Rosalie gasped and shot out of her bedroll, looking around her dark tent wildly. Her heart pounded in her chest, sweat at her hairline and sticking her curls against her forehead. Mouth dry, Rosalie fought to catch her breath, gripping the top layer of the bedroll draped over her legs with white knuckles.

Another nightmare.

It was the second time she'd woken up that night. She was exhausted, but her anxieties were determined to keep her awake. The smell of smoke and her father's blood always felt so real, fear coursing through her as she clung to his jacket, begging him to stay with her in her dreams. She could still feel the sobs, tears streaming down her face as she pleaded for him not to leave her all alone. His warm, bloodied hand cradling her cheek as the fire loomed overhead from the burning saloon.

Sniffing, Rosalie pulled her father's oversized canvas work jacket from her bag and shrugged it on. The brown coat still smelled like him, remnants of cigars and pine sol.

Tears threatened to fall down her cheeks again at the familiar comfort, still shaken by her nightmares, but she blinked them away as she stepped out of the tent in her bare feet and knee-length nightgown.

While it was still humid, it was much cooler than the day, her father's jacket providing a sense of warmth as she walked across camp to the firepit that was nothing more than coals now.

Rosalie sat on the ground and ruffled through her pocket, fishing out her pack of cigarettes. With shaky hands, she placed one between her lips and then dug through her pocket again for her matches. She didn't find any. Just her cigarette pack, some stray bullets, and a piece of fishing line.

Rosalie huffed, staring out into the distance at the realization that they were still in her tent.

All she wanted was a damn cigarette. She couldn't get proper sleep, and now after she had made herself comfortable outside, she realized that she didn't even have any matches on her.

There was a shuffling of footsteps, and then the hiss of a match lighting.

Rosalie looked up, blinking in surprise at the sight of Arthur standing over her, his hand extended with a lit match. He didn't ask to come closer, only offering it before he lit her cigarette. He was aware of her feelings toward him lately and didn't wanna push his luck.

Rosalie's heart faltered in her chest as she looked up at him. Arthur was also in his nightclothes, wearing his union suit and a pair of trousers. He was quite handsome this way, looking down at her with his disheveled brown hair and sleepy eyes.

Ignoring the way her heart pounded in her chest, she leaned forward, meeting the bud of her cigarette against the flame that he offered her. With a puff of smoke, Rosalie leaned back against the log and let out a deep sigh, pulling the cigarette from her lips as she stared off into the distance.

Arthur sighed and lowered himself to sit beside Rosalie. He didn't sit as close as he usually would, leaving a decent amount of space between them. He lit his own cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his face, and then tossed the match into the burnt-out fire.

Rosalie hugged her legs to her chest and took a drag of her cigarette, a silence settling between them. She could feel his body heat despite the space between them. His presence was somewhat comforting after her stressful night, but she couldn't help feeling awkward given their tumultuous relationship lately.

She didn't know what to say to him. They had barely spoken, and the last time they exchanged more than a few words was when he was screaming at her to say 'hello' to Mary.

The thought of the pretty, brown-haired woman brought a sour taste to her mouth. She grimaced at the frustration bubbling in her chest and took another drag of the cigarette to calm her nerves.

"Why you been so cold to me?" Arthur asked suddenly, breaking the silence between them.

"I haven't," Rosalie replied easily, refusing to look at him.

"You have," Argued Arthur. "You've been ignoring me, and then when I bring someone around who's important to me, you run off n' throw a fit. I've only known you for some months now, but that ain't like you."

Rosalie shrugged. "Maybe I don't wanna know her." She said passively, as though the conversation was boring her.

"Now why the hell not?!" Arthur asked, starting to get angry now. "Mary is a sweet girl. I love her, and I want… I want y'all to like her too. Both you… John… even Susan… Is that too much to ask?"

Rosalie grit her teeth at the mention of him loving her.

He had to go and say that, didn't he? It was the first time she had a real one-on-one conversation with him since they arrived in New Orleans a month ago, and here he was, declaring his love for another woman. It made her so mad.

It felt like her chest was on fire. Her eyes burned. She knew tears were pooling in her eyes, and she did all she could to not let them fall. It didn't work, though, as the tears rushed down her rosy cheeks. Her sleepless night was bad enough; the last thing she wanted was to listen to him talk about how much he loved Mary.

"Are you… are you… crying?" Arthur asked slowly, his gaze softening as he looked at her. The anger dissipated at the sight of her teary eyes and sniffling.

