He Wants Me Dead Or Alive

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."