."

Rosalie groaned and shook her head.

How could she have been so stupid? Of course he wasn't about to tell her the truth.

"I do want to tell you." Red insisted, "It would be such a relief to tell you everything, I know it would. Part of me thinks I don't deserve to be even partially relieved of that burden, but if keeping this secret means creating a divide between us, then I don't want to keep it."

This caught Rosalie's attention, so he surged onward, "Part of me is deeply afraid, Rosalie. To tell you this is to place in your confidence something that would absolutely and without question be my death sentence were it to leave this room."

Her lips parted in shock, "Raymond, you're scaring me."

"This should scare you, Rosalie. I don't want to keep things from you, but I need you to understand the significance of what you're asking of me. Can I trust you with this? Can you promise me you will hold that confidence regardless of what it might reveal? Even I don't know. You're the only one who can know if your conscience will allow it."

Rosalie was pointedly silent, genuinely considering what he was saying. "Raymond, what did you do?"

"Promise me, if I lay my life in your hands, you'll protect it. Promise me you'll keep it to yourself."

The Limoges clock on the mantle chimed audibly, making them both jump. The tension had been all-consuming up until that moment.

Red's powerful frame stood taut before Rosalie, who was still quite appalled he didn't know without question she could be trusted with something so precious.

"You really think I would do such a thing? That I would betray your confidence in any way?"

His eyes were beseeching, "This is my life, little dove. We're criminals. You know as well as I, I can't just take this for granted."

It took a moment for her to respond, but Rosalie finally sat on one end of the chaise lounge and patted the space beside her, perfectly sincere.

"I promise."

She understood Raymond was laying bare a piece of his humanity. He was offering a corner of himself which held deep, abiding wounds, filled with shame and regret at whatever had happened.

And so, she listened.

She listened as Raymond Reddington unburdened his soul, unveiling the truth about Hans Von Hauser to the only person whom he felt he could trust.