Rosalie sniffed and wiped her face. "No."

She got to her feet and took another breath from the cigarette, before turning and tossing it into the coals. She went to walk away, but Arthur grabbed her wrist before she could take so much as two steps.

"Why… are you crying?" Arthur asked slowly, hesitation in his voice as he held onto her.

"I told you that I'm not." Rosalie denied, trying to control the tremor in her voice as tears continued to rush down her face. She twisted her mouth to distract herself from the pain in her chest and the burning in her eyes. "Now let me go." She said coldly.

Arthur shook his head. "No, not until you tell me why–"

Rosalie spun on him, looking down at him with her jaw set, anger in her eyes. "Because of you. You made me feel–feel so stupid, and I'm tired of it! I'm tired of feeling like an idiot!" She shouted, her lip trembling.

Arthur looked at her as though she had grown two heads. "Because of me?" He asked in disbelief, pointing to himself.

There was rustling, Dutch's tent flaps opening as Susan poked her head out, squinting in the darkness at the pair of young adults in the midst of an argument. Her gaze narrowed in on Rosalie's teary face and Arthur's confused and irritated expression.

With a deep sigh, Susan stepped out of the tent and came over to Rosalie, placing her hands on her shoulders. She glanced down at Arthur with a disapproving look. "I think you should leave her alone for now, Mister Morgan. Dutch said you have a busy night with that stakeout at the Montgomery plantation, so you should go back to sleep." She instructed, rubbing Rosalie's arm.

Rosalie was confused by Susan's kindness but didn't pull away or argue. She turned her face away so she didn't have to look at Arthur, her eyes tired and nose running from all the tears she had shed.

Arthur opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it, resorting to just a deep sigh with a shake of his head. Instead of returning to his tent, he took a drag from his cigarette and walked across the clearing to Boadicea, putting a decent amount of distance between him and the women.

Susan sighed, watching Arthur walk over to Boadicea. She turned her attention back to Rosalie now that they were alone, her face becoming firm as she looked at the girl's rosy face and tear-stained cheeks.

"Hey, you listen to me, miss," Susan said, grabbing hold of Rosalie's chin and tilting it so their eyes met.

Rosalie looked at her, the corner of her mouth twisting as she blinked away tears. Embarrassment flooded her at the realization of her emotional display. Arthur had caught her at the worst time, the toll of her nightmares already making her feel crazy. His prodding only made it worse.

"Don't you let a man make you cry," Susan said firmly, her gaze unwavering. "A man, let alone a boy, will not be the reason you shed tears, understand? Pull yourself up by your bootstraps and continue on, you hear me? If a man decides he doesn't want you, then you don't want him anymore."

Rosalie stared up at her, the pain in her chest tight. Her words ran through her mind as she tried to mull them over with her mushy brain. A beat of silence passed between them before she nodded in response.

Susan, seeming to be satisfied with her answer, let go of her face and patted her back. "Alright. Go pull yourself together, then." She said, before walking back to Dutch's tent and sliding inside.

Rosalie wiped her face furiously and dusted off her front. Even if she felt Arthur's eyes on her, she didn't turn to look at him. She marched back to her tent and slid inside, sitting down on her bedroll and staring at the tent wall with a frown.

Rosalie felt like a fool. Susan was right. Arthur had made it clear that he didn't love her. Despite what Rosalie had believed was mutual affection between them, it wasn't reciprocated. The realization stung deeply. She felt hurt and embarrassed for allowing her emotions to overwhelm her like that in front of him. It was pathetic.

Rosalie wasn't sure what to think or feel anymore. Everything was so chaotic and nothing went her way.

Glancing at the guitar case in the corner of the tent, she scooted over, unclasping the lid and pulling the instrument into her lap. She pushed the sleeves of her father's coat up to her elbows and propped the guitar up to play, her eyes lingering across the painted ivy and various scrapes and bumps across the worn instrument.

She gave a great, deep sigh, and closed her eyes, before she opened them again, and began to strum the strings, playing the same, deep melody she had for George the day before.

Rosalie hoped her heart would heal with time. At least she had one thing to offer her comfort.

Night came soon, and by that point, she was leading the gang through her grandfather's property, making sure to stay far away from the main paths or areas where she noticed his guards patrolling the most.

