2. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Mialina
The moment he steps onto the lawn, the space around us shifts, like he announces himself without saying a word.
Men like him have a presence that settles over a room, or in this case a garden, until everything else subtly rearranges around them.
Don Gualtiero had been like that. Mateo carries the same energy, especially since becoming don.
Plenty of ambitious mafia men try to cultivate that kind of authority. I should know. I was raised by one. But while Father could be formidable, he never possessed this effortless ability to command a space.
With our late Don and Mateo, that ability demands respect. With this stranger, though, it rubs me entirely the wrong way.
Maybe it’s because he inserted himself into our game without even asking, assuming that because I’m outnumbered, he’s rescuing some helpless damsel in distress.
But I’m not that. I never will be.
The shuttle whizzes over the net, and the stranger and I both reach our rackets for it… and miss.
Without his jacket, he looks even broader up close, his dark shirt fitted across his shoulders.
Dammit, this man is more distracting than helpful.
I want to send him back where he came from, but something tells me he wouldn’t easily be dismissed, and Mamma would admonish me for being impolite.
Manners, Mia, manners.
If I listened to her voice in my head, I’d also ask his name and make proper introductions, but I don’t want to do that. For some reason, I feel that would give him an opening.
What exactly for, I don’t know, but my gut tells me to keep that door firmly shut. So I ignore him as best I can. Not an easy feat, given we’re playing partners for now.
Still, I can’t help myself. “Try to keep up,” I toss back, not bothering to look at him. “I’ve got a title to defend.”
If he’s expecting gratitude for joining me, he’s going to be disappointed.
“Well, let’s make sure you keep your crown.” His voice is amused, and I sense his gaze burning into me. I swear his eyes have been on me from the moment he stepped onto the lawn.
And not in the casual, appreciative way I’m used to from men who think a smile or a look will get them somewhere since Father’s death. No, this is entirely different.
Sharper, more focused somehow. Like he’s already decided something and is now simply waiting for the rest of the world to catch up.
It makes me… uneasy. And I’m not someone who gets rattled.
I tighten my grip on the racket as I move into position beside him, trying to immerse myself in the rhythm of the game, but every time I move, I feel his attention tracking me.
Argh, that man is not just a distraction. He’s a disruption.
From the corner of my eye, I study him some more, letting the details settle without appearing too interested.
He’s tall, with thick dark hair pushed back from his face and a shadow of stubble along his jaw.
His movements are controlled in a way that suggests nothing about him is accidental.
Even the way he stands seems deliberate, like he’s used to being observed and has long since stopped caring what anyone thinks of him.
He’s in his early thirties, I’d guess.
Ancient.
There’s a quiet arrogance to him, the kind that usually comes with real power, not the kind men like to pretend they have.
Thank God Father is no longer here. Otherwise, I might have found myself promised to someone like him so that Father could advance his own agenda.
Not anymore. Even now, weeks after his body was found, I breathe a sigh of relief.
With Mari married to Mateo and him stepping up as Don, everything has shifted. Any offers of marriage have to go through him and Mamma. And they promised us something Father never would have.
A choice. Who we marry is up to us.
I might never tie myself to anyone. The freedom we’ve had since Father’s death is too good to give up. I never want someone dictating my every move ever again and deciding what my life will look like.
“Ready?” Isa calls from across the net, her grin already too confident for my liking.
“Always,” I shoot back, bouncing on the balls of my feet as Mari serves.
The shuttle comes straight for me. This time, I meet it cleanly, sending it back with more force behind the shot than the point requires.
Isa struggles to reach it, but manages at the last second. He steps into position without hesitation and returns Isa’s shot with controlled precision.
I flick a glance at him, unable to stop myself. He’s not watching the shuttle. His eyes are on me.
I scowl and snap my attention back to the game.
From here, we fall into rhythm faster than I expect, our movements aligning without discussion or effort. He covers the area I leave open, anticipates my shots before I take them, and adjusts without getting in my way.
It’s like we’ve played together before. Which, obviously, we haven’t.
“Left,” he says beside me.
Not quite a command but close. Still, I take the shot, driving it hard toward Isa, who barely manages to return it, sending it high enough to give him the opening.
He steps in, finishing the point cleanly.
“Lucky shots,” Isa fires back. I chuckle, ignoring what she said.
Exhaling slowly, I’m more aware of him than I’d like. It bothers me.
“You do realize I didn’t need your help,” I say, brushing a strand of hair from my face.
