Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
SIENNA
As early as nine-thirty the next morning, Alessandro and I pull back through the gates of Melvitto Garden.
I am way too excited for this match. Firstly, because I wasn’t lying yesterday when I told the elders I used to play padel with my sisters. We used to play every single weekend back home, and it was brutal.
Secondly, because I deliberately omitted a very important detail: I am exceptionally good at it. I fully plan to completely wipe the smugness right off Nino’s face today. His wife can get it too, I really don’t care.
On the drive over, I had asked Alessandro if he is any good at the sport.
He just shrugged his massive shoulders and muttered that he "knows how to swing a racket." Killjoy. I don’t even mind, though. I’m good enough for the both of us, and watching him move around a court in athletic gear is going to be a view I won't mind analyzing.
Nino is already waiting on the glass-walled padel court when we arrive, spinning a racket in his hand. Standing beside him is a stunning woman with perfectly styled dark hair, wearing a sleek, designer tennis skirt.
Nino smiles proudly the moment he sees us approaching, his eyes gleaming with the same arrogance from yesterday. "Ah, the Don and his bride. You're early." He motions to the woman beside him. "This is Giulia, my wife."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Giulia," I say, stepping forward with a warm, genuine smile.
"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.
"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.