The darkness was eerie, the tall, mighty oak and willow trees lining her grandfather's property offering enough cover for them to remain undetected. Their tall statures cast long shadows in the moonlight. The rustling leaves, hooting owls, and distant sounds of other animals helped maintain their cover.

Rosalie was careful not to be caught, eyes scanning the shadows as she moved along through the trees, Blitz's reins in hand.

It would be troublesome if they were spotted, and impossible for her to explain away why she was on her grandfather's property with a bunch of strange men without looking suspicious. That was something she wouldn't be able to get them out of even with a few petty lies or bats of her eyelashes.

After a few minutes of silently riding, they arrived at a clearing where the trees thinned, exposing a small patch of gravel that led to the cellar her grandfather had shown her the day before.

Carefully, they led their horses deeper into the trees to shield them from any potential harm when the O'Driscolls arrived. After securing the horses, they took cover around the cellar, positioning themselves armed and ready.

Due to the… complicated relationship, she had with Arthur recently, she and Dutch were together, while John, Arthur, and Hosea hid on the opposite side of the clearing. She positioned herself behind the thick trunk of a willow, Dutch a few yards away behind another tree.

Rosalie hadn't spoken to Arthur since the previous night. He hadn't sought her out, seemingly uncomfortable with her tears. She also refused to approach him, feeling she had embarrassed herself enough with her recent emotional outbursts.

Susan's words were harsh, but they knocked some sense into her. Rosalie appreciated the tough love. She had never had a strong female presence in her life, but she was glad Susan was offering it now, even if she was often quite rude.

With her rifle, Rosalie scanned the surroundings, waiting for anything out of the ordinary.

They had two objectives: defend themselves from any attackers and safeguard the cellar from damage, all while capturing an O'Driscoll alive for interrogation. Their goal was to confirm whether Colm and Cormac would really be at Lake Catherine by month's end or if they had already relocated. They needed to make sure they weren't wasting their time here.

Dutch also hoped Mr. Montgomery would pay them sizably once he found out the prized cellar had been protected from harm due to their efforts. Rosalie wouldn't be surprised if her grandfather did graciously pay them. The cellar was very valuable to their business.

On the tour of the property the day before, Charlie told Rosalie that it was a difficult process building the cellar, as any kind of underground space was practically impossible to build with the swampy, marsh texture the ground offered in the deep south. They had jumped through many hoops to build that thing, and if something happened to it, their business would be in danger.

It would be a challenge for Rosalie to stay focused now. She didn't get much sleep and was thoroughly exhausted. She was awake enough to shoot and be conscious of her surroundings, but just barely. The nightmares were relentless in haunting her and kept those stubborn purple bags under her eyes.

Rosalie longed for a night of soundless sleep. Maybe after they killed Cormac, she would find some kind of peace again.

There was the snap of a twig.

Rosalie narrowed her eyes as she focused on the far side of the clearing where a group of men emerged from the trees. Two men led the way, carrying dynamite. Behind them, at least ten others walked with weapons ready, scanning the area for any sign of Montgomery guards.

She couldn't tell for certain. Squinting against the distance and hindered by the darkness, Rosalie strained to make out figures hidden among the trees. It was dangerous, as they couldn't see how many people there were in total. There could have been as little as three men waiting as backup, or as many as twenty.

Rosalie's mouth went dry, nerves making her hands numb. She readjusted her grip on her rifle and glanced to Dutch, waiting for him to give the 'OK'.

Dutch nodded, then raised his rifle, aiming it at the men creeping across the grassy clearing. Rosalie followed suit, lifting her rifle and fixing her sights on one of the men holding dynamite.

Tension hung in the air. An owl hooted in the distance. Rosalie held her breath as she fixed her gaze on the unsuspecting O'Driscoll, finger grazing the trigger as she waited for Dutch to fire. A stray piece of hair fell into her eyes as she squinted down the sight.

Dutch fired his gun. Rosalie pulled the trigger, the bullet flying through the air before making its purchase right between the O'Driscoll's eyes.

The O'Driscoll's body snapped back from the force of the bullet and crumpled to the ground. Gunshots flew from the trees in the distance.

She continued to fire, peeking out from behind her tree trunk to place a shot into any O'Driscoll she could see, but the darkness was making things difficult. The shadows were almost indistinguishable from one another.

Rosalie grit her teeth and fired again at a man in the trees, the glimmer of his belt buckle giving his position away in the moonlight. The shot landed with precision in his chest and he collapsed.

All the practice she had put in was paying off. Rosalie had to resist the urge to grin.

