Ana
Today I woke up with one nagging thought. I need to punch something.
There isn’t a huge pit of rage in my stomach driving me toward aggression, but frustration that sex can only do so much to cure instead. I’m getting restless as days without answers continue to pile up.
Killian is mostly recovered according to Cassio, and he’ll likely be able to show face around here soon. But anonymous messages continue to ping on my phone—no matter how many numbers I block—and my mother and Cole have yet to be avenged.
When I thought of the mafia before being a part of it, I thought these men were nearly invincible. That problems could be solved at the drop of a hat, and sometimes that can be true. Unfortunately, this situation is shady with a capital S. Someone is pulling the strings too well, and it’s impossible to take scissors to threads we can’t see.
I want Killian home, and I want Mr. Creepy Texts to fucking die.
So, I’m going to take my resentful attitude down to the gym and see if I can’t sweat it out. I haven’t used the Knight family gym in far too long, but it’s perfectly equipped with anything I could need. Exercise machines, several different punching bags, mats for judo sparring, a balance beam, pull up bars, and more.
I start with a quick run around the area, getting my blood pumping and my body warmed up to stretch. It’s quickly apparent that my stamina has taken a hit after months of being mostly sedentary. I used to work out at least three times a week, cardio and keeping up with Judo mostly. It can be therapeutic, and the endorphins are good for stress.
Thankfully, by the time I start heading for a punching bag, I’m not overly winded. I’m warm, sweating a little, but breathing quite easily. It seems I haven’t entirely fucked up my endurance.
“Hey, pretty girl, I heard you wanted to hit someone,” a flirtatious Armani greets, waltzing into the gym with Colton in tow.
My eyes bulge at the sight of them, both men are entirely missing shirts and dawning athletic shorts that hit just above the center of their thighs. If they were barefoot, I’d assume the pair were going for a swim. They might as well be wearing boxer shorts with their trainers.
Armani is slightly bulkier than Colton, but they’re eerily similar in stature. Both with wide, toned shoulders, slim muscular waists, and thick thighs that could crush a grown man’s head. Both are intimidating to look at, but Armani most of all.
Despite his Fabio-like silky hair that sways just past his collarbones, his stark tattoos make him look more like a prisoner than a pirate. He’s covered in ink, arms, chest, legs… dark intricate designs decorate more than seventy percent of his visible skin. He’s like a work of art himself.
“Bloody hell,” I blurt, unable to hide my astonished face.
“Are you checking us out right now, doll?” Colton teases, waggling his brows.
“I feel objectified,” Armani tacks on in mock offense.
Sputtering, I fold my arms over my chest. “You feel objectified? I feel like I’m watching Magic Mike! Those shorts would be small on me,” I exclaim. “Do you two seriously work out in that?”
“Like your sports bra and fuck-me leggings are any less scandalous,” Armani challenges, looking me up and down before arching a brow.
“Fuck-me leggings.” I scoff. “These are the most basic—”
The two burst into laughter, cutting off my rant.
“Something funny?” I demand, hands flexing into fists.
“We’re only fucking with ya, doll,” Colton soothes, putting his hands up in surrender. “We figured if we were going to let you pound on us for a few hours, we would get a little ego boost out of it first.”
“So worth it,” Armani tacks on. “Besides, it’s good to keep Cassio on his toes. He has to know he’s not the only eye candy rolling around here. He needs to behave to keep his wife, lest one of us tries to swoop in.”
“I doubt either of you have ever truly been in need of an ego boost,” I grumble, trying not to smile at their antics. “And a pretty face isn’t enough to sway me from Cassio, Armani. He’s mine, if he doesn’t behave, I’ll handle him myself.”
“I knew I should have volunteered to marry you,” the tattooed man groans, clutching his heart with false pain. “A possessive woman after my own heart.”
“Yeah right,” I huff. “You don’t want to be tied down, and I like my men firmly bound. Besides, I would have picked Cassio even if you did volunteer.”
