Toys

IT WAS ALREADY PAST EIGHT IN THE EVENING when Margaux stepped out of their villa. She had been grumpy the whole day. Her phone was missing, and she couldn't find it no matter how hard she looked.

To be honest, losing the phone was nothing. She could always ask Alberta or any of their guards to get her a replacement whenever she wanted.

However, she was waiting for a critical phone call. What if Alejandro suddenly remembered that he had a daughter who was waiting for him to explain everything he was up to?

'Dream on!' She rolled her eyes.

Soon enough, she reached the hilltop where her treehouse was. She was still frowning when she dropped her bag on the ground and gave the whole place a slow once-over. She wanted to make sure that there wouldn't be anyone present when she vented her frustrations.

She then knelt in front of her bag and pulled out a bottle of chardonnay. She opened it and drank straight from the bottle, like a superb drunkard.

Getting her fill, she slipped the wine back into her bag and then pulled out a speaker. She started angrily pressing on its buttons as if she were trying to poke holes in it rather than turn it on.

After setting the speaker, she walked on tiptoes to the same spot under the tree where she always danced. She arched her back, lifted her arms, and then bent her knees delicately. In a second, her slender body took on the perfect dancing posture of her mother, one leg forward, chest out, stomach in. To top it off, she hardened her face, completing her stance.

She didn't wait long until the loudest, most scornful music that she had heard played again. It was her mother's favorite sonata and, at the same time, the only music piece her father had written in his entire life. It was an angst-ridden rhythm— fast, angry, and deliberately unsteady. It was a complete irony to its title "To My Beloved," or like how her father wrote it on the back of his torn-up music book —Alla Mia Amata.

The music was a puzzle to her, but she had learned to love it as it was Alejandro's piece. Why would her papa dedicate a piece of music to her mom that sounded like he wanted to kill the piano? It was supposed to be a love song.

Love songs should be played softly and gently. More so, love songs shouldn't be danced to the way Margaux was madly moving. Her steps were rapid and powerful as she absorbed the anger of every heavy tone. She was in tune with the rhythm.

She was already panting, and the music was already nearing its end when Margaux's aggressive moves suddenly stopped.

She furrowed her brows and then abruptly turned to the tree behind her. She felt odd. It was as if someone was looking at her. However, she saw none.

'Am I just hallucinating?' She chuckled at her thought, then added, 'Geez! What happened to my alcohol tolerance? I can't be drunk, right?'

She then wiped her face with her palm and walked towards her speaker.

She turned the music off, pulled out the bottle of wine again, and then slung her huge bag onto her shoulders.

Being careless, she almost tipped off her balance when her bag pulled her down. Who said that carrying a pillow, blanket, bottles of mineral water, and a handful of canned goods was easy?

After balancing her luggage, she reached for her speaker and drank a mouthful of her chardonnay. She loved how dry it was as it passed through her throat.

She then started climbing the spiral staircase of her treehouse. Her steps were creaking, but she didn't care. She planned to sleep here and drink the whole night away. She was even smiling when she said, "I bought Carlo-Rossi, Mom! Can I sleep in? Guess what? Your husband hasn't come home to us yet—shit!"

Margaux's last word tore through the silence of that place when the wooden step under her feet broke without warning.

Her eyes immediately closed in terror as her body crashed down. She was only a few inches away from hitting the ground when her arms, fortunately, found something sturdy to cling to and grasped tightly.

The only thing heard after that was the sound of a chardonnay bottle breaking to pieces, demonstrating how her head could have ended up the same.

Stupefied, she wasn't sure how many seconds she had remained clinging to that sturdy thing while thanking her luck. Her eyes were still tightly shut as she hugged that sturdy thing when she heard an emotionless command.

"Let go."

She hitched a breath.

"I said let go, Margaux."

Forced to move, she slowly lifted her face from being buried in that strong thing and gawked upon meeting a pair of cold eyes.

"Amber?" she blurted in shock. She wasn't even given a chance to recover when Rome suddenly removed his arms from supporting her waist and let her fall!

