Page 154 of Double Trouble for the Mafia Prince
Something prickles at the base of my neck, not cold, not quite fear.
Just awareness.
My body knowing something before my mind catches up.
There is movement.
Quick.
Low to the ground.
Not the rustle of an animal.
Not the weight of a boar or the scattering dance of a hare.
This is different.
Intentional.
A slide between shadows.
My breath stutters.
And for a moment—one single, irrational beat—I think it’s Rafa.
The way it moved.
The way the hedgerow seemed to absorb the figure, not resist it.
The way the light fractured just as it passed, like it didn’t want to be seen, only recognized.
My heart kicks against my ribs hard enough to echo in my throat.
"There," I cry out sharply. "In the thicket. Something moved."
Two guards standing further up the path stiffen and begin moving toward the gate at once.
I step forward, eyes narrowing. "Check the perimeter," I call. "Now."
They answer with nods and draw their weapons, fading into the green.
My pulse climbs.
I watch the bushes for another sign, a break, a shape.
Then I feel a hand at the back of my neck.
Another over my mouth.
The scent hits first—sweet, cloying, chemical.
I twist, try to cry out, but my legs have already begun to fail me.
The sky tilts.
The last thing I feel is the gravel beneath my knees as my body gives way, and the thud of my shoulder against the base of a tree.
The bark is rough beneath my cheek.
