He Wants Me Dead Or Alive

Rosa's POV

My heart was slamming against my ribs so hard I could feel it in my teeth. Two men stood over me, cursing in some sharp foreign language, words snapping like whips, faces twisted in anger.

They were pissed at each other, at me, at the whole damn situation and I was just sitting there on the cold concrete, wrists tied tight behind my back, trying not to let them see how scared I was.

My name was Rosa Stewart, and I was about to tell you exactly why these idiots were cursing themselves stupid in a tongue I couldn't even recognize, but before I could even get the first sentence out in my head, the door crashed open with a bang that echoed off the walls.

Bright light flooded in, blinding after hours of shadows, and a tall figure stepped through, moving like he owned the darkness itself.

I squeezed my eyes half-shut, praying it was Luca, please let it be Luca, let him have come to fix this mess he'd dragged me into.

It wasn't Luca. He looked like him?

There was no time to figure out who it was, because the two guards exploded into motion, shouting, rushing the newcomer with knives flashing. One of them tripped in his hurry, and his blade clattered to the floor right near my feet. I didn't think. I twisted hard, ignoring the rope tearing skin, fingers stretching until they closed around the handle.

The stranger was already fighting, fast and brutal, slamming one guard into the wall with a sickening thud. He glanced over, saw me standing there ready to go, and his dark eyes widened just a fraction.

"The lady shouldn't fight?" he said, voice low and edged with amusement even as he drove a fist into the other man's stomach.

I bared my teeth. "This lady has a bronze medal in national sparring, so maybe shut up and worry about your own face."

I lunged before he could answer. The second guard swung at me, wild and sloppy. I slipped to the side, years of drills kicking in, and snapped a palm strike straight up into his nose. Blood sprayed. He howled.

I dropped low, hooked his ankle, yanked, then brought my knee crashing into his groin as he fell. He curled up whimpering. I finished with a sharp elbow to the temple. Out cold.

"Woah," the stranger breathed, finishing his guy with a clean hook that snapped the head back. "You do know how to fight."

"You better stop talking and watch your damn back," I snapped, already spinning toward the doorway where more boots were pounding closer.

He laughed-actually laughed-while ducking a flying chair. "Are you really my brother's fiancée? I heard you once flew home early because you got a splinter in your foot. And here you are kicking ass like it's Tuesday."

I blocked a punch, countered with a quick jab to the throat. The man choked and staggered. "I do more than fight," I told him, breathing hard. "I might actually smack you in the ass if you don't shut your mouth and help me finish this."

He grinned, wide and reckless, grabbing another attacker by the shirt and hurling him into a stack of crates. "Feisty. I like it. So tell me, Kylie-"

I almost tripped over my own feet. Kylie. Of course he thought I was Kylie. Luca's real fiancée. The one I'd been pretending to be since the moment they'd grabbed me. I swallowed the panic and rolled with it.

"Yeah, Kylie," I said, sweeping a guy's legs and stomping his wrist so the gun he was reaching for skittered away. "Kylie Rivers. Pleasure to meet you in this five-star hellhole."

He was still talking, even while he fought, voice calm like we were chatting over coffee. "Luca never said you could handle yourself like this. He made you sound... delicate. Porcelain doll. All soft edges."

I ducked a fist, came up with an uppercut that rattled teeth. "Clearly Luca's a shitty judge of character. And you talk too much."

We were moving together now, almost back-to-back, the room a chaos of grunts and falling bodies. Three more men burst through the door. The stranger snatched a metal pipe off the floor and swung it in a wide arc, forcing them to scatter.

"Left!" he called.

I pivoted, met the charge head-on. Big guy, slow. I feinted high, dropped low, leg sweep, then drove my heel into his temple as he hit the ground. Done.

"Nice," he said, approving.

"Less compliments, more punching."

He took out the last two in quick succession-one with the pipe, one with a brutal knee to the face. Then silence dropped, sudden and thick, only our heavy breathing and the occasional low moan breaking it.

I turned to face him fully for the first time. Dark hair fell into darker eyes, sharp jaw, blood streaking his knuckles and a tear in his shirt showing tanned skin. Same bone structure as Luca, but rougher, more dangerous, like a blade that had seen too many fights.