With a painful thud, her butt hit the ground, and she ended up catching it all at once while wincing. What Rome did was just outright brutal! Was that the proper way to treat a lady like her?

Infuriated, she turned to him abruptly and opened her mouth to cuss. She had prepared the spikiest words for him to express how her buttocks twitched. However, he was already gone even before she could utter a single word.

"W-where did he go?" Margaux felt terribly confused while looking left and right. How could she end up alone when Rome was just there a while ago? Worse, how could someone escape and move that fast?"

.

.

.

'FUCK!' ROME HAD TO STOP running when he felt something wet and warm run down his side.

He gritted his teeth and then leaned his back against a nearby tree. He was already running for breath when he lifted the side of his shirt a little and clutched at his soaked bandage.

He knew it. Catching Margaux earlier made his wounds bleed.

"Cara mia!" he yelled inside his head, trying to ignore the blinding pain. Then, as if it were not enough, he cursed himself again for losing control.

Sure, he was just like any normal man with needs. However, he was in the middle of a mission, and he couldn't just let himself turn stupid over and over whenever he saw her.

He only had fifteen minutes to do his duty for tonight. He didn't have his whole life to fantasize about how beautiful she was in her white dress as she danced. This was clearly not in his plans. More so, this route he was running on was not his original route.

It was all that mad music's fault! When he heard it, he knew exactly what he had to do—leave. But then the music was just too loud, and he got curious about it.

He ended up walking towards where it was coming from. Then he saw Margaux, and everything suddenly turned into slow motion.

She was alone, dancing. The way her skin glowed under the bluish moonlight and how her soft hair stayed everywhere when she turned captivated him in an instant. She stole his breath away. She looked mythical — enchanted even!

Then she noticed him behind the tree, and she stopped. She climbed the hollow, ugly, battered-looking treehouse. Then, the next thing he knew, she was already screaming. Thus, his reflexes acted even before he could think.

"Fancullo!" Rome cussed under his breath again.

A split second of feeling her warm body against him, and his manhood was already wanting to tear out of his pants! He couldn't forget her breasts. That very same pair that he sucked on relentlessly last night. It instantly burned him when she fell on his arms, and her softness flattened against his body, molding itself to him. Was he really that sexually frustrated with her?

He shook his head and thought that he just needed to rest his mind.

He let himself cool down a little behind that tree and tried his best to focus and mentally recover.

After a while, he forced himself to move again, ambling at first until his speed accelerated. Then he turned to the darker side of the woods and continued running.

He passed over dozens and dozens of trees without making any sound at all. His steps were accurate and well-trained. He was a tall man, but his shoes didn't even make any noise as the dried leaves crushed under his weight. He was just like a ghost— eerie, deadly, and silently beautiful.

It didn't take him long to reach an eight-foot-high wall that marked the end of the villa's territory. As if the blockage didn't bother him at all, he just gave it a calculating once-over and then cocked his head.

He then walked a few steps back, focused his sharp eyes on it, and then, without any ado, charged towards the high wall without giving a damn. The next thing the trees there witnessed was how a perfectly trained spy swiftly jumped off, leveraged his arms on the top of the wall, and landed on both feet soundlessly on the other side.

He winced in pain when his wound ached again, but just shook his head about it.

His face remained emotionless as he scanned the dark dirt road just outside the villa's high wall and stopped upon seeing a very manly red Hummer with a beautiful woman sitting on its hood.

It was his car, and the woman was Lucille, his secretary.

Feeling his stern gaze, Lucille turned in his direction and then brightly smiled. She drew a deep huff on the Capri cigarette she was holding and then jumped out of his car's hood, completely disregarding how sophisticated and professional-looking she was in her pencil skirt and business coat.

She walked like an automatic doll towards his car's passenger seat, opened the door for him, revealing two of his favorite gun cases, and then greeted him in her heavy Italian accent.

"Welcome back to the world of the living, il mio giovane maestro. I brought your toys."