A/N: So. There's this mafia RP, right. It hasn't even begun but I am so stoked for it to start that I've come up with three fic ideas involving KH people. This is the first, and trust me, there will be more. This one is mafia!RoxasxNaminé, my little tribute to the classic star-crossed lover stories I am so horridly fond of. Basic Italian scattered throughout; translations at the end. Review if you like, it's fun!

west side story

It begins on the streets late at night. As such things often do.

Maybe it's fate; maybe it's not. Maybe it's chance; maybe it's not. Maybe it's just them each being in the wrong place at the wrong time. After all, this is territoria di Licata, this is territory that their dons do not regulate. If either of them are spotted, they're finished.

Either way it's on the streets, late at night, little rats scurrying through the alleyways, between her ankles and over his shoes. Both of them cling tightly to their standard weapons, to their black-coated nine-millimeter pistols, their only defense against capture. Their only defense against death.

But when they see each other their missions, though separate, suddenly merge together. Both of them with their blue eyes and blond hair, hardly Italian but trying to play the mafioso game nonetheless.

They load their God complexes, cock them, pull them.

The only sound is them, little children-almost-grownups, breathing.

He speaks first.

"Who are you?" he demands, making his voice as deep and intimidating as he possibly can. It sounds vaguely ridiculous.

She smiles in an equally vague way. In the shadows it's hard to tell. In a small little voice she tells him that she's no one that matters.

Wrong answer. And he knows it.

"You with the family?" he asks, giving her a second chance.

"I won't tell you mine," she replies prettily, "if you don't tell me yours."

A spy, then?

He's not even done finishing up his thought and he's got her immobile, he's got her tight against him, arms twisted behind her and her gun a useless ten feet away.

His family has trained him well.

Hers, evidently, has not.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot you," he demands.

The girl in white smiles. In the moonlight she looks like a girl playing dress-up with her mother's wedding gown.

In the moonlight she looks very very pretty.

"You'll wake the children, signior," she reminds him. "It's so late."

He only smirks. That's not enough for her to buy her freedom. "They're used to hearing it late at night, bambina."

She snaps at him. "Don't call me that."

"What?"

"Bambina," she repeats, mockingly. "Really, signior. You can't be much older than me."

"Maybe I am," Roxas lies. "Maybe I'm an old man. Maybe I just came back from the Fountain of Youth."

"You can't be," says Naminé, with a smile he can't read. "The Fountain of Youth isn't real."

"Listen," he snaps impatiently. "It's obvious you aren't Licata. Who are you?"

I already told you is what she says.

I need a name, he insists.

She smiles prettily and says her name is Nerissa.

Says her name is Nerissa and she kisses him right on the mouth with her own.

She tastes like shade and museums, feels like paint about to chip off.

He tastes like sunlight and gelato, a flavor she can't quite place, feels like someone familiar, someone that should be holding her this tightly.

They are both something salty and sweet all at once.

She pulls away and smiles.

They are both trying to hide it, but it's very very hard to breathe right now.

She puts a hand over his, loosens his grip on her.

He can't stop looking at her.

She can't stop looking at him.

Ciao, bella is the last thing he nears "Nerissa" whisper into his ear.

The last thing before she punches him, hard, in the nose.

It hurts her more than it hurts him. They both scream at the feel of breaking bones.

Blood runs down his chin, blood seeps through her white knuckles.

But the distraction is enough for her to break free, grab her gun. His shots follow her, ring throughout the alleyway.

He hears grumbling mamas shouting at him with every swear word in the book to be silent, silent because the children are sleeping.

But he's mafioso, and orders them all to pipe down and stop acting like mother hens. By the time he has dodged all the empty wine bottles aimed at his head, there is no trace of "Nerissa."

She is likely nothing important, as he has never seen or heard of her before, neither in his Machiavelo family nor in any of the others.

She is playing with things she should not, and she is dangerous.

But it doesn't matter.

She's very very pretty.

He remembers her lips against his.

But then he remembers that he has his duties, and skulks in the shadows, armed, ready, on-guard, as if nothing had ever happened.

---

She runs and runs until she can bear it no more, and silently she thinks he'd be a pretty boy to bring back home to her parents. But if he is really a mafioso, and not a Giordiano, she would do better bringing home the Grim Reaper.

She feels belatedly horrible about what she's done. But she did not know what he expected, if he would have wanted to pull her into the shadows, take more than she was willing to give.

Silently she hopes he's not like that.

Silently she hopes she'll see him again.

She also remembers her duties, and walks tersely, quickly, for the hour is late and there's much left to do.

---

They run and run and try to forget each other but it has already begun.

Forbidden as it is, the game has already begun, the wheel has begun to turn.

He will forgive her the broken nose; she will forgive him her shattered fingers.

They will meet in confessional booths in basilicas, sacred ground and untouched by family boundaries.

They will kiss in faraway cities on a lovely bella notte with the stars in their eyes.

They will be on opposite ends of a firefight and shoot anywhere but at each other. And when the other associates are dead around them, they will reunite and walk away to wash all their dirt and secrets away.

They know it's nothing more than a downward spiral.

They know it won't end until they are dead, locked in each other's arms, bloodstains parallel all down their arms.

They know they should be afraid, but they are not.

They are not afraid, despite everything.

It will end with their lives forfeited for love. As such things often do.

territoria di Licata: Licata (family) territory
mafioso: mafia member
signior: sir
bambina: little girl
gelato: Italian dessert, similar to ice cream
bella notte: beautiful night