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.