As morbid as it was, murdering a bunch of O'Driscolls meant nothing to her. Not after that first one in the woods those months ago had tried to defile her.

A bullet whizzed past her ear. Rosalie cried out and flung herself behind the tree trunk, eyes wide as she held the rifle to her chest, breathing hard as she tried to calm down.

Gunshots echoed through the clearing. Her grandfather and his guards had to know something was going on by now. There was nothing quiet about their exchange as they fired back and forth, shouts and cries of pain filling the air as they picked off the O'Driscolls one by one.

Dutch's voice cut through the chaos, noticing how she had flung herself behind the trunk in panic. "Stay low! We've got to keep them pinned down!" He called.

Rosalie nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. She peeked around the tree trunk cautiously, scanning the shadows for movement. The adrenaline surged through her veins, sharpening her senses as she searched for any sign of another O'Driscoll.

Suddenly, she spotted movement to her left. A pair of O'Driscolls were attempting to flank their position, creeping through the underbrush with weapons at the ready.

Once they crept close enough, Rosalie spun on them and fired at one, placing the shot in his chest, his body flinging back with the impact. She turned to the other and shot his arm and then his leg. The gun fell out of his hands as he cried out in pain.

Rosalie darted over to him, rushing out from the cover of her tree and into the bushes.

She grabbed ahold of his collar and began dragging him to a nearby tree. The cover of the bushes wouldn't keep her protected for long, especially with all the flying shrapnel, so she needed to move them if she wanted this O'Driscoll to be useful.

Rosalie grunted as she pulled him along, the man much too heavy for her.

"You… you damn b…bitch…" The O'Driscoll huffed, gritting his teeth as Rosalie dragged him. Sweat pooled at his hairline and he was bleeding profusely from both the wounds Rosalie had given him.

"Shut the hell up," Rosalie grit out, dropping him behind a tree not too far from Dutch.

Making sure to put a decent amount of distance between herself and the O'Drsicoll, standing on the other side of the thick trunk, she poked her rifle out and peered into the darkness, looking for another attacker that was still firing at them. The gunfire had weaned, but shots were still being fired.

Suddenly, there were sparks in the distance, and then the sound of something fizzing, as though it had been lit.

Her gaze narrowed in on an O'Driscoll, dynamite in hand and lit as he prepared to throw it toward the cellar.

Instinctually, Rosalie pointed her rifle at the O'Driscoll's hand and fired. The bullet flung the dynamite from his wrist and it tumbled to the ground at their feet. The O'Drsicoll let out a nasty scream, but before he could do anything more to save himself, the dynamite set off, blowing up himself and a few remaining O'Driscolls near him.

Rosalie winced and turned away from the explosion. She didn't want to think about their guts and other innards that probably littered the ground where he dropped that dynamite.

The gunfire had ceased. Rosalie felt like she could breathe, standing to her full height. She dusted her sweaty palms on her pants and swallowed hard, looking over at Dutch, who was giving her a look of approval as he came over.

"Very good! That was… an interesting fight. Never thought I'd see an O'Driscoll try to throw dynamite and then blow himself up," Dutch said, placing a hand on Rosalie's shoulder. He gave it a firm squeeze, before looking down at the O'Driscoll at their feet.

"I see you've also got us a little present!" Dutch cried, grinning down at the man propped against the trunk.

The O'Drsicoll huffed and looked between the both of them with disgust. "Stupid bitch. Should have… shoulda' jus' shot me."

Hosea trailed over, Arthur and John behind him. "That would have taken away all the fun, though. Why in God's name would we do that?!" Hosea laughed, placing his hands on his hips as he stood over the O'Driscoll.

Rosalie slung her rifle over her shoulder and crossed her arms. She looked down at the pitiful, huffing O'Driscoll too, before glancing over to Arthur and John who stopped behind Hosea.

John's eyes were wide with excitement, his rifle clutched in his hand like it was his prized possession. "What are we gonna do with him?" He asked.

Arthur came closer and kicked the O'Driscoll's foot lazily, prompting a pained groan from the man. "We're gonna find out what we know from him… and then maybe let him go," Arthur said.

Rosalie's eyes flicked up to meet Arthur's. He met her stare but didn't say anything, before looking to Dutch and Hosea.

They weren't going to let him go, were they? She didn't believe it for a second. She thought they were going to get the information they needed and then kill the guy. Even if she was confused, she wouldn't outwardly deny Arthur's proposition.