He opened his mouth... probably to say something else annoying-when a flicker of movement caught my eye.

One of the men I thought was down rolled fast, gun coming up.

Everything slowed.

I saw the barrel swing toward me.

I couldn't move quick enough.

But he could.

He threw himself in front, shoving me back hard. The gunshot cracked, deafening. His body jerked, he stumbled into me, and we crashed to the floor together, him half on top, heavy and warm, blood blooming fast across his shirt.

"No-no no no..." The words tore out of me. I scrambled free and kicked the man down, hands shaking as I pressed them to his chest. "Hey, stay with me! Talk to me-are you okay? Where did it hit?"

He coughed, winced, eyes finding mine. "No," he rasped. "Not okay."

I leaned closer, panic choking me. "Tell me where, I can-"

He moved suddenly, strong, hand sliding to the back of my neck, pulling me down until our faces were inches apart. Then he smirked, slow and wicked.

"I had the sense to wear a bulletproof vest, sweetheart. Unlike you, who fights reckless."

Relief slammed into me so hard I almost sobbed. Then fury chased right behind.

"You absolute asshole," I hissed, shoving his chest-careful of the blood, but not gentle. "You scared me half to death!"

He laughed, rough and low, still holding me close. "Had to check if you cared. I'm Raffaelle Navarro. Luca's older brother. And you are? I know your name but maybe we need a proper introduction."

I should have told him. Rosa Stewart. But he was so close, breath warm on my face, eyes locked on mine with that dangerous glint, and the lie slipped out smooth as silk.

"Kylie," I whispered. "Kylie Rivers."

His smile deepened, like he was tasting a secret. "Kylie Rivers," he repeated, thumb brushing the side of my neck. "My brother's delicate fiancée who just fought like a street demon. Well, Kylie... it's nice to finally meet you."

My pulse was roaring in my ears. Bodies all around us, blood on the floor, sirens probably coming soon, and all I could think was that I had just lied to the wrong man.

I was Rosa Stewart.

And I was in way over my head.

Rosa's POV

I knew the second we pulled up to the penthouse that my stupid little Kylie act was about to crash and burn spectacularly.

I tried everything. I crossed my arms, planted my feet, told Raffaele I wasn't stepping foot inside that glass tower because "I have my own place, thanks very much." He just raised one perfect eyebrow, opened the passenger door like a gentleman assassin, and said, "Get out of the car, Kylie, or I carry you. I know you live here."

I got out. Fast.

The elevator ride up felt like a funeral procession. Him leaning against the mirrored wall, arms folded, watching me like I was a puzzle he already solved. Me staring at the floor numbers like they owed me money.

The doors slid open.

And there she was.

"ROSA!!" Kylie shrieked, bare feet slapping marble as she flew toward me, tears streaming, arms wide. "You're alive! Oh my God, you're alive!"

I let out the fakest, squeakiest "Yaaay" in history, mostly because Raffaele's stare was burning holes through the back of my skull.

Kylie crashed into me, hugging so tight I smelled her vanilla shampoo and felt her shaking. Behind her, Luca appeared like the devil in cashmere, already shrugging off his jacket to drape a shawl around her shoulders like she was made of frost.

"Baby, you'll catch a cold," he murmured, tucking her against his side, eyes soft only for her.

Raffaele's gaze never left me.

"What the fuck is going on?" he asked, voice low, dangerous, the kind of quiet that makes your stomach drop.

Luca frowned. Kylie blinked up at him, confused.

Raffaele jerked his chin toward me. "She told me her name is Kylie Rivers. Your fiancée."

Kylie's mouth fell open. "Rosa?"

I winced.

Luca's head snapped toward me. "Rosa?"

Raffaele's eyes narrowed to slits. "So she's not Kylie."

Kylie burst into fresh tears. "No! She's my best friend! She... she saved me!"

Raffaele looked at me like I'd personally insulted his entire bloodline. "Explain; Now."

Kylie was already talking, words tumbling over each other. "Okay okay, rewind, rewind twenty-four hours, please."

I sighed. Might as well get it over with.

So here's the real introduction, the one I should have given him in that filthy warehouse instead of playing dress-up with someone else's life.