Colton cracks up and Armani makes a sound of protest. “Now you’re just being mean.”
A giggle leaves me and I shrug. “Now I’m laughing too.”
“All right, where do you want me?” Colton flings his arms out to the side, offering himself up like a sacrifice. “I’m ready to be thrown around.”
I snort, nodding to the practice mats. “We can do some sparring, treat it like No-Gi Judo.”
Rubbing his hands together mischievously, Colton grins. “Sounds good, doll. Don’t embarrass me too badly?”
“I’m going to record her hurling you across the floor to send to everyone we know,” Armani declares, smirking.
“I’ll happily return the favor.” Colton faces me in the center of the mat. “Okay, so how are we—oh no—”
I rush at him full speed, jumping to wrap my legs around his neck and fling myself downward. Colton flips to the ground, landing with a hard thud as I hop back to my feet. Armani is cackling, holding his phone up and clutching his stomach.
“I don’t think that was Judo,” Colton groans, rolling onto his back to stand up again.
“It wasn’t,” I quip, trying not to giggle. “That was just for fun.”
“Vicious, little doll,” he grunts, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think it’s Armani’s turn to get abused.”
“All right, pretty girl, I’m coming for you.”
Armani jogs toward me, extending a hand like he might grab me with it. I snatch it instead, turning to the side. Using his momentum and body weight against him, I throw Armani off-balance, maneuver him over my hip, and send him crashing into the ground.
I know that in a life or death situation, both of these men could probably take me down without much effort. But it’s nice that they’re allowing me to show my skills anyway. For me, Judo is meant to help even the playing field. It’s great for women, focusing on technique rather than brute strength to be successful.
We spend the next hour laughing, sparring, and even breaking out the boxing gloves to do some hitting drills. I’m breathing heavily and sweating far too much for my liking by the time we call it quits.
Sitting down on a foam chair, I swipe some hair from my eyes and wait for the boys to come over with cold beverages. Having a fridge in the gym is a luxury I appreciate every time I come in here.
“We’ve thought of an idea,” Colton pipes up, flopping down onto a clean, folded mat near my feet.
“Did it hurt?” I joke.
“Ha-ha,” he deadpans, rolling his eyes.
“When Jade first came into the family, Matteo gave her a bunch of information about us,” Armani interrupts, passing me a bottle of chilled electrolyte water. “He wanted her to feel like one of us, and she couldn’t do that if she knew nothing about us.”
“So,” Colton says, clapping his hands together. “We’re going to do the same thing, twenty questions style.”
Armani nods, dropping into a large bean bag chair to face us. “Unlike Jade, you already know all our names and some of what we do. But hit us with those burning questions, and make them juicy. We’re family now, after all.”
“I like this idea,” I admit. “I feel like we’re really close somehow, but I still don’t know a ton about either of you.”
“We feel the same.”
The questions start slow and innocent enough.
When did you two meet? Armani was eight, Colton was seven.
Did you go to high school? Both had tutors privately, just like me.
Favorite kind of music? Country for Colton, Rock for Armani.
Do you have a favorite Moretti family memory? Armani says it’s too hard to choose, but Dad and Apollo teaching him how to shoot his first gun, and the day they found Jade came to mind.
What did you want to be when you were little? Colton wanted to be a cowboy like his father, and Armani never wanted a job. He wanted to collect clothes and shoot guns—which he brags is literally what he does now. When they ask the same thing to me, I tell them I wanted to be an artist like my mum, until I realized I hate the smell of paint and don’t have the attention span to stick to any medium.
Oddly enough the thing that steers the conversation toward a more salacious direction begins with me asking Armani, “Which sibling are you closest to?”
“I’m a certified middle child,” Armani replies with a sigh. “Close with everyone, closest with no one.”
Colton nods along. “Which is why he has me.”
“But you two have never…”
“Nope,” Armani confirms, popping the p. “Tried to drunkenly kiss once as teenagers, It did not go well.”
“And before you ask, no, we’ve never considered sharing a partner.”