"That's right," Dutch said, lowering himself to his haunches so he was level with the O'Drsicoll. He held up his hands and raised his brows, trying to appear as honest as possible. "We mean it, boy. You tell us what you know, and maybe we'll let you run off home free…"

The O'Driscoll seemed to be seriously considering it, his face twisting as he huffed. His hair stuck to his forehead with sweat and blood stained his clothes.

He wouldn't get far on his own, but despite that, the man seemed to be weighing it as a plausible option.

His gaze drifted between each person and lingered on their faces for a moment, before he huffed, eyes rolling in the back of his head as he fought through the pain. "What… wh… what you wanna know?" He asked lowly.

Dutch grinned. "Well… we heard some interestin' news about Lake Catherine later this month… you know about that?" He asked.

This seemed to get his attention, the O'Driscoll's eyes flying open at the mention of the location. He huffed again and furrowed his brows. "Why that matter to you?" He asked.

He was confused about its relevance as important information, having expected them to ask about cash or valuables.

Rosalie scoffed and readjusted her folded arms. "Because we wanna know if Colm and Cormac will be there."

The O'Driscoll scoffed. "Be there? Oh, they'll be there. It's supposed to be our biggest s…score of the summer, these goods. Fellers… fellers will pay high p-prices for those…" He huffed again. "There, that all you wanna know?"

"Sounds good to me," Dutch shrugged and looked up at Hosea for his opinion.

Hosea nodded. "I think so. Let him loose."

Rosalie watched in shock as Arthur grabbed the man by his collar and hauled him to his feet, dragging him away from the group and deeper into the trees. He shoved the man forward once he deemed there was enough distance. The O'Driscoll stumbled, before falling to the ground again, whimpering in pain and clutching his leg where Rosalie had shot him.

"We're… we're really gonna let him go?" Rosalie asked, watching as the man attempted to get to his feet, but was struggling to make it even a few yards.

Arthur scoffed. "He ain't gettin' far. We killed him already by makin' him talk. O'Driscoll's don't take kindly to traitors." He explained sourly.

Rosalie's face twisted, but she didn't say anything more about that, only glancing at the still intact cellar door. "Well, at least that's taken care of."

There was the sound of neighing horses and shouting. Coming out of the trees were four men, two of them holding lanterns as they broke into the clearing on horseback.

"Alright, come out of the trees, now!" Shouted one of them, their voice sounding familiar.

"Aw, Jesus… look at all these bodies. It's a damn near massacre!" Cried the other familiar voice as they took in the scene. "We gotta clean all this up later!"

John shifted on his feet and glanced at Hosea. "We gonna make a break for it?" He asked quietly.

Hosea shook his head, glancing at Rosalie as she raised her hands and took a step forward, coming to the tree line. Arthur grunted and took a step after her. He looked at the back of her head like she was an idiot for putting herself in the open.

"Now what are you–?!" Arthur cried in a low voice, but Dutch grabbed him before he could so much as graze the back of her shirt and shook his head.

"Let her handle this…" Dutch said lowly. "She knows these people. We don't."

Arthur grimaced, but relaxed, standing back and simply watching as Rosalie put herself in the open, the four still hidden in the darkness of the trees.

Just as Rosalie expected, the men talking were none other than Jim and Tommy, the plantation guards she had met on multiple occasions of visiting her grandfather's property.

"Hey there…" Rosalie said, smiling sheepishly at them with a little wave.

Tommy looked at her in disbelief. "Now what in the hell… is that…?" He asked, glancing at Jim.

Jim let out a breathy laugh, shocked at the sight of her. "Miss Rosalie Klein?! What are you…?" He glanced at the rifle over her shoulder, then at the various bodies spread throughout the cellar clearing. His face became suspicious as he raised a brow. "What is going on here?" He asked.

Rosalie frowned. "O'Driscolls. I heard they were planning to rob Grandfather… so I wanted to take care of it." She explained.

Jim scoffed at the name. "Them damn O'Driscolls. I hear about the nasty things they do in the paper. They look like em' too. I believe ya, but the person you really gotta convince is Mr. Montgomery."

Rosalie grimaced. "You think he'll be mad?"

Tommy looked mortified, still stuck on the part about her killing all the O'Driscolls. "Nah, he won't be mad other than the fact you were in danger. But uh… you did all this?" He asked, his eyes scanning the area, gaze lingering on the bodies that were blown to smithereens.

