This is a slow burn.
A painful one.
There will be jealousy, denial, betrayal, and choices that hurt everyone involved.
Love will not come easy. Forgiveness will not come fast.
This story lives between penthouses and pavement,
where loyalty is tested, desire is dangerous,
and one kiss can start a war.
If you're looking for a perfect hero—turn back now.
If you crave tension, obsession, and emotional chaos…
welcome to Kingsbridge Street.
.….............................
Kingsbridge Street in the Bronx didn't forgive weakness.
It carved boys into men with bruised knuckles and sharp instincts, and it raised its king without asking permission.
Rafael "Rafe" Moretti ruled it.
He leaned against his matte-black Ducati, engine still ticking with heat, cigarette dangling between tattooed fingers. Ink wrapped his forearms black roses, barbed wire, a serpent coiled around a dagger stories written in pain and survival proof of battles fought before he was old enough to vote.
A silver hoop glinted in his ear, another stud catching the late-afternoon light. His messy black hair fell into his eyes like he didn't bother fixing what the world already judged.
Those eyes sea-green, sharp and unflinching were the only thing he'd inherited from his mother they watched everything. Every thing else, he'd fought for.
Poor family fead-end odds, a father who disappeared before he learned how to shave.
Every morning, Rafe rode out of the streets that made him and into the gates of St. Aldrich Academy an elite Manhattan school perched behind iron gates and ivy-covered stone walls, where old money breathed through marble hallways and students wore entitlement like perfume.
Scholarships were rare students like Rafe were rarer.
The kind of place where legacies mattered more than talent. And he hated every polished inch of it.
"Bro, you're gonna burn a hole in the sidewalk," Jax muttered, leaning beside him clean-cut, rich, dangerous in a quiet way Old money, Old sins.
Beside him, Malik laughed, gold watch flashing. "Let him brood makes the girls nervous."
Theo, sharp-eyed and always silent, adjusted his blazer. "Bell's in five. You coming or staging a rebellion?"
Rafe crushed the cigarette under his boot. "I don't run late."
They were an odd sight together three heirs to empires and one street king in a loosened tie and scuffed boots. Yet Rafe outscored them all. Top of the class Strategic mind Ruthless focus delinquent on the outside genius underneath.
That was when she walked out of the black SUV.
Her beauty unmatched, silk skirt probably cost more than Rafe's bike,designer bags and heels, Hair glossy perfectly cascading down her back like she'd stepped out of a magazine, her presence alone shifted the air.
Isabella Sinclair Manhattan royalty Daddy's girl untouchable.
Only daughter of real estate tycoon Charles Sinclair, a man who bought buildings the way others bought coffee.
Isabella had grown up in penthouses and private schools, adored and protected, her life planned down to the minute.
And she hated Rafe Moretti on sight.
Her gaze flicked over him his bike, his tattoos, his unapologetic presence and her lip curled.
"Unbelievable," she muttered.
Rafe smirked. "Careful, princess. Your disgust's showing."
Her eyes snapped to his cold Sharp beautiful. "I wasn't talking to you."
"Funny," he said lazily. "Sounded personal."
She stepped closer, chin lifted. "People like you don't belong here."
Something dark flickered behind his eyes. "And people like you wouldn't last a day where I come from."
Jax cleared his throat. "Uh—"
"Isabella!" a voice chirped.
Lena, Isabella's best friend, hurried over, cheeks flushed. Her fingers were laced with Rafe's.
Isabella's gaze softens a smile gracing her face as she hugged her best friend, come let's go catch up.
She says as she drags her away, lena pecks rafe on his cheeks leaving him with his friends.
Later after the third period of class, Isabella walking past the hallway stops as she saw her best friend Lena with the delinquent.
She notices how she has been spending time with him lately. A frown on her face.
Lena laughed as Rafe slid an arm around her waist, pulling her close like it was instinct. Like it was nothing. Lena's fingers curled into his jacket, her smile soft and familiar.
Isabella's stomach twisted, She didn't understand it, didn't understand what's wrong with her.
He was rough edges and danger, all scars and smoke and bad decisions. Everything her father warned her about.
So why did her chest burn when Rafe dipped his head and kissed Lena?
Not a quick kiss, not innocent.
Rafe backed Lena against the bike, one hand at her hip, the other gripping her thigh as she laughed breathlessly.
Their mouths moved together slowly, deliberately too intimate to ignore.
Isabella looked away too late anger flared sharp and sudden.
What does she even see in him?
Rafe's eyes lifted.
For one brief, terrible second, they locked with Isabella's.
Something unreadable passed between them.
Then Lena tugged him back, laughing, unaware of the silent war igniting a few feet away.