I pulled up into the parking lot of Roger’s Arena, killing the engine. My muscles were already taut with eagerness. The thrill of fighting still got me after all these years. In the cage it didn’t matter if your Father was Consigliere or construction worker. It didn’t matter what people thought of you. All that mattered was the moment, your fighting skills, your skill to read the enemy. It was one against one. Life was seldom as fair as that.
I stepped into Roger’s Arena. It was already crowded. The stench of old sweat and smoke hung in the air. It wasn’t an inviting place. People didn’t come here for the atmosphere or good food. They came for money and blood.
The first fight was about to start. The two opponents were already facing each other in the cage in the center. They weren’t the main attraction. Eyes turned to me, then quickly away, as I strode past the rows of tables with spectators. My fight was last. I’d fight the poor sucker who had proven to be the best over the last few weeks. Remo thought it was good to have me beat the strongest fighters to a bloody pulp in a cage to show everyone what kind of Enforcer the Camorra had. And I didn’t mind. It helped me remember the beginning, helped me stay grounded and vicious. Once you allowed yourself to grow pampered, you set yourself up for attack and for failure.
My eyes were drawn to the bar. It took me a moment to recognize her, not shivering and dripping wet like yesterday. She had long amber curls, sharp and yet elegant features. She was serving drinks to the men gathered at the bar; men with eyes like hungry wolves. She was focused on the task, oblivious to their staring. It was obvious that she didn’t have much experience working in a bar. She took too long drawing a simple beer. To be honest, I hadn’t expected her to start working here. That she had taken the job after seeing the cage told me two things: she was desperate and she’d seen worse in her life.
She glanced up, noticing my attention. I still waited for the inevitable reaction. It didn’t come. She smiled shyly, her eyes registering my clothes. No suit today. Black jeans and a black long sleeved shirt, my preferred style, but sometimes the suit was necessary. She hesitated, then quickly returned to the task of serving beer to an old fucker.
Who was this girl? And why wasn’t she scared?
Tearing my eyes away from her, I headed toward Roger who was talking to our bookie Griffin. I shook hands with both men. Then I nodded toward the bar. “New girl?”
Roger shrugged. “She showed up in my office today, looking for a job. I need new staff.” He regarded me uncertainly. “Do you want me to alert Stefano?”
Stefano was our romancer. He preyed on women, pretended to be in love with them, and eventually forced them to work in one of the Camorra’s whorehouses.
I didn’t get along with him. I shook my head. “She doesn’t fit the profile.”
I didn’t know how Stefano choose the girls he pursued, and I didn’t give a fuck.
“So how’s it going?” I nodded toward Griffin’s iPad where he managed all of the bets coming in.
“Good. The few idiots who have bet against you will bring us a lot of money.”
I nodded, but my eyes went over to the bar counter again. I wasn’t even sure why. I had driven the girl home last night on a whim, and that was it. “I’ll grab something to drink.”
Not waiting for them to reply, I made my way toward the bar. People chanced looks at me like they always did before looking away. It was annoying as fuck. But I’d worked hard to earn their fear.
I stopped in front of the counter and put my gym bag down beside me, then sat on a stool. The men at the other end of the bar threw uneasy glances my way. I recognized one of them as someone I’d paid a visit because of three grand recently. His arm was still in a cast.
The girl came over to me. Her skin was slightly tanned but didn’t have the unnatural bronze tinge of someone who went to the sunbeds like most of the women who worked in our places.
“I didn’t expect to see you so soon again,” she said. She smiled that shy smile that reminded me of days long gone. Days I wanted to forget most of the time. She had a light sprinkle of freckles on her nose and cheeks, and cornflower blue eyes with a darker ring around them. Now that her hair wasn’t dripping wet, it was dark auburn with natural golden highlights.
I rested my forearms on the counter, glad that my long sleeves covered my tattoo. There would be time for the revelation later. “I told you I frequented this place.”
“No suit, but all black. You like it dark, I suppose,” she teased.
I smirked. “You have no idea.”
Her brows drew together, then the smile returned. “What can I do for you?”
“A glass of water.”
“Water,” she repeated doubtfully, the corners of her mouth twitching. “That’s a first.” She let out a soft laugh.
I hadn’t changed into my fight boxers yet. I didn’t tell her that I had a fight scheduled that evening, which was one reason why I couldn’t drink, and that I had to break some legs in the morning, which was the other.