Rosalie shook her head with a sheepish grin. "Uh… no…"

She signaled for them to come out of the trees. They complied, Dutch, Arthur, Hosea, and John coming out of the treeline with their hands raised and friendly expressions, trying to show they meant no harm.

"Hello, friends!" Dutch called with a wave. "I heard that dear Rosalie's Grandfather's business was in jeopardy… and I knew Mr. Montgomery wouldn't bear to listen to the likes of us, so we took matters into our own hands! We were happy to help."

Rosalie resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his flattery.

A sly grin pulled at Dutch's lips. "Though maybe… a sizable thank you can be in order, yes?"

Jim scoffed and glanced at Rosalie. "I ain't know you ran with such a slimeball, Miss Klein!"

Dutch faltered at his insult. Arthur snorted behind her and Hosea chuckled.

Rosalie flashed Jim a polite smile. "Ah, he's a good man. Don't mind him. But… do you think we could go speak to Grandfather?" She asked.

Tommy shook his head with a scoff. "Well, of course. He's awake and pacing the entire downstairs with anxiety 'cause he ain't know what's goin' on. You can hear all the commotion from the house. Woke him up. Just don't give the old man a heart attack when he sees you with that rifle, alright? I'd like to keep my job, and I'm sure poor Louis ain't wanna take his job yet." He added.

Rosalie snorted but nodded her head in agreement.

The group got on their horses and rode to the Montgomery manor, the large, white building towering high and mighty, the downstairs windows illuminated in the darkness. Guided by Jim and Tommy, it didn't take them long to arrive.

"Man, your Momma lived here?" John asked in bewilderment as they neared the house.

"I know, it's hard to believe," Rosalie said as they pulled their horses to a stop, eyes running over the fancy building. "Especially when my Daddy was such a thief and living off of scraps."

Hosea scoffed and shot her a sideways glance. "Tell me why you ain't gonna stay here again?"

Rosalie rolled her eyes and hopped off the horse, the rest of the men following suit as they walked up the short steps and through the large red door. Jim and Tommy led them inside, their boots clicking against the hardwood floors as they entered and walked down the hall.

They led the group into the living room. It was a vast space, three deep red loveseats positioned around a coffee table and before a lit fireplace. A large painting with four members hung above it, consisting of Eleanor, her mother, Charlie, and Rosalie's grandmother, Evelyn. They were dressed in fine clothes, and her mother and aunt were probably about sixteen.

Bookcases lined the walls, save for a side table that was adorned with fancy trinkets and a vase filled with fresh wildflowers. It was a cozy space, the wealth displayed much more delicately than what she remembered of the Harrington plantation.

Her grandfather, in his night clothes and nursing a glass of brandy, looked up in shock at the sight of Rosalie and the rest of the men flanking her.

"Well I'll be—?! What the—?" Charlie rushed over to the loveseat with its back facing them and swatted at someone lying there. "Hey, hey, get up!"

George shot up from the couch in a panic, his dark hair sticking up in different directions, his white button-up disheveled from sleep.

"Wh-what?!" he stammered.

George turned around, blinking sleepily at the sight of Rosalie standing at the front of the group of men that Jim and Tommy had led inside.

"I think I hit my head," George confessed, confused at the sight.

Rosalie waved with a sheepish laugh. "Ahaha… hello…"

Charlie set his glass down and rushed over, placing his hand on her arm and looking her over in concern. "What… what in God's name are you doing here? W-with a rifle no less?" He asked, eyeing the gun slung over her shoulder.

Hosea snorted and shared a look with Dutch.

It was apparent to them that Rosalie's grandfather was none the wiser about what she was up to on a day-to-day basis. He may have known her father was an outlaw and that she had a peculiar lifestyle, but he was unbeknownst to the extent of it.

Rosalie gave him an innocent smile. "Well, Dutch, this man here…" She said, gesturing to the mustached man behind her, who offered a polite nod at her introduction. "Told me that someone was planning to blow up your cigar cellar. I didn't know if you would believe me, or be prepared enough… so we took matters into our own hands of defending it." She explained.

Charlie looked appalled. "Y-you defended it? You were the gunfire?" He asked in disbelief.

Rosalie shook her head. "Ah, no. Not just me, but all of us here…" She said, gesturing to the group once again.

Dutch took a step forward and offered his hand politely. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Montgomery. I'm glad to have offered protection to your business, as I know you're Rosalie's family."

