“I don’t think so.” I just did aten freaking milerun. They’re lucky I haven’t vomited on the floor.
“Corvo! You don’t get a free pass because you’ve got a pussy and a hangover,” Vito hollers, and Luc grins down at my scowl. “Shall we?”
Weshall fuckingnot. Slapping Luc’s hand away, I take my time getting to my feet and following him over to the mats. Stefano drifts over to watch as Dante brushes past me and pauses.
“Focus on his left side. It’s weaker,” he mutters.
“I don’t need any handouts,” I snap, and his brows dip down into a frown. “Caterina—,”
But I’m already pushing past him, kicking off my sneakers before I step onto the mat. The black plastic coating crinkles under my feet as Luc stretches opposite me. “Been a while since we did this. Hand to hand?”
My fingers twitch, and I tilt my head towards the weapons table lining the back wall. “If I have to do this, I’d rather make it interesting.”
It’s been months since I sparred with knives, and I’m missing the feel of them. Vito claps his hands. “Enough talk. Get on with it.”
“Some tutor,” I mutter. Some tutors genuinely try to help. Vito? I swear the man just wants to see us all bleed. But we both head over to the table, scanning the options before I point to my choice. The pair of thin steel daggers stand out amongst the chunky weaponry. The guns, the axe, even a fucking sword. But knives are the best.
Picking them up, I wrap my fingers around the detailed handles, testing the weight. “These will do.”
“In the mood to draw blood, I see.” But I can tell he’s tempted. I’m the only other heir who will work with knives, the others preferring their guns. But one thing about Luciano Morelli is his appreciation for a well-crafted knife. He picks up the second set, flipping one over and catching it as his teeth flash. “Try not to ruin my pretty face, Caterina.”
My snort is loud. “It might teach you some humility.”
But the back and forth between us fades as we get into position, Luc kicking off his shoes to bounce lightly on his feet. Vito smacks his hand on the rope in irritation. “This is a fight, not the fucking ballet.”
But he hasn’t seen us spar before. Not like this. He’s only been here a few weeks. Jonno, the previous tutor from the Fuscos – nowheappreciated knives. I learned a few tricks from him.
“Come on, little crow,” Luciano murmurs, his lips curving up. “Dance with me.”
I’m already ready, and before the final word leaves his mouth I’m sweeping my right blade up, directly towards his neck. Steelflashes as he pushes himself up to meet me, the knives smashing together less than an inch away from his skin.
“Well, this is cozy,” he murmurs. Then he shoves me back, his arms flying as both daggers come at me.
There’s no room for muttered insults now. No room for anything but the fluidity of our own movements and the sound of steel as we move around the space, both of us focused intently on the other. Anticipating movements, trying to match it, feeling each other out.
I feint to the right and Luc falls for it as I step directly underneath his arm, one dagger angled perfectly over his pulse. “My point, I believe.”
“Merda,” he snaps. “First and last.”
He takes the next point with a well-placed twist that puts his own dagger against my stomach. Vito and the others are silent now, but I can feel them watching. Our breathing becomes labored as the minutes pass, neither of us letting the other gain ground. My arms begin to ache, and I let out a grunt when Luc catches my double thrust by crossing his daggers and twisting them. I nearly lose my grip, and I snarl.
“Such an angry little kitty cat.” He smirks, taking his eyes off the game for a split second.
But a second is all I need.
I drop, sweeping out my foot and knocking him off his feet. He goes down like a sack of fucking bricks, and my daggers are crossed at his neck before he can do much more than blink. Straddling him, I lean over, the smirk spreading across my face. “You were saying?”
His head thumps back against the mat as he lets out a breathless laugh. “I concede. You’re fucking magnificent.”
The raw honesty in his voice takes me aback, and my daggers slacken. The smile slides away from his face, bright hazel eyesmeeting mine. And there’s no sign of the insolent man I’m used to seeing.
I’m suddenly aware of the lack of distance between us, our faces close together, his body beneath mine. His heat feels like a brand against the inside of my thighs.
My swallow feels loud. Luciano’s eyes dip to my throat, as though he’s tracking the flex in my skin, tracking every move I make.
And then there’s a very male, very obvious cough. I watch as the expression filters away, as Luc carefully wipes at and offers me his usual sly grin. “Feel free to stay there all day, little crow.”
It takes me a second longer to collect myself, and a small dip appears between Luc’s eyes as I silently pull back my daggers and climb off him. When I offer my hand, he hesitates, and my eyes roll. “It’s not a marriage proposal, Morelli.”