She handed me a glass of water. “There you go,” she said, walking around the bar and wiping a table next to me. I let my eyes trail over her body. Yesterday I hadn’t paid nearly enough attention to the details. She was thin and small, like someone who never knew if there would be food on the table, but managed to carry herself with a certain air of grace despite her shabby clothes that didn’t allow for a good look at the shape of her body. She was wearing the same dress from yesterday, and those horrible flip-flops, still completely wrong for the temperatures.
“What brought you here?” I asked. Her father lived in a bad part of town. I couldn’t believe that she didn’t have somewhere else where she could stay. Anywhere else would have been better. With her freckles, shy smile and elegant features, she belonged to a nice suburb, not a fucked up neighborhood and definitely not in a fight club in mob territory. But the latter was my fault of course.
“I had to move in with my father because my mother is back in rehab,” she said without hesitation. There was no reservation, no caution. Easy prey in this world.
“Do I know your father?” I asked.
Her brows puckered. “Why would you?”
“I know a lot of people. And even more people know me,” I said with a shrug.
“If you’re famous you should tell me so I don’t embarrass myself with my ignorance,” she joked easily.
“Not famous,” I told her. Notorious was more like it.
She waved a hand at me. “Today you don’t look like a lawyer or business man by the way.”
“What do I look like then?”
A light blushed traveled up her throat. She gave a delicate shrug before she headed back behind the bar, then hesitated again, mustering my arms that I had propped up on the bar. “Perhaps you can help me get a few beer crates from the basement. I doubt Roger wants to do it, and I don’t think I’m strong enough. You look like you can carry two or three without breaking a sweat.”
She turned and walked over to the swing door, leading to the back, then threw a look over her shoulder to see if I was following.
I set down my glass on the counter and rose, curious. She seemed completely unaware of what I was. And I didn’t mean my rank in the mob. People were usually uneasy around me, even without seeing my tattoo. She wasn’t a good actress and I would have sensed fear if she harbored any. I followed her to the back and then the long staircase down into the storage. I knew the place. I’d used it for a couple more intense conversations with debtors. The door fell shut behind us. A flicker of suspicion shot through me. Nobody could be that trusting. Was this a set up? But that would have been equally stupid.
She searched the back of the room. She never once looked over her shoulder to see what I was doing. Too trusting. Too innocent.
“Ah, here they are,” she said, pointing at a couple of beer crates. She looked over to me, then frowned. “Is something wrong?”
She sounded concerned. For fuck’s sake. She sounded concerned for me. Every other girl in Vegas, and every man as well, would have shit themselves if they were in a soundproof basement alone with me. I wanted to shake some sense into her.
I strode towards her and picked up three crates. As I straightened I caught a whiff of her sweet scent. Fuck.
She smiled up at me. She wore close to no make-up, only enough to highlight her natural beauty. She touched the soft dusting of freckles on her cheek sheepishly. “Do I have something on my face?” she asked with an embarrassed laugh. I could tell she was self-conscious about her freckles. But fuck me, I liked them.
“No,” I said.
“Oh, okay,” she said. She searched my eyes, brows drawing together. Don’t try to look behind that mask, girl. You won’t like it. “We should probably go back upstairs. I’m not supposed to let the bar unattended for so long.”
Had she seen something in my gaze that had finally put a healthy dose of fear into her? The way she held the door open for me with that same unsuspecting expression, I feared not.
I nodded toward the stairs. “Go ahead.” She hesitated, then walked in front of me. Perhaps she thought I wanted to get a good look at her ass, but not only was her dress making that impossible, but I hated having people behind me.
We strode through the narrow corridor when the door to the main area opened and Roger and Stefano came through.
Both of them looked dismayed at seeing me with the girl. Her face shifted into one of unease at the sight of Stefano, which made me curious. He looked like any mother-in-law’s dream and his charm was the Camorra’s best weapon when it came to luring women into our whorehouses after all.
“Fabiano, can I have a word with you?” Roger asked, his eyes scanning the girl, probably looking for a sign that I’d assaulted her in the storage room. But Stefano, too, was giving me a contemplating look. “Go back to work, Leona.”
Leona. So that was her name. She hadn’t struck me as a lioness. Perhaps there was more to her.
She hadn’t moved despite Roger’s order. Her eyes were on me. I nodded. “Go ahead,” I told her. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
She left and to my utter annoyance, Stefano decided to go after her. Back off, fucker.
He’d definitely set his sights on her. Why was he even considering her for one of our whorehouses? She really didn’t look the type.
