"The pleasure is mine, Sienna," Giulia replies, her voice sweet and entirely polite. She turns to offer a respectful nod to my husband. "Good morning, Don Alessandro."
Alessandro gives her a tight, brief nod of acknowledgement, his eyes already cutting to Nino like he's measuring him for a coffin. The lethal edge from yesterday hasn't faded one bit, but on the court, that dark energy is going to be our secret weapon.
"Well, the court is ours," Nino says, gesturing to the pristine blue artificial turf inside the glass enclosure. He flashes a patronizing grin at me. "I hope you're ready to stretch those legs, Sienna. Giulia and I don't take it easy on newcomers."
I stretch my arms over my head, letting out a soft laugh as I grip my racket. "Oh, don't worry about me, Nino. Just make sure you can keep up."
We take our positions on the pristine blue turf. I line up on the left side, taking the backhand court, while Alessandro casually steps onto the right. I glance at him, leaning slightly closer. "Just cover the middle, big guy. I'll take care of the heavy running."
Alessandro doesn't answer. He just twirls his racket with a terrifyingly calm expression.
Nino takes the first serve. He sends a fast, slicing ball down the center line, clearly trying to catch me off guard. I slide smoothly to the right, meeting the ball with a sharp, double-handed backhand that sends it screaming deep into their back corner. Giulia scrambles, barely managing to hit it back over the net.
The ball bounces high. Suddenly, a massive shadow blocks out the sun.
Alessandro steps into the volley. With a terrifying explosion of power, he smashes the ball straight down into the turf. It hits the glass wall with a loud crack and rockets completely out of their reach.
I blink, turning to look at my husband. He casually walks back to his baseline, adjusting his grip. He sends me a wink.
As it turns out, Alessandro isn't just good—he is completely lethal. He plays padel the way he runs the syndicate: with brutal efficiency, flawless positioning, and absolutely zero mercy.
Nino and Giulia are great players, their years of weekend practice showing in their coordinated movements, but they are clearly no match for us. Between my agility and precise angles and Alessandro's raw, overwhelming power at the net, we completely dominate the court.
By the time the first set ends with a decisive score of 6-2 in our favor, I am having absolute fun, my blood pumping with adrenaline.
Nino, on the other hand, is having a terrible time.
"What the hell was that, Giulia?!" Nino snaps as they change sides, his face flushed a bright, angry red. "You were supposed to cover the line! You left the entire alley wide open for her!"
"I'm sorry, Nino, it was coming too fast," Giulia says softly, her voice tight with embarrassment. She glances over at me, her eyes apologetic as she wipes her brow with a small towel. "My husband gets a little... intense when he plays."
"He gets snappy when he loses," I correct with a sweet, dangerous smile, deliberately letting Nino hear me as I take a sip from my water bottle.
Nino glares at me, his knuckles white around his racket grip. The smug, patronizing older gentleman from yesterday is completely gone, replaced by a bitter, frustrated man who hates being humiliated by the younger Don and his new bride.
"We are just warming up," Nino growls, marching back to his serving position and bouncing the ball aggressively against the turf. "Second set. Right now."
Before I can move to my baseline, Alessandro takes two heavy steps toward me, using his large frame to completely shield us from Nino and Giulia’s view. He leans down, his breath brushing against my ear as he speaks in a low, barely audible murmur.
"We need to drop the next two sets,dolcezza," he commands quietly. "Let them win."
I blink up at him, my racket freezing mid-air. "What? No way. We're destroying him. I want to see him cry."
"Listen to me," Alessandro says, his hand gripping my shoulder firmly for a split second. "We need Nino completely relaxed, pleased, and careless. A bruised ego makes him defensive and tight-lipped. If he thinks he beat the Don on his own turf, he will relax. Trust me."
I look past his shoulder at Nino, who is still huffing and pacing the baseline like an angry toddler. I am a little gutted. I absolutely hate losing, especially when I know for a fact that I am the superior player on this court. Turning down my competitive edge feels like swallowing a piece of glass.
But I catch the calculated, lethal gleam in my husband's eyes and remember why we are really here. This isn't about a trophy; it's about a traitor.
I let out a quiet, dramatic sigh. "Fine. But you owe me for this."
"Deal," he murmurs, a shadow of a smirk touching his lips before he steps back into position.
I follow his lead, and it turns out that losing convincingly takes a surprising amount of skill. Alessandro starts missing his powerful smashes by just a hair, sending them an inch past the baseline. For my part, I start slowing down my reaction time, allowing Giulia’s cross-court volleys to slip past my racket.
Nino doesn't notice the sudden shift in our performance at all. In his mind, he’s just finally finding his groove. With every point he scores, his chest puffs out a little further, and the angry, snappy attitude vanishes, replaced by a booming, arrogant laugh.
By the time they take the remaining two sets and win the match, Nino is completely over the moon. He slams his racket into the air, celebrating like he just won a grand slam.
