"And that, my friends, is how a champion finishes a match!" Nino boasts loudly, wiping his brow as we all head off the blue turf toward the shaded patio area to sit and relax.
Giulia offers me a relieved, grateful smile, clearly happy her husband is no longer in a foul mood.
Nino sits down on one of the lounge chairs, grabbing a cold bottle of water and shaking his head as he looks at Alessandro.
"I have to admit, Alessandro, you had me worried in that first set," Nino teases, a smug, relaxed grin plastered across his face. "But it looks like the old man still has plenty of juice left. What happened out there? Did the pressure get to you, or is your backhand just as rusty as your syndicate intelligence?"
Alessandro narrows his eyes, his entire posture stiffening into a dangerous line. Just as he is about to respond and likely drop the temperature in the space to sub-zero, Giulia’s phone starts ringing from her designer bag.
She pulls it out, checking the screen before looking up at us with a polite, apologetic smile. "Excuse me, everyone. I need to take this. It's the caterer for next week's charity gala."
We nod, and she walks off with the phone to her ear, her sneakers thudding softly against the stone patio as she moves toward the manicured gardens to find some privacy.
The moment she is out of earshot, Alessandro leans slightly closer to me. "Distract him," he whispers, the command so low it barely carries over the light breeze.
Before I can even blink, Alessandro stands up, giving Nino a brief, tight nod. "Excuse me. I need to get my wife a towel.”
While I keep Nino talking, Alessandro hurries off, disappearing around the side of the main building with a quiet, lethal swiftness. I don't know exactly what he’s up to—whether he's tracking Giulia, intercepting a signal, or looking for something—but I swear, I hope it’s worth leaving me here completely alone with this man, trying to sweet-talk him.
I take a slow sip of my water, forcing a bright, completely captivated smile onto my face as I turn all my attention back to the arrogant elder sitting across from me.
"Don't mention this to anyone, Nino," I say, leaning forward and resting my chin in my hand, putting on my best performance of an impressed, adoring spectator. "But honestly, I was watching that cross-court slice you pulled off in the third set. How exactly did you get that kind of spin on the ball?"
Nino’s eyes light up, his ego instantly swallowing the bait hook, line, and sinker. He leans back, completely relaxed, and begins to boast about his technique, gesturing wildly with his hands as he explains the precise physics of his spin. He goes on for minutes, and I’m already bored out of my mind waiting for Alessandro to return.
"So basically, it’s all in the wrist," he concludes, a patronizing chuckle escaping him. "Most people think it's about raw power, like your husband out there, but it's really about finesse. You have to slice under the ball right at the moment of?—"
He suddenly cuts himself off, his sentence trailing into nothing as he glances around the empty patio. His smile falters, replacedby a deep, suspicious frown. "Wait a minute. Where the hell did Alessandro go? A towel doesn't take this long."
He sets his water bottle down on the glass table and starts to rise to his feet.
A spike of pure panic hits my chest. If Nino goes looking for him right now, he’ll catch Alessandro in the middle of whatever covert move he's pulling, and the entire operation will blow up in our faces.
I don't think. I just act.
"Oh, come on, Nino," I giggle, the sound bright, airy, and completely unbothered.
Before he can fully stand up, I lean across the small gap between our lounge chairs. I reach out and place my hand gently on his forearm, my touch light but deliberate enough to make him freeze. I give his arm a playful, reassuring squeeze, looking up at him through my eyelashes with a perfectly practiced, mesmerizing smile.
"You know how Alessandro is," I say softly, lowering my voice to an intimate, conspiratorial murmur that forces him to lean back down just to hear me. "He has a big ego. You completely humiliated him on the court just now. He’s probably hiding in the locker room, brooding and trying to recover his pride."
Nino blinks down at my hand on his arm, the sudden proximity and harmless flirting catching him completely off guard. The suspicion in his eyes momentarily battles with his massive vanity.
"Is that so?" he asks, his tone dropping as a smug, slow grin creeps back onto his face. He doesn't move away from my touch.
"Absolutely," I tease, letting out a soft laugh as I slowly slide my hand back, brushing my fingers lightly against his wrist before resting my chin back in my palm. "Honestly, it’s quite refreshing to see someone finally stand up to him. His does have quite an ego sometimes."
The bait works. Nino sinks all the way back into his cushions, completely trapped by the attention of the Don's beautiful wife, his suspicion entirely melting away under a fresh wave of arrogance.
To make absolutely sure he stays anchored to the spot, I take the space next to him on the bench. I keep him talking, but as he goes on and on about his victories, I notice the gleam in his eyes shifting. It's getting more and more sinister, a slimy, familiar confidence taking over. He’s actively flirting back now, leaning in a little too close, his gaze dropping to my lips.
A cold sweat pricks at the back of my neck. I internally swear, wondering where the hell Giulia and Alessandro are. Someone needs to save me from this mess before I have to break character and this man's nose.
"Why are you both on the same bench?"
The voice drops like an anvil.
We both whirl at the sound of Alessandro's deep baritone. He is standing a few feet away, looking completely enraged. His eyes are fixed on the small distance between Nino and me, a dark, terrifying storm cloud brewing on his face. Seriously, what crawled up his ass? He's the one who told me to distract him.
