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“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to put your bids in because this is a spectacle to be seen. Our own host, Mr. Armani, will be fighting tonight.” The announcer proclaims, and at first, everyone is silent, and then a flurry of movement begins. No doubt betting against me once again. Because who the fuck would be stupid enough to bid against the owner of the club.
I lick the taste of salty sweat beading around my lips from the previous fight. Luca steps into the ring, towering at six foot four and built like a truck. I know he won’t be easy to take down, but where he has mass, I have speed. He removes his suit jacket, stripping down to his dress shirt, mirroring my own attire.
I glance at Ara, and that was my mistake because Luca swings, and I barely dodge it in time. He’s surprisingly fast for his size.
“Keep your eyes on me.” Luca has a half-crazed smile.
“Looks like the match has begun already!” the announcer says. Cash is being handed around crazily as bids are being placed.
Neither of us is here for the money, why when we both have more than we know what to do with. But he and I are the same, killers by nature.
We lazily circle one another to get a feel for each other’s footing. I’d heard stories about Luca’s fighting in the ring before he took over as head of the mafia years ago. I imagined had we been in the same circles then we probably would’ve fought on more than one occasion.
“Trying to prove to Daddy you can fight?” he antagonizes.
The mention of my father snaps my already explosive last nerve because it reminds me of everything I’ve failed to protect up until now. I kick low for his legs, but he’s so fast he catches it and throws me across the ring. I use the momentum to bounce against the ropes to spring back and aim for his face.
He blocks it with ease and sidesteps me. Stars glitter my vision as his elbow hits the back of my head. Luca kicks me in the ribs, and I hit the rope, and this time I don’t bounce back as easily. My hand trembles as I touch the back of my head and retract blood.
I’d reacted to his provocation and lost my cool. But he hadn’t. It’d been too easy for him.
The crowd is barely audible as my breathing reins in and out, and I’m reminded of how very mortal I am. And yet, I’m elated. I split a maddening smile. How long has it been since someone could actually hurt me? How long had I been able to freely let loose like this?
I barely notice my still-healing shoulder when I stand back up because adrenaline is taking its natural course. When my gaze lands on Luca, I realize he’s smirking at me. Respect. Mutual elation and permission to beat the shit out of one another. I don’t plan on dying tonight even if he might be one of the few to have the skillset for it.
Luca’s attention looks back up at Ara, who’s downing a drink, clearly distressed, as she watches on.
I take advantage and hit him front-on, immediately splitting his lip. As he stumbles back, he smiles, blood smearing his teeth.
We’re both smiling like fucking idiots. And yet, my chest is pounding. My head spinning. Absolutely fucking elated. This is exactly what I needed.
We trade blow for blow. I take a hit in my right eye as I split his eyebrow.
I’m naturally feeling into my rhythm, swing for swing, letting the veracious beast within me take over. A wave of dizziness takes hold and throws my next swing off. Luca purposefully takes the hit to his lip again so he has the prime position to undercut me straight into the ribs.
Sharp, searing pain trails up from my ribs and chest as an audible crack echoes, and I naturally keel over. I don’t have the wits about me to try and block as he kicks me across the floor.
Get up. Get up. Get up. My breathing comes out short. My ribs are fucking burning, but my spinning head is taking its sweet time to dispel. I try to shake it off as I slowly take a stand, trying my hardest to raise my arms and block his next move. I’ll be fucked if I’m tapping out. But as I stand, I realize the match is already done.
Luca steps out of the ring, his line of sight on Ara, who bundles her hands to her chest in a desperate plea. She might be in denial about their relationship, but no man in his right mind would stop mid-fight to appease a woman’s silent begging, especially if he didn’t care about her.
Everyone seems to be in shock. The crowd is silent, and I doubt very few are willing to announce their annoyance vocally.
“It looks like The Playboy is the winner tonight. Our host has previous engagements to attend,” the announcer proclaims.
My heart is pounding, and my body is in a world of pain, but I’m fucking furious. He basically threw the fight, and my appetite for blood hasn’t been quenched at all. When I took a step forward, I might’ve been ready to continue the fight, but my body felt like it was being stripped from the inside.
I wanted this fight for me. But more than anything I wanted it to leave an impression on Luca so I could create an agreement and another layer to protect Elanee and I’m certain I’d done that.
But I didn’t feel like I was done with this fight.
Perhaps, that’s because this inner rage was never done with me.
Tonight, however my body seems to have had enough and I open and shut my eyes, pushing through the searing pain.
Silently praying for more of its wrath.
“Great, so now you have two broken ribs.” Layla throws her hands in the air. “Are you insane? Why were you even at Luca Armani’s club?”