“I know you handle things however you want but recently I’ve lost too many waitresses to the Camorra’s whorehouses or unfortunate accidents.”
Those accidents were mostly related to Remo’s soldiers acting up.
“I’m glad to have that new girl. The customers seem to like her and she actually knows how to behave herself. I’d appreciate it if she would stay in my service for more than a couple of weeks.”
“We handle things however we want, you said it, Roger,” I said in warning. “If we decide to put her to use in one of our other establishments, we don’t ask you.”
He nodded but he didn’t like it. That made two of us.
I walked past him and pushed the door open with my elbow, then stepped back through behind the bar.
Leona was busy chatting to two ancient customers, laughing at something they had said. Stefano was sitting at the other end of the bar, watching her like a hawk. His brown hair was combed back immaculately. I bet the asshole spent hours in front of the mirror.
Leona seemed determined to ignore him however. I set down the crates. Leona shot me a grateful look. The men behind the bar quickly focused on their beer.
I walked around the bar and picked up my gym bag where I’d left it on the stool before I stopped beside Stefano. He glanced up at me from his sitting position. He was below me in ranks, so the challenging glint in his eyes made me consider putting my knife in them. “You think about making a move on her?”
“I’m considering it,” he said. “She looks like she would respond well to the slightest sign of kindness, makes her easy to manipulate.” That sick as fuck leer, would it still be on his face if I cut his throat?
“She doesn’t seem interested in your advances.”
“That’ll change,” he said smugly.
“Has Remo seen her?” That was the only thing that mattered, really.
“No. I only just found her. But I’m sure he’ll approve.”
I had a feeling Stefano was right. “Don’t waste your time. She’s already taken.”
“By whom?”
“Me,” I growled.
He frowned at me, but then he shrugged, emptied his beer and left. I watched his back as he disappeared through the back door. Stefano was someone to watch. He and I had never gotten along. I had a feeling that wouldn’t change anytime soon, but he knew better than to make a move on someone I wanted.
My eyes found Leona again. She’d been watching my exchange with Stefano with a confused expression but with the background noise of the bar she couldn’t have overheard anything. She was so different from the women that usually frequented the places I spent time in. There were the ones unable to hide their fear and the ones hoping to gain something from being close to me. But she didn’t know who I was. It was strange being treated like someone…normal. I’d fought hard to receive the respect and fear everyone showed me, but it hadn’t bothered me that she’d been unaware of my status. I wondered when someone would tell her and how she’d look at me then.
“I know that look,” Remo said, sneaking up beside me. I should have realized he’d entered the scene. People had looked even more uneasy than with me alone in the room. He nodded toward Leona. “Take her if you want. She’s yours. She’s nobody. It’s not like we need her anyway. She doesn’t look like much entertainment to me though.”
I glanced over to Leona. She was wiping the counter, unaware of the lewd looks she was drawing from some of the men around her.
“I don’t want to take her,” I said. Then amended when I saw Remo’s expression. “I won’t.”
“Why not?” Remo asked curiously.
Danger. “You said it yourself, she doesn’t look like much entertainment.”
“Perhaps she’s more of an entertainment when she’s trying to fight you off. Might be worth a try. Some women turn into feral cats when they’re cornered.” He clapped my shoulder.
I didn’t say anything.
Remo shrugged. “But if you don’t want her…”
“I do,” I said quickly. “I’d appreciate if word got around that I have my eyes set on her. Just in case. I don’t want Stefano messing around with her.”
Remo chuckled. “Sure. Put your claim on her, Fabiano.”
That was the advantage of being on his good side. Remo allowed me things his other soldiers couldn’t even dream of. He left me with that and went to a table with some of the high rollers from one of our premium casinos. I returned to the bar. There would be time to change into my fight shorts later.
The other men excused themselves, and Leona came over to me, looking puzzled. “Am I missing something?”
I shrugged. “I’m the reason why some of them lost money.” And limbs.
She opened her mouth to say something else, but the sound of a body smashing against the cage silenced her, followed by a round of ecstatic applause. She clapped her hand over her lips, eyes shock-widened. I glanced over my shoulder. One of the fighters was lying on the ground, unconscious. The other was standing over him, arms raised, doing some sort of weak-ass victory dance. Perhaps he’d be my next opponent in a couple of weeks, if he won a few more times. I’d have to break his knees to prevent future dance escapades.
“It’s horrible,” Leona whispered, voice clogged with compassion, as if she could feel their pain.
I turned to her.