In a bit of a trance, Charlie took Dutch's hand and shook it firmly. "Ahem… I see…" his gaze drifted to Rosalie with a suspicious expression. "How do you know these men?"

Rosalie's face fell, not particularly eager to explain what led her to meet them in depth. "When… when my Daddy… well… I was all alone. I had nowhere to go and didn't know what to do. Dutch found me and took me in. He helped keep me safe, so I have a lot to thank him for." she explained.

Rosalie's face was hot with embarrassment at verbalizing her gratitude in front of the group, but it was the truth. Without Dutch, Rosalie would have turned into a pathetic street urchin, and maybe even turned to work at a whorehouse.

That's only if she wasn't murdered or kidnapped first. Dutch had saved her, and for that, she owed him a lot. He had shown her kindness when there wasn't any real benefit to it.

Charlie blinked in surprise, the information processing as he mulled over her words. He then shook Dutch's hand with much more vigor, his eyes wide with thankfulness. "Thank you, sir. Thank you very much for keeping her safe. There are a lot of bad… bad men who would have done away with my granddaughter. I'm glad to know you've helped keep her out of harm's way." He thanked.

Arthur raised a brow and shared a look with Hosea. Rosalie shifted on her feet sheepishly, knowing the part about keeping her out of danger wasn't necessarily true… but Charlie didn't need to know the extent of that.

"It was my pleasure," Dutch affirmed as he gave the man a warm smile.

Charlie stepped into the living room and beckoned them inside. "Come, come sit! Let us have a drink!"

He walked over to the loveseats and perched himself on the couch to the left of the three. He poured a glass of golden brandy for each of them and offered it their way.

"Well, we'll go clean up the… mess those O'Driscolls left behind…" Jim said, grimacing at the thought of the dead bodies, as he and Tommy left the house, the door clicking shut behind them.

Rosalie set her rifle down by the entryway of the living room before sitting beside George, the rest of the group doing the same. They were following her lead, as this was her family and she was the most familiar with the people. Out of all of them, Dutch seemed to be the most eager, walking over and smoothly sinking into the cushions on the loveseat to the right.

Hosea followed suit and sat down beside Dutch, taking the brandy and sipping at the rim. His eyes widened in surprise. "This is quite smooth." He complimented.

Charlie smiled. "Ah, only the best! Straight from Amsterdam."

Arthur sat beside Rosalie, his eyes drifting around the room as Hosea, Dutch, and Charlie had a conversation about the liquor. John squished himself into the small spot at the end of the couch with Hosea and Dutch, eyeing the fancy bookshelves and knickknacks that littered the room.

Arthur's gaze locked onto the painting above the fireplace. He blinked, before glancing at Rosalie. "Is that… is that your Momma?" He asked, raising a brow.

Rosalie nodded, allowing herself to ignore the tension-filled interaction they had the night before. She glanced up to the portrait of her mother, feeling as though she was looking at a mirror.

"It is. I look a lot like her, don't I? It's strange, seeing her dressed so nice, as in the only picture I have of her, she's wearing rags." She said, thinking of the photo in her father's jacket.

There was a pause before Arthur chuckled lowly. "Nah, you ain't capable of puttin' yourself together in such a way. All fancy like that?" He teased.

Rosalie grinned, not taking any offense to his comment. "You'd be surprised, Mister Morgan. I can clean up quite well."

"Really?" Arthur asked, raising a brow. "You in a frilly dress? Might as well be puttin' you in a straight jacket."

Rosalie barked a laugh, slapping a hand over her mouth as Hosea shot her a strange look, before continuing his conversation about the quality of alcohol up north that came over on boats through Boston with her grandfather and Dutch.

John got up and walked to the other side of the room where knickknacks sat on the table, spinning a globe idly with a bored expression.

George kept quiet, eyeing Arthur and Rosalie out of his peripheral vision. He reached for a glass of leftover brandy on the coffee table and began to nurse the drink.

"Oh!" Rosalie cried, realizing she hadn't introduced the two yet. She leaned back, allowing the two men to see each other instead of talking around her. "Arthur, this is George Langley. He works with my grandfather and has been a good friend to me." She introduced, gesturing between them.

George turned to Arthur with a sudden bright grin. He clasped Arhtur's hand in a firm handshake. "How very nice to meet you, my friend! I can't say she's mentioned you before, so must not be that important, hm?" He asked.

There was a lull. Rosalie furrowed her brow, looking at George in confusion for his rudeness. That was unlike him.