“Perhaps I just felt like playing.” His voice is calm, as if none of this is particularly important to him.
I bet the last time he played badminton, or any game, was several decades ago.
I glance at him again. He’s closer than before. My skin prickles immediately. Still, I meet his gaze head-on.
“Let’s play then,” I tell him.
As soon as the words leave my mouth, his grin grows. Somehow I get the impression we’re not really talking about badminton anymore.
My stomach tumbles. It’s a strange, unfamiliar sensation.
I force my attention back onto my sister. “What’s the score?”
I know damn well what it is, because I don’t miss a thing, but I needed a reason to break away.
“Nineteen–twenty,” Mari says, glancing between us. “You might be ahead, but you won’t beat us this time.”
Not with me being distracted, that’s for sure.
The next rally starts, Isa and Mari really playing to win. The easy rhythm from before sharpens, the shots coming faster, more precise, each return placed with intention.
I welcome it, letting my focus narrow as the shuttle moves back and forth across the net in quick, controlled exchanges. Isa sends it wide, forcing me to stretch, and I return it, watching Mari adjust at the last second to keep it in play.
The pace builds quickly after that. There’s no time to think, only to react. I shift left, then right, adjusting without hesitation, aware of him beside me without actually looking, of the way he moves in sync with me, covering ground so I don’t have to.
Mari sends the shuttle low this time, right into the center. I move for it instantly. So does he.
We collide.
It’s not hard enough to send either of us to the ground, but enough that my balance falters, my shoulder brushing firmly against his chest as we both adjust too late. The contact is brief, barely a moment, and yet it feels… noticeable.
His hand closes around my arm, steadying me before I can fully lose my footing. It’s an instinctive move. And entirely unwelcome.
Heat flares where he touches me, racing up my arm with no way for me to shut it down.
I pull away as soon as I’m steady again, stepping out of his reach like I didn’t feel a thing.
“We’re meant to win this match,” I snap, more to reassert control than anything else.
A flicker of something crosses his expression, gone almost as quickly as it appears, but not before I catch it.
Amusement, maybe?
“Then we should work on our communication,” he replies, his voice gravelly.
The words are simple enough on the surface, and yet the way he says them lingers just a fraction too long.
Head in the game, Mia.
“Twenty all,” Mari says, laughing. “We’re going to win.”
“Keep dreaming.”
I roll my shoulders, grounding myself and trying to ignore the man standing far too close beside me.
The next few points turn into a battle. Every time we pull ahead, Isa and Mari catch us again, the two-point lead needed to win always just out of reach.
By now, even Mari has stopped laughing.
Isa sends the shuttle deep toward the corner, and I know immediately I’ll never reach it. Apparently, my playing partner does too.
He moves before I can, crossing behind me and returning it with a sharp flick that sends Isa scrambling. Mari manages to keep it alive, but barely, and I’m already in position when the shuttle comes back.
The rally continues, faster now, until he drives the final shot into the open space behind Isa.
Twenty-four–twenty-three.
Mari pouts and looks toward the terrace, where Mateo, Mamma, and another man I’ve not seen before are watching us.
“You’ve got this, dolcezza,” Mateo calls out.
I don’t think so.
I grip my racket harder and take my position. One more point.
Let’s get this over with.
Letting muscle memory take over, I prepare to serve. Isa smirks at me from across the net, trying to distract me. I steady my grip on the shuttle, release it… and strike.
It cuts across the net at an angle that seems almost too precise and quick, dropping just inside the line before either Isa or Mari can react.
It lands.
No one moves or makes a sound.
I blink once, twice, waiting for someone to call it out, to return it, to prove it wasn’t what I think it was. But no one does.
We won.
A laugh escapes me. I turn without thinking, my body already shifting toward him, ready to throw my arms around his shoulders—
I stop just short of him, my pulse racing.
Neither of us moves. The intensity in his gaze is deliberate in a way that makes it impossible to pretend it’s casual, even though we just met and I don’t even know his name.
I step back, forcing distance between us.
“An ace!” I cheer. “We won.”
I raise my hand for a high-five, and he looks at it for a second before obliging. A corner of his mouth tilts as he slaps it.
“We did.”
There’s nothing in his tone that suggests surprise. If anything, it sounds like he expected it.
Behind us, Isa and Mari groan, the spell breaking just enough for the world to move again. When I turn back toward my sisters, I can still feel him right there beside me.
And somehow, even now, that seems like the more dangerous part of this entire game.