Kabanata 5: Queen Strike

Ang tugtog ng live string quartet ay marahang umalingawngaw sa buong Grand Ballroom ng Shangri-La, providing an elegant backdrop sa pinakamaduduming sikreto ng lungsod. Sa ilalim ng naglalakihang crystal chandeliers, the most dangerous players ng underworld sa Southeast Asia at Europe stood in calculated clusters.

Naka-designer tuxedos ang mga kalalakihan habang naka-couture gowns naman ang mga kababaihan, pero sa ilalim ng mamahaling sutla at amoy ng vintage champagne, ramdam ang mabigat na presensya ng pera, kapangyarihan, at dugo.

The exact second pumasok sina Rafael at Frances, the chatter dropped dead. Halos tumigil sa pag-ikot ang hangin sa ballroom as the sea of armed guests instinctively parted para bigyan sila ng daan.

“Don Valderama,” the hushed whispers rippled through the room.

“Who’s that girl with him?”

“Is she a Moretti?”

“Bakit emerald green ang suot niya? That’s strictly the Valderama family crest color.”

Napahigpit ang hawak ni Frances sa bicep ni Rafael. Ang apat na pulgadang stiletto heels niya felt like medieval torture devices, pero pinilit niyang ituwid ang spine niya to match his terrifyingly regal posture.

“Bossing,” bulong ni Frances, keeping her beauty-pageant smile perfectly locked in place habang pasimpleng nag-i-scan sa paligid. “Bakit mukhang cast ng action movie ang attendance dito? And who’s the guy on the left na mukhang handa akong sagasaan with an armored van?”

A low, nearly imperceptible rumble of laughter vibrated against Rafael’s chest. He brought his right hand over hers, sliding his long, warm fingers over the cold knuckles clutching his tailored sleeve, a quiet gesture meant to anchor her.

“That is Don Salvatore,” Rafael murmured smoothly, his dark eyes sweeping the perimeter without a hint of fear. “He controls the international docks in Manila. And the older man in the white suit to your far left is Senator Peck. He is in my pocket.”

“Medyo masikip sa bulsa mo, Bossing. Mukhang malakas kumain si Senator,” Frances muttered dryly under her breath.

Rafael glanced down, the icy steel in his obsidian eyes melting into genuine amusement for a fraction of a second. “You really don’t know when to shut up, do you, tesoro?”

“Coping mechanism ko ’to, Rafael. Kapag nanahimik ako, meaning no’n nag-faint na ako out of sheer panic,” she countered, her manicured fingers digging slightly deeper into his jacket.

Bago pa makahirit si Rafael, their path was abruptly cut off by an imposing, broad-shouldered man with a jagged scar cutting across his left cheek. Two massive bodyguards in tailored suits flanked him like human shields.

“Rafael,” the old man rasped, his voice sounding like dry gravel crushed under tires. “I didn’t think you would grace us with your presence tonight. Especially after the... unfortunate incident at your Pasig warehouse two nights ago.”

Frances felt the immediate, violent shift in Rafael. The lingering warmth beside her vanished instantly, replaced by a suffocating, lethal frost that practically lowered the ballroom’s room temperature.

“Don Salvatore,” Rafael greeted smoothly. His voice dropped into that deep, flat cadence of a predator that didn't need to bark to be feared. “The warehouse was merely an operational hiccup. Fully resolved. As you can see, I am occupied with far more significant matters.”

Slowly, almost insolently, Salvatore’s gaze drifted from Rafael to Frances. He raked his eyes over her emerald gown, looking at her like she was a stray animal that wandered into a wolf’s den.

“And who is this sweet, fragile flower?” Salvatore sneered, stepping closer into their personal space. “I didn’t know the great El Fuego kept pets.”

Before Rafael could draw blood—before his hand could even slide beneath his tuxedo lapel—Frances’s mouth went completely on autopilot.