I gape at him before blurting out, “People ask you that?”
“Allllll the time,” Colton confirms. “I’m far too possessive to even consider it.”
“And he doesn’t do one nighters,” Armani adds. “Such a bore.”
My brows lift. “So you’re saying you would have a threesome… just not with Colton?”
“I’ve done plenty of group activities, pretty girl.” Armani lifts his shoulder in a half shrug. “It’s not that special, but your interest seems piqued. Would you ever have a threesome?”
“Sure, if I could clone Cassio to do it.”
Colton cackles. “That’s my kind of answer.”
“Ick, I do not need to hear your fantasies about cloning my brother.”
Sitting up straighter, I pin Colton with a curious look. “Speaking of that… which Moretti man are you chasing after, mister? This is the second time I’m hearing of it with no further context.”
“We should do something when this is all over,” Colton muses, changing the topic with ease. “Something siblings would do. Family bonding, but not juvenile.”
I snort at his obvious avoidance but don’t push. He doesn’t need to tell me just because I’m his friend. He’s allowed to have some privacy if he wants it. Arching a brow at his suggestion, I play along. “Like what?”
“Well, what did you do with Killian for fun?”
“Fun?” I snort. “Killian isn’t much of a fun sort of bloke. Most of the time we spent out together was at events. Fundraisers, galas, grand openings… and well, fights, I suppose.”
“Fights?” Armani perks up, attention caught. “Underground stuff or, like, UFC events?”
“Underground,” I confirm. “Killian has fought at a few. There’s a mutually owned club that a lot of syndicates use.”
His eyes sparkle with interest. “Killian fancies himself a fighter, does he? Is he any good?”
“He’s good.” My shoulder’s lift in a shrug. “He doesn’t do anything too competitive or crazy. It’s mostly to stay in shape and to remind everyone that he’s the heir to the Monarch for a reason. He’s only ever been in one deathmatch, and that was to put down a traitor.”
“They took you to this place? And let you watch deathmatches?” Colton questions, jaw hanging open. “Are they insane?”
“Oh please,” I scoff, rolling my eyes. “I was fine. And for your information, the only deathmatch I’ve seen was Killian’s—and I knew he would win. I typically have no desire to watch a grown man gamble his life for the sake of pride.”
“Still,” Armani winces, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t let Jade within ten miles of an underground fighting ring, especially if one of her brothers were in the ring. Shit can get ugly on the outside too.”
“Okay, Dad,” I drone, shaking off his overprotective nature. “Do you guys even fight?”
“Of course we fight,” Armani declares loudly, looking scandalized by such a question. “What do you think we do to keep our power? Sit around singing songs and braiding each other’s hair? The Moretti’s create some of the most lethal fighters in the country.”
Holding up my hands in surrender, I chuckle. “Such passion! I’m so sorry to have offended your delicate sensibilities. I take it you’re one of the better fighters in the family?”
Armani’s chest puffs up and he grins big. “You know it. Apollo and Elio have got me beat, I’m man enough to admit it. Those two are monsters in hand to hand. Elio hits harder than anyone I know, and Apollo is lightning fast. But after them, it’s me.”
He hums like he’s considering his next words. “I’d say Leon and Cassio are next. Matteo is scrappy as fuck, but he doesn’t care for it unless there’s a reason. Remo prefers digital violence. And you know how Nico is, he’d rather skin someone than spar with them.”
“Don’t forget Father Dante,” Colton remarks with a flirty smirk. “He might be in his fifties, but the man can brawl.”
“Fuck,” Armani grunts, puffing out a breath. “I definitely wouldn’t want to get in the ring with him. I watched Uncle Cesar train with him when I was younger and they were brutal.”
“All right, so we’ll plan something not so dangerous once it’s safe. But right now? I need a bloody shower.”
The boys agree, and we go our separate ways.
It’s been a good day, I think to myself, heading up to my room.
So good that I don’t notice the feeling of being watched.
