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.

Rosa's POV

"You slapped Raffaele?" Kylie's voice cracked, eyes so wide I could see the whites all around. She was perched on the edge of my couch like she might bolt any second, hands twisting in her lap. "Rosa... you actually slapped him?"

I dropped onto the armchair across from her, elbows on my knees, face buried in my palms for a second before I looked up. "Kylie, I might die tonight, but I swear I won't go down without a fight."

She stared at me like I'd grown a second head. News of the gunfire at the gym had spread like wildfire. It read that there were shots fired, no suspect caught, everyone evacuated...the usual chaos.

Of course the cops were calling it a random drive-by. Of course Raffaele walked away clean.

And of course I'd told Kylie the truth the second she burst through my door twenty minutes ago, wild-eyed and clutching her phone like a lifeline.

Now the weight of it was crashing down on me all at once.

I was fucked.

Completely, irreversibly fucked.

"Is he that scary?" I asked, voice quieter than I meant it to be. "Like... does he even have a soul?"

Kylie shrugged, but the movement was too quick, too nervous. I raised a brow.

"You know something, don't you?"

She shook her head fast. Too fast.

Shee probably asked Luca about him and there was no way in hell that Luca who worshipped her very presence wouldn't have told her.

"Kylie, a three-year-old can lie better than you can."

Her shoulders slumped. She looked at her hands, then at me, then back at her hands. "I promised Luca I wouldn't say anything."

"I need to know, Kylie. What if he's really some kind of psychopath?"

She swallowed hard, eyes glistening. "He is, Rosa."

My stomach dropped.

"He lost someone," she whispered. "Someone he loved more than anything. And after that... he turned into this... deranged monster. Luca says he's not the same person he used to be. Not even close."

I opened my mouth to ask who, what happened, when, anything but my phone rang.

The screen lit up with an unknown number.

I stared at it like it might bite me.

Kylie leaned forward.

I answered.

"Hi, Rosa."

That voice. Low and smooth with a deadly calmness.

My whole body went cold. "How the hell did you get my number?"

"Doesn't matter. You might want to stay on the line for a second."

Before I could snap back, a small, bright voice piped up in the background.

"Rosa? Is this scary-looking uncle really your boyfriend?"

My heart fell through the floor.

Stevie.

My little brother.

Rage exploded in my chest so fast it burned. "Raffaele, you dare not fucking touch my family."

"You didn't answer my question when I asked about them," he said, tone almost conversational, "so I came to see for myself."

My hand was shaking so hard the phone rattled against my ear.

"You called me sick? You better hurry, sweetheart. There's no telling what a sick person can do."

I was already moving, snatching my keys, shoving my feet into sneakers. Kylie jumped up behind me. "Rosa, wait! I'll call Luca, he'll talk to him-"

"No time." I yanked the door open. "I'm not waiting for one Navarro brother when they are both almost equally deranged."

I took the stairs two at a time, hailed the first taxi I saw, and slid into the back seat, slamming the door so hard the driver flinched.

"Elmwood Drive. Fast. Please."

The whole ride I prayed to God, to whoever was listening, to the universe, to anyone who might give a damn that he wouldn't hurt them. That this was just another twisted game.

That I hadn't just handed him the keys to my entire world by walking away in that gym.

When the taxi screeched to a stop outside our small, weathered house, I threw money at the driver and ran up the cracked walkway.

Through the front window I saw them.

Raffaele Navarro.

Sitting at my mom's tiny kitchen table.

Eating dinner.

With my mother and my eight-year-old brother.

Stevie was laughing at something he'd said, fork halfway to his mouth. Mom was smiling, the soft one she saved for people she trusted.

I burst through the door so hard it banged against the wall.

"Stay away from my family."

Three heads turned.

Raffaele's smile was slow, lazy, like he'd been expecting me.

Mom blinked. "Rosa? Honey, what's wrong? Why are you acting like this toward your boyfriend?"

"He's not my boyfriend!" I yelled, voice cracking. I stepped in front of them both, arms out like I could shield them with my body. "Mom, I told you not to let strangers in the house!"

Raffaele stood up, slow and deliberate, all six-foot-three of him unfolding like a shadow coming to life. He looked at my mom, polite, almost gentle. "You should listen to your daughter, ma'am. There are a lot of scary people in the world."

Mom smiled, confused but warm. "But you wouldn't hurt us, right? You're Rosa's boyfriend."

Raffaele returned the smile small, dangerous, beautiful. "That depends on what your daughter does from now on."

He turned those dark eyes on me.

"Thanks for the slap, Rosa. It really made me step up my game."

My pulse roared in my ears.

"Now," he continued, stepping closer, voice dropping so only I could hear, "can we start over? Or should I visit the story of how your father passed?"

My heart stopped.

He knew.

He fucking knew.

The room tilted. Mom was saying something, Stevie tugging at my sleeve asking why I looked so mad, but all I could hear was the blood rushing through my head.

He knew about Dad.

It meant he knew everything about my family and the secret I was fighting so hard time bury for good.

And he was sitting here, eating Mom's spaghetti, charming my little brother, holding the one secret that could shatter what was left of my family.

I stepped right into his space, close enough that I could smell the faint trace of gunpowder still clinging to him, close enough that I could see the faint red mark my hand had left on his cheek earlier.

"You touch them," I whispered, voice shaking with fury and fear and something darker, "and I will end you. I don't care who you are. I don't care what you are, I will bury you."

His eyes flickered, something almost like respect, or hunger, or both.

Then he leaned down, mouth brushing my ear.

"Careful, sweetheart. Threats like that? They sound an awful lot like foreplay to me."