My name is Rosa Stewart. I'm twenty-one, national bronze Medalist in sparring, second-year at the police university, training to be a detective because I want to put people like Luca Navarro behind bars. Kylie is...was, until Luca proposed, my roommate, my best friend since freshman orientation when she decided I looked lonely and glued herself to my side like glitter. She studies forensic medicine, which means she's brilliant, sweet, and completely hopeless in a crisis.

And then there's the package deal: Luca.

I hated him on sight. Tall, dark, too handsome for his own good, too sure of himself, studying criminal law at a police university while secretly running half the city's underworld.

How? I still don't know. How does a mafia prince walk around quoting case law in lecture halls without anyone noticing? Magic, probably. Or really good bribes.

He was obsessive about Kylie from day one. No guy got within three feet of her. He picked her clothes, her schedule, her coffee order. At first I thought it was creepy as hell. Then I saw how she lit up around him, how she smiled softer, laughed louder.

She was happy. Disgustingly, grossly happy.

So I tolerated him. Barely.

Last night changed everything.

Luca texted Kylie he'd be late. We were studying in their ridiculous penthouse-crime scene photos spread across the marble island, cold pizza, me in sweats, Kylie in one of Luca's shirts that swallowed her.

Then the lights flickered.

Glass shattered downstairs.

Heavy boots sound followed by men shouting in Italian.

Kylie froze. "Rosa..."

I grabbed her wrist. "Hide in the Bathroom. Now."

She was shaking so bad she could barely move. I shoved her into the walk-in closet instead, pushed her behind the rows of designer dresses, whispered, "Stay quiet. Do not come out."

The door burst open.

Three men, all masked and holding guns.

"Where is she?" one barked. "The fiancée."

I stepped out before they could search. Heart hammering, and my hands up.

"I'm here," I said, voice steady even though my knees were jelly. "Please don't hurt me."

They didn't question it. Just grabbed me and sealed my lip with duct tape. Black bag over my head as they dragged me out.

I heard Kylie sobbing behind the closet door the whole time. I almost yelled SHUT UP!

And that's it. That's how I ended up in a warehouse getting cursed at in Italian, waiting to die for a girl who's too soft to survive this world, and how I ended up lying to the wrong Navarro brother.

Back to now.

Kylie finishes her tear-soaked version. Everyone's staring at me. Then Luca takes Kylie inside whispering something about getting her coffee.

Raffaele tilts his head. "So. You're not Kylie."

I shrug, trying for casual. "I lied. Got caught. Big deal. Thanks for the rescue, by the way. You didn't die on me. We're even. Hope we never see each other again."

I turn to leave.

He moves faster than I expect.

One step and he's in my space, crowding me against the hallway wall, one hand braced above my head, the other hovering near my hip. Not touching. Just close enough that I feel the heat rolling off him, smell gunpowder and expensive cologne and something darker underneath.

My breath snags.

"That," he says, voice velvet and steel, "is the opposite of what I want, Rosa."

I swallow. "Yeah? And what do you want?"

His eyes drop to my mouth, then climb back up. Slowly, he wanted me to see the way he looked at me.

"I'm not sorry to say..." He leans in until his lips brush the shell of my ear. "I don't think I can let you go."

My heart stops.

The penthouse suddenly feels too small, too quiet, too full of him.

And I realize, with a sick little thrill, that I might not want him to.

Rosa's POV

I was literally flexing my leg muscles, ready to launch a knee straight into Raffaele's groin if he dared come one single centimeter closer, when he suddenly pulled back smooth as silk, gave me one last long look, then said, "I'll see you later, sweetheart," before flashing that smile, one that hit me, slow, lazy, dangerous.

God, if he wasn't just as hot as he annoyed the living hell out of me.

I blinked stupidly for a second, brain short-circuiting, then spun around and stormed back into the penthouse before I could do something monumentally dumb like chase after him or, worse, grab his shirt and kiss that smirk right off his face.

Inside, the living room smelled like expensive candles and a hint of Luca's cologne. Kylie and Luca were wrapped around each other on the massive sectional, kissing like teenagers who'd just discovered lips existed.

I made the loudest, most dramatic gagging noise I could manage.

"Eww, my eyes. Take a break, would you?"

