Behind Enemy Lines

ROME GRUNTED LOW upon waking up. He forced himself to open his eyes, but doing so just made him feel worse. So he shut them again and gave himself another minute to rest.

His head felt like it was cracking, and he was pretty sure that it wasn't because of a hangover. He owned a club. He would be ashamed if he died just because of Bacardi. Moreover, his whole body felt sore and stiff, as if he hadn't even moved for a month.

'A month?' His body immediately sprung out of bed with that thought. However, a sharp pain surged from his side and made him groan. Shaking his head to dismiss the pain, he quickly moved to the side of the bed and tried to get out of it.

He cussed between gritted teeth when his knees buckled under his weight. It was good that he could hold on to the bedside table just before his face hit the floor.

Dizzily, he managed to drag his heavy feet to the nearest window. Then, with his body safely leaning on the wall next to it, he tugged hard on the curtain and ended up cussing even harder.

The morning light blinded him and made him hastily cover his face. He waited for a few seconds until his eyes got used to the light. Upon recovering, he gave the view outside the window a quick once-over, trying to figure out where he was.

He saw some trees, and even more trees.

'Fancullo!’ He cocked his head left and right. His mind was instantly reeling from what happened before he passed out. Was he in his bar? Was he fucking some unknown woman's brain out? Or was he doing something else?

He punched the window jamb hard when things finally came back to him. He recalled being on a mission with his older brother, Adriano. The organization summoned them to take the good old Montenegro down after the man stole and swindled from the organization.

What did Alejandro steal? A code—the Amati.

It was a black-and-white mission: bring the Amati back and then kill Alejandro Montenegro—very simple! The only problem was that nobody knew what the Amati was, not even him or Adriano. According to the Mafioso, it was a code. Just goddamn fucking plain code.

Was it dumb to agree to this mission? Of course, it was! But then, who wouldn't dare to do the impossible if, in exchange for this mission, there was their Omerta? A sacred ceremony about finally getting their position as one of the organization's 'Made Men.'

A sharp breath escaped Rome's chest as his hand clutched onto his bandage. His wound just decided to lash out at him again, and the pain was enough to make him run out of air.

Adriano was the one holding the gun back then, as he suggested that he be the gunman. However, what was supposed to be a planned gunshot ended up almost killing him for real.

He was still busy observing the woods below when he noticed something was wrong. Someone was spying on him.

"Puttana!"  Rome cussed loudly.

His trained senses were immediately alarmed and made him step back a little. Although still weak, his defenses were geared up. He stepped silently behind the curtain. His eyes were alert when he scanned the woods outside one more time.

Trees…  More trees…  And…

'What?'  He quickly pushed the curtain out of his way when he found the culprit running into the woods.

He had seen hundreds of women, but that split second when their eyes met flooded him with so much familiarity. It was like he had seen that delicate face before, somewhere he couldn't recall.

He blinked and thought for a while. Then, as if something funny had just happened, a dangerous smirk cracked his lips as he watched the woman run like a thief.

Scorn! How could he be so dumb to forget that face? She was the woman who came into Alejandro Montenegro's office the day he was shot. Alejandro's only child

"Margaux Montenegro." He hissed her name, then smirked.

Well, if he was in the same place where Alejandro would choose to hide his precious daughter, then most probably he was in the same place where he would keep something equally crucial as the Amati.

Another cold chuckle made its way out of his chest. It seemed that they were able to execute the first part of their plan after all.

Rome let his eyes feast on the woman's beautiful ass as she ran. Then he looked down at the uncomfortable bulge that was confined inside his jeans.

'Nice ass, Montenegro Child.! I hope that you're strong enough for what I have in mind.’

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"SHIT!" MARGAUX'S SCREAM ECHOED through the woods when she suddenly lost her balance and almost crashed into a tree. Should she miss leaning her palm against it for even just a second, she swore she would need a face overhaul.

Panting, she looked down at the ballet shoe that was barely holding on to her feet.

'Very nice!' she thought. Her shoes just snapped at her at the most inconvenient time again. What was wrong with the world that it couldn't even produce sturdy shoes?

Irritated, she bent over to it, took it off, and then threw it as hard as she could against the ground. She was still panting when she leaned her back against the tree and ran her fingers over her face. That run indeed took the best of her.

It was a beautiful morning. The sun was mild, the wind was gentle as it blew through the rest of that woodland, and everything inside their villa was tranquil. Everything around her was beautiful.

However, she wasn't ready when something 'even more beautiful' caught her eye upon looking up at their second floor on her way home.

The first thing she saw was pure muscle. Yes, some serious shoulder muscles—manly, toned, and firm. Mesmerized, she couldn't move and just watched how that lean, hard body stood quietly on the farthest side of the window. He looked strong and dark.

She was still staring at him when his sharp gaze suddenly turned in her direction. It was as if he knew that she was sneaking up on him behind a tree.

"Oh, God! That was as keen as a sniper! How'd he know I was there?" Margaux muttered in a low voice as confusion flooded her. She was standing too far away from him. Moreover, the whole place was dense, with more or less a hundred trees!

With that still in her mind, she wobbly pushed herself away from the tree and began walking unevenly with one of her feet bare and the other still in a ballet shoe. The leaves matting the ground felt rough and cold as they crashed under her toes. Nevertheless, her attention wasn't on it.

Her mind was floating back to where she was standing earlier while secretly watching the man. Yes! The same brute who slammed her on the bed yesterday while forcing her to tell where the Amati was.

'Amati… Amati...' she repeated the word inside her head, trying to remember where she had first heard it. Then, as if something had come to her in pure surprise, she ended up tapping her forehead with her palm.

'Fudge! An Amati? Was he that heavily drugged?'  With disbelief spelled across her face, she shook her head and thought, 'Amati means beloved! Who cares about his beloved? My father doesn't even call me one!'