Dangerously Yours, Bossing

Kung may isang bagay na masterclass si Francesca “Frances” Reyes, iyon ay ang uncanny ability niyang sumalpok sa maling lugar at sa pinakamaling timing.

It was 11:45 PM on a stormy Tuesday night sa Pasig.

Dapat sana ay payapa siyang nag-i-enjoy sa unli-samgyupsal habang nilulunod ang sarili sa melted cheese sa second floor ng isang lumang commercial building. Pero instead, kasalukuyan siyang nakasiksik sa likod ng maruming wooden crate sa ground floor, mahigpit na yakap-yakap ang wintermelon milk tea niyang kanina pa nagiging room temperature.

“Kasalanan ’to ng Waze eh,” bulong niya sa sarili habang nanginginig ang binti. “Sabi, turn left at the red door. Pulang-pula naman ’tong p***o! Bakit puro lalaking amoy gunpowder at kasalanan ang bumungad sa akin imbes na side dishes?”

May narinig siyang malakas na kalabog, sinundan ng tunog ng solidong suntok sa panga. Napapikit nang mariin si Frances sabay kagat sa sariling dila para lang pigilan ang sumigaw.

“I’ll ask one last time, Marco.”

Bumaba ang temperature sa buong bodega. The voice didn’t shout, pero sobrang talim at lamig nito, parang ice water running down your spine.

Dahan-dahang sumilip si Frances sa gap ng crates.

Sa gitna ng dim warehouse, may nakatayong matangkad na lalaki wearing a black silk shirt. Bahagyang unbuttoned ang collar nito at nakatupi ang sleeves hanggang siko, showing off heavy, dark tattoos all over his forearms. Sharp jawline, pointed nose, at cold, dead eyes. Model-tier sana ang hitsura kung hindi lang may hawak na naka-cock na baril.

Frances had no idea na ang tinititigan niya ay si Rafael “El Fuego” Valderama, the type of man who never raises his voice because he doesn’t make threats—he just removes people.

“I-I don’t know, Boss! I swear!” umiiyak na sagot ng duguang lalaki sa sahig.

Rafael barely blinked. Totally deadpan ang expression. “Wrong answer.”

Okay, Frances, she thought, panic rising sa dibdib niya. Time to moonwalk out of this crime scene.

Dahan-dahan siyang umatras. Very mindful, very demure.

Until her pastel pink Crocs stepped directly on an empty plastic straw wrapper.

Sa dead silence ng bodega, parang microphone sa stadium ang tunog ng pagkayupi ng plastic.

Instant snap. Lahat ng apat na armadong goons ay sabay-sabay na pumihit. Red laser sights and loaded barrels immediately aimed directly at her crate.

“Patay,” Frances whispered under her breath.

“Come out,” utos ni Rafael. He didn’t even bother looking at her direction. Flat, emotionless, clinical. “Or my men will turn you into target practice.”

“Wait lang! Timeout muna, ceasefire!” sigaw agad ni Frances habang dahan-dahang lumalabas sa pinagtataguan. Both hands up in the air—phone sa right hand, lukewarm milk tea sa left hand like a white flag. “Wag niyo kong barilin, maawa kayo sa Crocs ko, authentic ’to!”

Natigilan ang apat na goons, visibly confused looking at her.

Dahan-dahang lumingon si Rafael. He scanned her from head to toe without a single flicker of emotion. Nakita niya ang oversized neon pink hoodie niya, grey sweatpants, pastel pink Crocs na may cartoon jibbitz, at ang milk tea with 50% sweetness.

“Sino ’yan?” bulong ng isang goon. “Foodpanda delivery?”

“Gago, pink ba bag ng Foodpanda? Grab ’yan,” sagot ng isa.

“K-Bling Samgyupsal customer lang po ako, excuse me!” depensa agad ni Frances, voice cracking slightly. “Wrong entrance lang talaga! Huwag kayong mag-alala, may astigmatism ako na 300, basically legally blind ako tonight, wala akong nakitang illegal!”