They broke apart fast. Kylie's face went tomato-red, hair a mess. Luca just leaned back against the cushions, smirking that infuriating lazy smirk that made me want to throw something heavy at his perfect face.

"I thought you got sick of seeing my face. Why are you still here?" he drawled, voice all velvet mockery.

I snapped back fast. "Is that the way to thank someone for saving your fiancée's life?"

He shook his head slow, almost like he was impressed, then the smirk softened into something closer to sincerity. "I do sincerely appreciate what you did, Rosa. Even if we don't see eye to eye on almost anything, we both share the same fierce need to protect Kylie, and for that, I owe you more than I can ever repay."

I crossed my arms tighter. "If you really owe me, then start explaining right now exactly why you weren't the one who came charging into that warehouse to rescue her instead of sending your scary big brother."

Luca's smirk returned, sharper this time. "Does my big brother bother you that much, Rosa?"

I blinked way too rapidly. "No... yes... maybe. I don't know, okay?"

He actually laughed, a short, dark sound. What exactly did he say to bother you so Rosa?"

I narrowed my eyes. "What?"

"What did he say?"

I swallowed.

"Well he said he wasn't planning on letting me go."

Luca's eyebrows shot up, genuine surprise flashing across his face for the first time. "He said that out loud?"

"I made myself very clear," I retorted, heart pounding. "Now tell me everything."

Luca sighed long and heavy, like he was dragging the words up from somewhere deep.

"Alright, Rosa. You might hate my kind, hate everything we stand for, but my brother is something else entirely. He's the devil in ways I'll never be. Where I'm feared, Raffaele is worshipped.

People don't just run from him, they bow when he walks into a room. He's the underboss, the one who makes the hard calls, the one who ends things. I'm training to take over as consigliere, the advisor, the strategist, but Raffaele... he disappeared for a whole year, settling old scores, blood debts, family betrayals. After an incident, he needed time away from everything."

I caught the way his voice roughened on the word "incident." There was a story there, a bad one, shadows behind his eyes, but I didn't poke at it.

I knew better...honestly I DONT CARE!

"He finally came back to report to our father, got hit with the order to go rescue Kylie instead. Trust me, I came this close to putting a bullet in the old man myself until Kylie called me sobbing that you'd been taken in her place. I figured you might actually kill those idiots before Raffaele even got there."

I rolled my eyes, dramatic. "No matter how skilled I am, I'm not stupid enough to start a gunfight with dozens of armed men. I like living, thank you very much."

Luca's mouth curved. "You don't have to worry about him hanging around. He's leaving in two days, heading back out on business. You'll have your normal life back."

I hugged Kylie goodnight, told her I loved her more than pizza...which is saying something, then escaped the penthouse before anyone could ask me more questions. My head was already too full of dark eyes and velvet threats.

The next morning hit like a freight train. Sparring training at the university gym. I needed the violence, needed to punch pads until my arms screamed and my brain stopped looping Raffaele's voice on repeat: I don't think I can let you go.

I was wrapping my hands, focusing on the tape, when golden boy appeared like he'd been summoned by my worst impulses.

Mateo, all sun-bleached blonde hair, bright blue eyes, that stupid easy grin that always made my stomach flip upside down. I hated romance, hated how it turned smart girls into giggling idiots, but damn if he didn't make me fumble every single time we talked.

"Hey, Rosa. You're early," he said, voice warm like he'd bottled summer and brought it with him.

I shrugged, trying for cool. "Yeah, couldn't sleep much."

He stepped closer, that grin widening. "You've got something in your hair, right here."

My heart did that stupid tripping thing. He reached out slow, fingers almost grazing the loose strand by my temple.

Then a larger hand clamped around Mateo's wrist, stopping him cold.

Mateo froze. I looked up, startled, and there he was. Raffaele, standing over us like some cold, beautiful vampire carved from midnight...six-foot-three of pure lethal presence. Black shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, veins popping, dark eyes locked on Mateo like he was deciding which bone to break first.

"You're not allowed to touch what's mine," he said, voice low, calm, terrifyingly even. "Now step six feet away from her."

My eyes went wide, mouth falling open. What the hell was he doing here, and what the actual fuck did he just say?