Coup Coup

Coup Coup
Lancelot ended the call with Bedivere and turned to the remaining Knights gathered in the common room of their wing. The air still carried the faint smell of gun oil and clean leather.

“It’s time,” he said. “Get ready. Weapons, vehicles, everything. We move the moment I give the word.”

The men responded at once—checking magazines, pulling on dark jackets, confirming the cars were fueled and positioned. Before Lancelot could join the final preparations, his own phone rang. Carolina’s name lit the screen. He answered on the second ring.

"Yes, my Queen?"

“Come to my room,” she said. Her voice was controlled, but an undercurrent of strain ran through it. “I need to speak with you about certain things.”

“I’m on my way.”

He hung up, told the Knights to continue without him, and left for the main house. The corridors were quiet. Evening light filtered through high windows in long pale bars. At her door, he knocked once.

“Enter.”

Carolina sat at her desk, the laptop open but ignored. She held her phone to her ear, trying a number that refused to connect. The soft, repeated tone of the failed call filled the short silence. She ended it, tried again, then set the phone down with more force than necessary. Lancelot remained standing a few paces from the desk, waiting for her to speak to him about why she'd asked him into her room.

He watched the tight line of her shoulders and the way her fingers lingered on the phone. “Is everything all right?”

Carolina looked up. The usual composure was still there, but frayed at the edges. “I’ve been trying to reach the men I sent to find Carla. Their number is suddenly not reachable and I don't understand why. I can't seem to reach any of them.”

She studied him for a moment. “I was told you went with her last night when she left to meet the spy.”

“Yes,” Lancelot said. “I did.”

“Why did you come back alone?”

He kept his voice even, almost conversational. “She said she had another stop to make afterward. Told me there was no need for both of us to stay out. I returned to the estate. That was the last I saw of her.”

Carolina held his gaze, searching for any crack. After several seconds, she gave a short nod, accepting the answer for now.

“She's been killed. The men I sent out found her body in a motel room. She was stabbed. I believe the Black Sailors are responsible, though I still don’t understand how they managed to get to her so cleanly—or why the men I sent after her have gone silent.”

She leaned back slightly in the chair. “With Carla gone, I need you and the Knights more than ever. The clan cannot afford another loss of this size.”

“You have us,” Lancelot said. He stepped closer to the desk, as if the movement itself were reassurance. “Whatever you need, we're here to provide it.”

Carolina began to speak again. Lancelot moved first. He seized the back of her head and drove it forward into the surface of the desk. She went limp at once, unconscious from the hit.

He took out his phone and called the Knights waiting below.

“She’s down. Prepare to move her out of the mansion. Now.”

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Evening had settled fully over the Cimaro estate. Soft lamps lit the living room. Gabriella sat with her laptop open on her knees, scrolling through quiet research. Andre paced near the windows, finishing a series of short, low-voiced calls. The air carried the faint scent of the coffee that had gone cold on the side table.

Jay appeared in the doorway. “Police chief is here to see you, boss. He doesn’t look happy.”

Andre ended the last call, slipped the phone into his pocket, and sat down in the wide armchair. “Silas is never happy. Not since I sent his daughter to prison. Let him in.”

Silas entered a moment later like a storm. His face was flushed, eyes red-rimmed with anger and something rawer underneath. He stopped in the center of the room and pointed a finger at Andre.

“It was you, wasn’t it? You killed her.”

Andre’s expression remained carefully blank. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Chief.”

Silas shoved his phone forward. The screen showed a news report: the same delivery truck that had left the prison that morning had exploded on a bridge and plunged into the river below. No survivors had been recovered and the truck was in ruins.

“Lucy is dead,” Silas said, voice cracking on the name. “That was the truck she was supposed to be under. You set the whole thing up.”

Andre looked at the screen, then back at Silas, and shook his head slowly. “I had nothing to do with that. Maybe she got out before it happened. Maybe she survived.”

“Don’t insult me.” Silas’s hands were trembling. “We had a deal. I gave you what you wanted. You were supposed to get her out clean. Instead she’s gone, and I know your hand was in it. We’re finished. I won’t work with you anymore. Not after this.”

He turned and walked out. The front door slammed hard enough to echo through the house. Andre sat still for a moment, then let out a low, genuine laugh.

“I love it when a good plan comes together.”

Gabriella looked up from her laptop, the words she had been about to speak still forming, when Jay returned to the doorway.

“Boss. There's been another update. The Knights are outside,” he said. “They didn't come empty-handed.”

Andre and Gabriella rose at the same time and went out into the cooling evening air. Several black vehicles sat in the drive. Lancelot stood beside the rear door of one of them. When he saw Gabriella, he inclined his head in a short, formal bow.

“My Queen! The coup has begun, and to help us get started, I brought you a present.”

He opened the passenger door. Inside, Carolina Rossi sat bound and unconscious, head slumped to the side with her hands bound in cuffs.