Arthur blinked, his hand still gripping George's, though his grip noticeably tightened. "I don't seem to understand your meaning, friend. Care to explain?" He asked slowly, his brow inching into his hairline.

George laughed and shook his head. "Ah, just jokes. All in good fun."

A silence settled over the room, enough that even Dutch, Hosea, and Charlie noticed. John stopped spinning the globe from his corner of the room and glanced over, blinking idly at the exchange between the two men. Rosalie exchanged a quick glance with Dutch and Hosea, silently urging them to steer the conversation back to safer topics.

Dutch cleared his throat and leaned forward slightly, addressing Charlie with a warm smile. "Mr. Montgomery, you have a remarkable home here. It's quite a change from our usual camps, I must say," he remarked, gesturing around the elegant living room.

Charlie beamed with pride, happy to have something else to focus on. "Thank you, Dutch. Been in the family for generations. Evelyn and I have tried to keep it in good shape," he replied, nodding towards the painting above the fireplace. "That there is Evelyn, my late wife, and Rosalie's grandmother."

Rosalie listened attentively, grateful for the shift away from the awkward moment between Arthur and George. She glanced over at Arthur, who had returned his gaze to the painting, his expression unreadable.

He suddenly stood and walked over to John, who had absentmindedly returned to spinning the globe. John muttered something to Arthur that Rosalie couldn't hear, the pair having a conversation with their eyes drifting to her and George every so often.

Rosalie gave George a sideways look. "What was that about?" She asked.

George shook his head. "Nothing at all? Just making friendly conversation." He gave her an innocent smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, before sipping at his glass idly.

Rosalie blinked in confusion. "Okay…" she said slowly, unsure what his problem was. She then raised a brow.

"What are you doing here so late anyways?" She asked him, leaning back in the loveseat and folding her hands across her stomach.

George sighed and rubbed a tired hand across his face. "Late paperwork. I was too tired to head home and passed out on the couch. That was until we heard the gunfire. It woke me and your grandfather."

A sly grin pulled at his lips as he turned to her. "I thought you said you weren't a wild gunslinger? That rifle you had says otherwise." He teased.

Rosalie rolled her eyes. "Please, spare me from your teasing. I can't take any more of it." She said dramatically.

George chuckled at her dramatics, but there was a flicker of something more serious in his eyes. "Alright, alright," he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender, alcohol sloshing against the slides of the glass.

Rosalie's gaze shifted to her grandfather, anxiety filling her chest as she remembered the conversation at the garden party.

While Dutch had learned about the impending attack on the cellar from a contact, he hadn't discovered who had put the O'Driscolls up to it. Rosalie had a suspicion it was this William character from the party.

Rosalie took a deep breath, her expression growing more serious as she prepared to share what she overheard. "There's something else you all need to know," she began, glancing around at the attentive faces who had turned to her in interest. "It wasn't just a random attack. The O'Driscolls were put up to it by someone."

Charlie's eyes narrowed with concern. "What do you mean, Rosalie? Who would do such a thing?"

Rosalie leaned forward, her hands clasped tightly together. "I overheard it at the party. Someone named William. He was… mentioning some sinister things about your business, and that he wanted to see it suffer. He didn't mention anything specific, other than wanting to undercut your prices with his smuggled goods." She explained.

George, who had been silently observing, spoke up, irritation in his voice as he spoke. "William Forswood's been known for his underhanded tactics in business. He must see us as a threat, Charles."

Charlie grit his teeth, his grip tightening around his glass. "That snake. I knew he was trouble, but to stoop to using the O'Driscolls? He's playing dirty." He scoffed and shook his head with distaste.

He turned his attention to Rosalie with a raised brow. "I assume you mean to do something about him?"

Rosalie blinked and leaned back, surprised by his comment. "...Do something about it?" She asked, wondering where this version of her grandfather had come from.

Charlie snorted. "If that son of a bitch wants to undercut me and play dirty, I can play dirty too. All I can ask now… is are you willing to help me?"

A grin pulled at Dutch's lips. "Oh, I assure you, Mr. Montgomery, that we can play dirty."

Rosalie blinked, watching as a look of satisfaction crossed her grandfather's face.

Maybe her aggressive, spitfire energy wasn't just from her father's outlaw ways,, but ran on her mother's side of the family too. Her mother had robbed her grandfather blind after all—so maybe it wasn't all that surprising.