ABSOLUTE INSANITY: A forbidden bond-Chapter 195: Marco

Chapter 195

ROMEO POV

The night air was cool against my skin as I stepped outside.

James was already there, exactly where he was supposed to be, holding the rear door of the car open for me.

His posture was rigid, eyes scanning the perimeter out of habit more than necessity. I slid into the back seat without a word.

Antonio was already inside, seated opposite me, his jacket off, phone in hand. He looked up as the door shut and the world outside disappeared.

"What kept you?" he asked, casual but alert.

"Nothing," I replied flatly. "Is everything in motion?"

"Yes," Antonio said immediately. "All routes cleared. The men are in position. No deviations."

James closed the door and moved to the driver’s seat. The engine purred to life, smooth and quiet, and within seconds the car rolled forward, the estate gates opening ahead of us like they always did.

I leaned back slightly, eyes fixed on the darkened window as the lights blurred past.

Good. If things were already moving, then there was nothing left to discuss.

Only to execute. Just the way I preferred it.

Antonio shifted beside me as the car merged fully onto the road. He reached into the console between us and pulled out a tablet, the screen already lit.

He handed it over without a glance "Our meeting tonight," he said. "The man is an ally of the Valeros."

That alone was enough to sour the air. "They’re not to be trusted," Antonio continued. "Not even a little. They play both sides when it suits them."

I took the tablet, my grip steady. Trust was a word I’d never built my world around.

"I don’t trust anyone," I said calmly.

Antonio’s mouth twitched, like he’d expected nothing else.

The tablet screen displayed a profile. A photograph dominated the center. A man in his late forties, sharp eyes, mouth set in a permanent line.

A long scar cut across one side of his face. I studied it in silence.

"This is him," I said.

"Yes," Antonio confirmed. "Name, fronts, known movements—everything’s there. He’s careful. Keeps his hands clean, lets others do the mess."

I zoomed in slightly on the image, my expression unchanged. Men like this always believed scars made them intimidating.

That survival alone made them powerful. They were usually wrong.

"Where?" I asked.

"A private club," Antonio replied. "Neutral ground though, his request."

Of course it was. I locked the tablet and handed it back to him. "Our men?"

"Already done." The car continued forward, the city lights stretching ahead of us, cold and distant.

An hour later, the city thinned and polished itself into something quieter. Cleaner. Wealth hid better here.

The car slowed to a stop beneath a discreet canopy. No sign. No flashing lights. Just dark glass, stone walls, and a single guard who already knew who we were.

James was out first, circling the vehicle in one smooth motion before opening my door.

I stepped out, straightening my jacket as my shoes met the ground. The bass from inside the building was muted, controlled—music chosen to impress, not overwhelm.

"Stay," I told James quietly. He nodded once without questions. He never asked them.

Antonio fell into step behind me as we moved toward the entrance. The guard opened the door without a word, and we passed through.

The club was exactly what I expected. Low lighting casting gold over dark wood and marble floors.

The air smelled expensive, aged liquor, polished leather, money that had been sitting still for generations.

Conversations were kept low, private, contained to small groups seated far enough apart to ensure discretion.

No crowds. No chaos. This wasn’t a place people came to be seen. It was a place deals were made and buried.

Men in tailored suits occupied deep couches and private booths, watches catching the light when they lifted glasses to their lips.

Women moved through the space like accents, not centerpieces, elegant, quiet, carefully chosen.

Every face turned, just slightly, as we entered. Recognition then fear rippled through the room.

Good.

Antonio leaned closer as we walked. "Back room," he murmured. I nodded and kept moving.

A hostess appeared without being called, already guiding us down a corridor lined with abstract art and soundproofed doors.

She stopped at the last one, tapped lightly, then stepped aside. Antonio reached for the handle, but I stopped him with a glance.

I opened the door myself.

Neutral ground or not, I never walked into a room blind.

Inside, the lighting was dimmer, the table set with crystal glasses and a bottle already breathing.

One man stood near the window, his back to us, the city lights reflecting faintly off the glass.

The scar was unmistakable, even in profile.

Right on time.

"Greetings! Don Salvatore." The man turned fully toward us, the city lights falling across his face.

"Marco," I replied, giving him a short nod of acknowledgement. His lips curved into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

"Don Salvatore. An honor." He gestured broadly toward the table, already set for three. "Please sit, sit."

I moved first, pulling out the chair at the head of the table and taking my seat without care. Antonio sat to my right, his posture relaxed but his attention sharp, eyes constantly moving.

Marco remained standing for a moment longer, watching us, then took the seat opposite me.

That was when it registered. He was alone.

No bodyguard near the door. No men pretending to be staff. No shadows shifting in the corners.

Just Marco, a table, and a room too quiet to be accidental. I didn’t show it, but every instinct in me tightened.

Men like him never walked into rooms like this without protection. Not unless they were stupid or hiding something better.

Neutral ground or not, this was wrong. I leaned back slightly, folding my hands loosely on the table, my expression unreadable.

Marco poured himself a drink, unhurried. "I appreciate you accepting my invitation," he said. "I know your time is... valuable."

"Get to the point," I replied evenly. Antonio’s gaze flicked to me for a fraction of a second, then back to Marco.

Marco chuckled softly, lifting his glass. "Straight to business. I respect that."

He took a sip, set the glass down carefully, then met my eyes.

"I thought it best we speak privately," he continued. "No distractions. No misunderstandings."

I studied him in silence, cataloguing every movement, every pause. Alone meant confidence or leverage.

And I didn’t trust either. "Privacy doesn’t require recklessness," I said calmly. "So tell me, Marco, why are you so comfortable sitting across from me without your men?"

The smile faltered, just a little before curling into something bigger.