“Why does anyone want to watch something that brutal?”
Brutal? She hadn’t seen brutal yet. If she was lucky, she never would. “It’s in our nature,” I said. “Survival of the fittest. Power struggles. Blood thirst. That’s all still ingrained in our DNA.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” she argued. “I think we’ve moved on, but sometimes we fall back into old habits.”
“Then why do people still look up to the strong? Why do women prefer the alpha males?”
She snorted. “That’s myth.”
I cocked one eyebrow and leaned closer. I caught a glimpse down her dress. White cotton. Of course. “Is it?” I asked. She scanned my face, red crept up her throat and cheeks.
I stifled a laugh. I got up before she could say anything. I needed to get changed. “I’ll be back in a moment,” I told her.
When I entered the changing room, the other fighters fell silent. A couple of them returned my gaze, only one challenged me openly with his eyes. I assumed he’d be my opponent tonight. He was around 6’4. One inch taller than me. Good. Perhaps this would be a longer fight.
I got undressed, then pulled up my boxers. I hoped they’d seen all the scars. They knew nothing of pain. I sent my opponent a smirk. Maybe he’d live to see tomorrow.
I left the changing room and walked back to the bar. Leona was frozen as her eyes trailed from my bare feet up to my shorts and my naked chest. She dropped the glass she’d been cleaning back into the washing water. A myriad of emotions flashed across her face. Shock. Confusion. Fascination. Appreciation. That last one I could feel in my dick. I’d worked hard for my body.
I grabbed my glass and downed the rest of my water. Then I took the tape out of my bag and began wrapping my hands, feeling her curious gaze on me the entire time.
“You are one of them?”
I tilted my head, not sure what she was referring to. A fighter? A member of the Camorra? A killer? Yes, yes, yes.
There was no fear in her eyes, so I said, “A cage fighter? Yes.”
She licked her lips. Those damn pink lips gave my cock ideas I didn’t need before a fight.
“I hope I didn’t offend you earlier.”
“Because you think it’s too brutal? No. It’s what it is.”
Her eyes kept tracing my tattoo and the scars, and occasionally my sixpack. I leaned over the bar, bringing our faces closer. I knew everyone was watching us, even if they tried to do it secretly.
“Are you still certain women aren’t into alpha males?” I murmured. She swallowed but didn’t say anything.
I took a step back. Everyone in the room should have got the message.
The look she gave me tightened my balls. Something about that girl drew me in. I couldn’t say what it was, but I’d figure it out.
“It’s my turn,” I told her when I was done taping my hands.
“Don’t get hurt,” she said simply. The men near the bar exchanged looks, snickering, but Leona was unaware of their reaction.
“I won’t,” I said, then turned and made my way past the tables toward the fighting cage.
I stepped into the cage under the yowling and thunderous applause of the crowd. I wondered how many had bet against me. They’d be rich if it came to that. Of course, they’d never win.
I caught Leona watching me from behind the bar counter, eyes still wide in surprise. Yes, I was a fighter, and that was still the least dangerous part of me.
She put down what she was doing and came around the counter. She climbed on a bar stool, shook off her flip-flops and brought her legs up until she sat cross-legged, the skirt of her dress carefully draped over her thighs. This girl. She didn’t belong here.
My opponent entered the cage. He called himself Snake. He even had snakes tattooed to his throat; they rose up over his ears and bared their fangs on both sides of his head. Snake. What a fucking stupid name to give yourself. I didn’t know why people thought a scary name would make them seem scary in turn. I’d never had to call myself anything but Fabiano, and it was enough.
The ref closed the door and explained the rules to us. There were none. Except that this wasn’t a fight to the death, so Snake would likely live.
Snake hit his chest with his flat hands, letting out a battle cry. Whatever got his courage up…
I lifted a hand and beckoned him forward. I wanted to get this fight going. With a roar he charged at me like a bull. I dodged him, grabbed his shoulder and rammed my knee into his left side three times in quick succession. The air left his lungs but he didn’t fall. He swung a fist at me. And got my chin. I jumped back, aimed a hard kick at his head and despite his quick reaction, my heel caught his ear. He staggered into the cage, shook his head and attacked again. This would be fun.
He lasted longer than the last. But eventually the kicks to his head got him. His eyes went out of focus more and more. I grabbed him by the back of his head, brought up my knee at the same time as I thrust down his face. His nose and cheekbone broke against my knee. He yowled hoarsely and toppled backwards. I went after him. I jump-kicked him into the cage, and when he hit the ground with a resounding bang, I crouched over him and rammed my elbow into his stomach. Once. Twice. He weakly patted the floor, face swollen, breathing labored. Giving up.
