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I stumbled out of the bar and climbed into his car. I leaned my head back against the headrest and closed my eyes as he drove us.
“What’s your name?” he asked after a couple of minutes in silence. My head was spinning and I pinched the bridge of my nose to fight the nausea that was starting to surface.
“Panther,” I mumbled, which caused him to chuckle.
“Right. Well, I hope the real Panther doesn’t hear about this and comes for you. I bet he doesn’t take kindly to people impersonating him in the rings,” he replied and I smiled, keeping my eyes closed.
“I best not show him up then.”
“You really think this is a good idea?”
“Best one I’ve had all day.”
We arrived in a rundown neighbourhood, dodgy looking men standing in groups, smoking on the street. We walked down a back alley decorated with street artist’s graffiti until we reached a black, iron door. He knocked in a rhythm and it clicked open, revealing an enormous bald-headed bouncer. With a firm nod, we were given access and taken down some stairs into a huge basement filled with men. The noise was deafening. Shouting, swearing and the violent sound of two men in a brutal battle came from the centre of the room. I inhaled deeply, the smell of sweat and blood hitting me and causing me to reminisce about my childhood. This is where I belonged. This is what I knew. This was where I had always felt invincible and in control, when my life was anything but. I was comfortable with this version of me. The one who was solely focused on violence. On finding anything to alleviate the inner turmoil and mental anguish for a few precious minutes.
Physical pain is always better than dealing with emotional pain.
Papi used to say that to me as a boy. I could hear his voice now.
Are you having nightmares, boy? Channel your fear into causing another to suffer. Are you feeling out of control? Use the chaos. Take a punch like a man and feel the pain float away. There is nothing like the adrenaline of a fight to help you regain your senses. It jolts you into survival mode. It helps you remember your purpose.
And he was right. As always. I just hoped that it wouldn’t fail me now. Because at this moment, I no longer cared if I lived or died.
I pulled my top off over my head and threw it to the floor as I looked around at the barbaric crowds of angry men all spurring on the fighters to make sure they didn’t lose their bets. They were savages. Every one of them. More so than the fighters. They took pleasure out of watching someone fail.
I remember my first night in the underground. A scrawny twelve-year-old being shoved into the middle of the room to face another boy from the streets. The beady, dark eyes of all the men, the snapping of their teeth and the spit flying with every vulgar insult they would send us was meant to rile us up before the fight. But I was terrified. I remember turning to face my opponent and seeing the uncertainty in his own eyes. He didn’t want to do it just as much as me. Neither one of us was free. He was fighting to please someone just as I was. We had fought terribly. Two young boys, who barely knew how to throw a punch. Scrapping was more like it. Getting lucky shots now and again, but mostly missing. In the end, the club owner called it quits and announced him as the winner. The disappointment in my papi’s eyes was crushing. But I still turned to my opponent and shook his hand. Little did I know, I would fight him many times over the years and he would become one of my best friends. That street boy had been Finn.
I blinked a few times, focusing my mind on the present instead of the past. The fight had ended and the loser was being dragged across the floor unconscious to be dumped outside. I stepped into the middle of the room as the announcer spoke to the thug who had brought me here.
“Well, well, we have a treat for you all tonight! ‘The Panther’ is here,” the announcer bellowed as the room fell silent. All their scrutinising eyes were on me. I turned slowly, scanning the room, showing them that I was more than comfortable with their glares. That scared little boy was long gone.
“So, who do we have to face ‘The Panther’?”
I stumbled back on my feet unsteadily. which caused a few laughs from the crowd. A man at least a head taller than me and built like an ox stepped forward, pushing men out his way. He had clearly already been fighting tonight with the dried blood on his hand and face.
“Viper! Our current champion! Okay men, place your bets!”
I cricked and rolled my neck, shaking out my arms as I waited for all the bets to be taken. Viper’s green eyes remained fixed on me with a sly smirk twitching at the corner of his lips. There was no doubt in my mind that I would be able to take this guy if I was in my best form. But hopefully, he would give me a good fucking beating in my drunken state.
The fight started with him smashing his fist into my face and causing blood to squirt from my mouth. I chuckled like a maniac before diving at him, pounding my fists into his rock-hard stomach and treating him to my right hook in his face. He groaned when he realised I had broken his nose and then all hell broke loose. Every blow to my body was welcomed, but the pain still remained inside me. There was no release like normal, which only made me angrier and angrier. I was losing my focus. Losing my control. With each punch to my face, I could feel myself giving up. No longer caring whether I won this fight or not. What was the point? Who would it be for now?
I could feel myself close to losing consciousness as Viper straddled my hips on the disgusting floor and lifted his fist for his victorious, final blow. I closed my eyes and waited for it to come. Then the room erupted into chaos when someone tackled my opponent off me. I didn’t bother opening my eyes to see what was happening. I wasn’t sure I could, even if I wanted to. They were swollen shut by now.
I felt a tug on my arms as someone hoisted me off the floor and threw my arm over their shoulders. My feet dragged along the floor as men roared with fury, demanding they get their money back. I felt the breeze hit my skin, causing my wounds to sting like a bitch as my head dropped down to my chest.
“What the fuck were you thinking, Alessio?” The angry voice came from the man dragging me down the street. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
“Maybe,” I mumbled as I tripped over the uneven cobbled path. “Why does it even matter?”
“Fuck sake,” he growled, opening a door and shoving me inside a car. I fell back against the luxurious, leather seats and threw my arm over my face. “You are the fucking King of the South! Of course it fucking matters! I’ve been driving round Venice all night looking for your ass!”
I squinted my eyes as Fabi started up his car and the vibrations sent more agony travelling through my body. I hissed as we went over a speedbump. I was going to be in a world of misery tomorrow. I knew that much. I squeezed my eyes shut as the ache in my chest intensified. But it wasn’t from the beating. It was in my heart. It was still there. It didn’t work.
“Is that all I am now? King of the South? Not a person. Just a name.”
He groaned, shaking his head. “You can’t fucking do this shit, Alessio. You are not like a normal person who can fall apart when everything goes wrong. You are a boss. Everyone is counting on you! Looking to you right now to lead. You can’t fucking fall apart!”
“You think I don’t know that!” I bellowed from the back seat. “I have NEVER, not once, been allowed one fucking night in my life to fall apart! You think that’s healthy? You think because I have learned to hold everything inside and bottled up all the fucked up shit that I feel that it means I am all good?”