Walang imik na naglakad si Rafael papalapit sa kanya. Every single step was slow, calculated, and predatory. Naaamoy na ni Frances ang expensive mix ng sandalwood, expensive cologne, at fresh smoke habang humihinto ito directly sa harap niya.

She had to tilt her head all the way back just to meet his gaze. Ang tingin ni Rafael sa kanya ay parang nire-review lang ang autopsy report.

“Who sent you?” his voice was pure ice. “The Morettis? The Triad?”

Napanganga si Frances before blinking rapidly. “Kuya, mukha ba akong secret agent sa outfit kong mukhang neon highlighter? I was sent by my digestive system! Pork belly lang hanap ko, hindi cartel shootout!”

Rafael remained deadpan. Walang trace ng amusement sa mukha nito.

“You expect me to believe you breached a high-security cartel operation... for pork?”

“Yes! And for 50% sugar wintermelon with boba pearls!” Inangat pa niya ang cup for emphasis. “Look, Mr. W*****d CEO, linawin natin: bulag ako, bingi ako, certified amnesia victim ako starting tonight. You guys can pretend I never existed, tapos lalabas na ako nang dahan-dahan—”

She spun on her heels, ready to sprint.

Pero before her Crocs could even clear an inch, an iron grip caught her wrist. Before she could shriek, marahas ngunit effortless siyang hinila pabalik until her back slammed straight into his solid chest.

Isang braso ang pumulupot across her waist, locking her in place like a steel clamp.

“Nice try,” Rafael whispered dangerously close to her ear. Malamig pa rin ang tone, but laced with quiet authority. “You’ve seen my face. You know what happens to loose ends.”

Frances stared down at the heavily tattooed forearm pinned against her stomach. Her heart was beating like crazy, pero naturally defective yata ang survival instincts niya whenever adrenaline took over.

She took a deep breath. “So... ano ’to, Boss? Paninindigan mo talaga ’tong kidnapped arc ko?”

Rafael’s jaw tightened slightly. Clearly, he was not used to dealing with noisy hostages. “Shut up.”

“Seryoso nga kasi! Pwede bang dumaan muna tayong drive-thru bago mo ako i-interrogate?” hirit pa ni Frances, pilit sumusulyap sa profile ng mukha nito. “Because if my blood sugar drops below normal levels, mas violent pa ako sa syndicate mo. Mangangagat talaga ako rito, I'm telling you.”

Katahimikan ang sumunod. The goons in the background were holding their breath, quietly waiting kung kailan puputukan ng amo nila ang babaeng neon pink.

Rafael stared ahead, stone-faced. Pero bahagyang tumaas ang kaliwang kilay nito, a tiny, almost imperceptible reaction to her sheer audacity.

“You speak too much for someone on the brink of death.”

“Defense mechanism ko ’to kapag may holdap, okay?” irap ni Frances. “Saka sayang naman ang skin care routine ko kung mamamatay lang akong gutom.”

Hindi sumagot si Rafael. Instead, he tightened his arm around her waist just enough to remind her who was in absolute control.

“Name,” he demanded, clipped and sharp.

“Francesca. Frances sa close friends, Ma’am Ganda sa mga tricycle driver,” sagot niya agad. She glanced up at him sideways. “Ikaw, Kuya Iceberg? May name ka ba o tatawagin na lang kitang Search Warrant?”

A low, humorless exhale escaped Rafael’s chest.

“Rafael.”

“Rafael,” ulit ni Frances, nodding slightly like she was reviewing an ID card. “Sounds expensive. Very corrupt politician with a body count.”

Rafael looked down at her, his dark eyes sharp and utterly merciless. “You are playing with fire, Francesca.”

Frances glanced at the gun on his side, then at the unconscious guy on the floor, and back to Rafael's outrageously handsome, stone-cold face. She forced an awkward, stubborn grin.

“Mabuti na ’yan,” sabi ni Frances sabay higop sa straw ng milk tea niya. “Ayoko kasi sa malamig. At least may pag-asa pang mag-defrost ’yang personality mo, Boss.”