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?

Rosa's POV

My mouth was still hanging open like an idiot when I finally found my voice. "What the hell are you doing here, Raffaele?"

He tilted his head, that infuriating half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth like he'd been waiting for the question all morning. "I'm here to see you, of course."

Mateo cleared his throat behind us, shifting his weight. "Rosa, maybe we should-"

"Later," I cut him off without looking back, fingers already curling around Raffaele's wrist. I yanked hard, dragging the six-foot-three wall of trouble toward the locker room corridor. He let me pull him, amused, like a panther deciding to humor a kitten.

I shoved open the nearest door, hauled him inside, and slammed it shut. The echo bounced off the tiled walls. We were alone in the dim fluorescent light, surrounded by the faint smell of sweat and liniment.

He glanced around, then back at me, smirk widening. "Wow. I didn't know you liked enclosed spaces."

I rolled my eyes so hard I almost saw yesterday. "You have five minutes. Say whatever it is you came to say and get out."

He leaned one shoulder against the lockers, crossing his arms, looking far too comfortable in my space. "Five minutes? Generous. I thought you'd give me thirty seconds before you tried to knee me again."

"Clock's ticking."

Instead of getting to whatever point he had, he studied me like I was a case file he wanted to memorize. "Tell me about your family, Rosa."

I stiffened. "What?"

"Your family. Parents. Siblings. The people who made you this... interesting combination of fire and steel. I want to know."

My stomach twisted. "That's none of your business."

"Everything about you is my business now."

I laughed, sharp and bitter. "You really think that's how this works? You show up, throw around possessive bullshit, and suddenly you get access to my past? No. Your time's up."

I turned for the door.

His voice dropped, I could hear how dangerous it was all the way from here. "I'm not done talking. It's bad manners to walk away when someone isn't finished."

I paused, hand on the knob. Bad manners? This mafia man actually thought he was some posh English prince holding court? The arrogance of it burned hotter than the gym lights.

I hated the sound of his voice right then, smooth, commanding, certain I would obey.

I didn't say a word. Just opened the door and walked out.

He didn't follow me. Thank God.

I changed into my gear in record time, wrapped fresh tape over my knuckles, and headed to the mat. Mateo was already there, bouncing lightly on his toes, golden hair damp from warm-up. First champion. Undefeated against me. Every single time we sparred, he'd found the opening, taken the point, left me sprawled and cursing.

Today felt different.

We circled. He grinned that easy, sunlit grin. "Ready to lose again, Stewart?"

"Keep dreaming, golden boy."

The whistle blew.

He came in fast, testing, jab-jab-hook. I slipped the hook, countered with a low kick that grazed his thigh. He laughed, surprised, then pressed harder. Our bodies brushed... chest to chest for half a heartbeat when I blocked his cross. His breath was warm on my cheek. My pulse kicked up, not just from the fight.

Was he doing this on purpose? Lingering a second too long when we clinched, letting his fingers trail over my forearm when he pushed me back, eyes locked on mine a little too intensely?

I hooked his arm, spun, tried to throw him. He countered, used my momentum, and suddenly we were both going down. He landed on top, weight pinning me to the mat, forearms braced beside my head. Our faces were inches apart. His eyes flickered to my mouth.

For one stupid second I forgot how to breathe.

I was still trying to process it when I heard a thrilling sound.

A gunshot ripped through the gym.

Screams erupted with chairs scraping. Feet pounding. Another shot, then another. Chaos exploded like someone had kicked over a hornet's nest.

Mateo rolled off me instantly, grabbing my arm. "Come on... back exit...

I slipped his grip like water, already scanning the room through the sudden haze of panic. People were diving behind equipment, scrambling for doors. The shots kept coming, deliberate, controlled.

And then... they stopped.

Dead silence except for my ringing ears and distant sobs.

I straightened slowly, chest heaving.

Through the drifting smoke and dust walked...Raffaele.

Calm. Untouched. Hands in his pockets. Like he'd just strolled in from a coffee run.

I shook my head. No. He couldn't be...

"You..." The word scraped out of my throat.

He stopped a few feet away, head tilted. "Did I have to go through such lengths to get your attention?"

Rage boiled up so fast it tasted like copper. "Are you sick? People could have gotten hurt! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Rosa..." His voice was quiet, almost gentle. "You shouldn't have walked away when I was talking."

His face was unsmiling, hard and cold.

I should have been scared. Any sane person would be terrified.

Fuck him. Fuck him over!!!

I don't bow to any man.

I stepped closer. Close enough to smell the faint gunpowder on his shirt, close enough to see the faint bruise already blooming on his knuckles.

Then I swung.

My palm cracked across his cheek...hard, clean, ringing.

The sound echoed louder than any gunshot.

His head barely moved. But his eyes flared.

"How's this for attention?" I hissed.

I turned on my heel and walked away, through the stunned silence, past overturned benches and wide-eyed teammates, out the side door into the blinding daylight.

My hand stung.

My heart was a war drum.

I'd probably dug my grave but, that thought was something I would panic over later.