Couples Fight

Couples Fight
Andre returned to the Cimaro estate with the low rumble of engines and the residual smell of gunpowder still clinging to his clothes. His men moved with the quiet efficiency of a successful job. It seemed that the Devil of good fortune was following him closely ever since he started raiding more of Carolina's warehouses, and he was eager to get to the next one as soon as possible. He stopped Alphonso near the front steps.

“Take everything we pulled from the warehouse and move it to the most discreet storehouse we have. No stops. No mistakes. Make sure everything stays intact until it's time to extract the contents and process them to our people on the other side.”

Alphonso nodded. “Yes, boss.”

Andre glanced toward the house. “Where’s Gabriella?”

“Out back. Swimming. She waited for you for a while, so she might be a little grumpy.”

"That's fine. I know how to handle my Moll."

Andre dismissed him with a short wave and walked through the house toward the rear grounds. The pool water caught the late-morning light in shifting blue patterns. Gabriella cut clean lines through it, her body lean and strong, dark hair slicked back.

He sat on one of the lounge chairs and watched her for a while, the tension of the night still sitting in his shoulders. As he watched her, he admired her elegance as she moved through the water with flawless grace. It made him so glad to see her enjoying herself despite all they had been through, and it also turned him on when his eyes fell on her swimsuit, which was quite provocative.

She turned and noticed him, swam to the edge, and climbed out. Water ran down her skin as she reached for a towel and wrapped it around herself. She walked over, but when he stood to pull her into a hug, she stepped back, eyes cool and searching.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Where were you last night? And the night last week when you didn’t come home until the morning?”

“Handling business,” he said. "In case you've forgotten, I'm still the Capo of the most powerful Mafia clan in all of New York."

“I want specifics, Andreas.”

He didn’t give them. Her expression hardened further. She didn't like that he was keeping her in the dark, at least not for as long as he had. She needed it to end right then and there.

“If the Knights hadn’t crashed our wedding, we would already be married,” she said, voice rising. “I want transparency. Level with me. Tell me everything.”

She stared at him. “Or are you seeing someone else? Going out late to be with another woman? Is that it?”

Andre’s face darkened. “I’m not cheating on you. Don’t ever think that about me. I may be a lot of terrible things, but a cheater isn't one of them.”

“Then tell me the truth!”

He hesitated, jaw tight. Finally, he gestured to the chair beside him. “Sit.”

She did. He looked out at the water for a moment before speaking.

“I’ve been hitting your mother’s warehouses. Cutting her supply. Taking her product and her territory piece by piece.”

"Why?" She wondered, because truly there was no need for him to be doing it.

He met her eyes. “When the Knights crashed the wedding, I felt powerless. They could have killed us both if they wanted to. Only your quick thinking saved us. I needed to take that power back. I needed to make sure Carolina can never hurt the people I care about again. Destroying her systematically is how I do that.”

Gabriella’s anger eased as she listened. She understood the wound under the words. She understood how much his pride had taken a beating that day they were attacked and almost killed. Even Jay and Alphonso barely made it out alive. She leaned in, kissed him once, firm and certain.

“We’re a team,” she said. “We stop her together. Don’t keep me in the dark again.”

“I won’t.”

They kissed longer this time, the tension between them breaking, then stood and walked back into the house side by side.

.

.

.

In the Knights’ dojo, the air smelled of sweat, old leather, and the faint rubber of the training mats. Lancelot stood shirtless in the center of the room, fists slamming into a heavy punching bag with controlled power. Sweat ran down the hard lines of his back and chest. The rhythmic thud of each strike filled the space.

The door opened. Carla walked in. She had a plain look plastered on her face and it made her look quite sexy, at least to Lancelot.

He stopped hitting the bag and turned, a genuine smile breaking across his face. “I was happily shocked you came to me last night. You even let my men see you. Spent the whole night. Makes a man wonder if you’re finally starting to fall for him. Maybe it’s time we went on that real date.”

Carla didn’t answer. She shrugged off her jacket, tossed it aside, and rolled her shoulders.

“Rather than fight a bag that won't hit back,” she said, “Why don't you fight me instead?"

He chuckled. "Ever since the first time we did this, I've really wanted us to do it again."

His smile widened. He loved sparring with her because she was such a skilled fighter, and also, it was the perfect excuse to put his hands all over her parts as aggressively as he could.

They took their stances on the mat. The first exchange was fast—sharp jabs, quick dodges, heavy kicks, and the solid impact of fists and forearms clashing against each other. They seemed evenly matched, each testing the other, neither giving ground easily. Sweat flew. Breathing grew harder. The fighting intensified.

Then Carla feinted, closed the distance, and took him hard to the floor. She landed on top of him, knees pinning his hips. Lancelot looked up at her, impressed and still smiling—

Until the cold edge of a knife pressed against his throat. She held the blade firmly and it was obvious to him that this wasn't part of the mir friendly spar. His smile vanished and he wondered what she was up to. But of course, he remained calm and waited for her next move.