“Surrender!” cried the ref.
I never understood men like him. I’d die before I surrendered. There was honor in death but not in begging for mercy. I rose to my feet. The crowd cheered.
Remo gave me thumbs up from his spot at the table with the high rollers. I could tell from the excited gleam in his eyes that he wanted to get into the cage again soon. Schmoozing the high rollers, that was high up on his hate list. But someone had to do it. Nino was eloquent and sophisticated, but after a while he forgot to plaster emotions on his face, and once people realized he didn’t have any, they ran as fast they could. Savio was a teen and capricious, and Adamo. Adamo was a kid.
I turned around. Leona was still sitting on the stool in front of the bar, watching me horrified. That was a look that came closer to the ones I was used to from people. Seeing me like this, covered in blood and sweat, perhaps she understood why she should be terrified of me.
She untangled her legs from her dress, hopped down from the stool and disappeared through the swing door.
I climbed out of the cage, dripping blood and sweat on the floor. I’d need to stitch myself up.
“Good fight.” I heard occasionally.
I shook a few congratulating hands, then retreated into the changing room. It was empty seeing that mine had been the last fight and my opponent was on his way to the hospital. I opened my locker when a knock sounded. I grabbed one of my guns and held it behind my back as I turned. “Come in.”
The door opened a crack before Leona poked her head in, eyes closed. “Are you decent?”
I put my gun back into my gym bag. “I’m the least decent guy in this city.” Except for Remo and his brothers perhaps.
She opened her eyes cautiously, searching the room until they settled on me. Relief flooded her face and she slipped into the room before closing the door behind her.
My eyebrows shot up. “Are you here to give me a victory present?” I asked, leaning against the lockers. My cock had all kind of presents in mind. All of them involved her perfect mouth, and her undoubtedly perfect pussy.
“Oh, I only have a bottle of water and clean towels.” She showed me what she held in her hands, smiling apologetically.
I shook my head, chuckling. God, this girl.
Realization flooded her face. “Oh, you meant…” She gestured in the general direction of her body. “Oh, no. No. Sorry.”
I closed my eyes, fighting the urge to laugh. It had been a while since a woman had made me laugh. Mostly they just made me want to fuck them senseless.
“I hope you can live with a bottle of cold water,” she said in a teasing voice. When I opened my eyes, she was in front of me, holding out the bottle. She was more than a head smaller than me and less than an arm-length away. Stupid girl. She needed to learn self-preservation. I took the bottle and emptied it in a few gulps.
She scanned my body. “There’s so much blood.”
I chanced a look down. There was a small cut over my ribs where a sharp edge of the cage had grazed me, and bruises were forming over my left kidney and on my right thigh. The majority of blood wasn’t mine. “It’s nothing. I’ve had worse.”
Her eyes lingered on my forehead. “You’ve got a cut that needs to be treated. Is there a doctor around I should get?”
“No. I don’t need a doctor.”
She opened her mouth as if to argue but then she seemed to think better of it. She paused.
“You looked so…” She shook her head, her nose puckering in the most fucking adorable way possible. Fuck, those damn freckles. “…I don’t know how to describe it. Fierce.”
I straightened, surprised. She sounded almost fascinated. “You weren’t disgusted? I thought it’s too brutal.”
She shrugged, one delicate motion. “I was disgusted. It’s such a martial sport. I don’t even know if you can call it that. It’s all about beating each other up.”
“It’s also about reading your opponent, about seeing his weaknesses and using them against him. It’s about speed and control.” I scanned her again, reading her like I did with my opponents. It wasn’t difficult to guess why Stefano would have chosen her if I’d allowed it. It was obvious that she’d had a difficult life, that she had little, that there was nobody to take care of her, had never been. It was obvious that she wanted more, that she wanted someone to take care of her, someone who was kind to her, someone to love. Stefano was good at pretending he was someone like that. She’d eventually learn that it was best to rely only on yourself. Love and kindness were rare, not only in the mob world.
“I don’t understand why people watch others hurt each other on purpose. Why do people enjoy inflicting pain on somebody?”
I was the last person she should ask. She had never seen me hurt people. That fight was a joke in comparison to my jobs as an Enforcer of the Camorra. I liked to hurt people. I was good at it, had learned to be good at it.