“Pet ka d’yan, Tatang?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Salvatore froze, his sneer dying instantly. The two bodyguards behind him reacted on instinct, twitching their hands toward the concealed firearms under their jackets. Rafael’s left eyebrow ticked upward, thoroughly caught off guard by the sheer, unhinged audacity of the woman on his arm.

“What did you just call me?” Salvatore snarled, his scarred cheek twitching with rage.

Frances stood her ground, rolling her shoulders back and flashing her most blinding, unapologetically toxic smile—the exact smile she used on clients demanding unpaid weekend revisions.

“Sabi ko, Tatang, I’m not a pet,” Frances delivered in a dangerously sweet, polished tone, her Taglish landing like precision-guided missiles. “I am Francesca Reyes. The fiancée. So unless you want my fiancé to burn your entire retirement plan to the ground, back off. Amoy stale cigars and terrible life choices ka kasi.”

Gasps erupted from the nearby tables. Nobody—literally no one in the long, blood-soaked history of the Philippine underworld—had ever looked Don Salvatore in the eye and degraded him, let alone a girl who looked like she belonged in a campus coffee shop instead of a cartel ball.

Salvatore’s face turned an ugly shade of crimson. “You insolent little—”

Before the old man could take a half-step forward, Rafael shifted, his six-foot-two frame instantly barricading Frances from view. He didn't raise his voice, but the dark, murderous promise in his tone made the guards behind Salvatore instinctively freeze.

“Touch her, Salvatore,” Rafael said, each word quiet, measured, and absolute, “and I will burn your docks, your cargo ships, and your entire bloodline before the night ends. Try me.”

The tension was suffocating. Salvatore glared at Rafael, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth threatened to shatter. He looked for a bluff, an opening, or hesitation, but finding nothing except pure, dead-eyed readiness in Rafael’s gaze, the old man begrudgingly took a step back.

“We will settle this later, Valderama,” Salvatore hissed before turning abruptly and walking away, his guards scrambling to keep pace.

The moment they were out of earshot, Frances let out a shaky, ragged exhale she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Her knees wobbled slightly, her stiletto heels barely keeping her upright.

“Diyos ko, Rafael...” she whispered, her voice trembling as the adrenaline crashed through her veins. “Akala ko ready na akong kunin ni Lord doon. How was my delivery? Mukha ba akong ruthless mafia queen o mukha akong high school debater na pumasok sa maling venue?”

Rafael turned to face her completely. His expression held none of the stone-cold cruelty he had shown Salvatore. His fingers came up to cup her jawline, lifting her chin with a touch so unexpectedly tender it stole the remaining air from her lungs.

“You were magnificent,” Rafael murmured, his thumb gently tracing the seam of her lower lip. A dark, breathless laugh rumbled in his throat. “Tatang? No one has ever spoken to him like that and walked away breathing. You just cemented your place in this room.”

“So... effective ba ’yung fake fiancée gig natin?” Frances asked, her voice turning breathy as the sheer proximity to his lips scrambled whatever logical thoughts she had left.

“It means,” Rafael leaned down, his mouth barely a breath away from hers, his gaze completely devouring her, “that after tonight, every enemy I have will know that you belong to me. And that means I have to keep you even closer.”

Frances stared at his lips, feeling the magnetic pull between them like a live wire ready to snap. Her heart was beating so wildly against her ribs she was convinced he could hear it.

“Gaano kalapit, Bossing?” she whispered, fighting for a shred of her usual humor. “Naka-handcuffs ba ulit tayo hanggang next week?”

Rafael didn't bother using words to answer.

Instead, his palm slid down from her jaw to the nape of her neck, his long fingers tangling into the soft base of her updo. With effortless authority, he pulled her flush against his chest, right there in the center of the ballroom, letting everyone see who held the heart of the deadliest man in the city.

“Better,” Rafael murmured against her lips, his voice dropping into a dark, intoxicating promise. “Starting tonight, Francesca... you sleep in my bedroom.”