Chapter 27
DANTE
S weat drips from my brow and trickles down the center of my chest and back. I jab left, then right, then go for the uppercut. My right glove glances off my opponent’s chin; his glove catches my ribs. We both dodge back and then come together again.
Leon has a good head for business. He often knows instinctively what has potential even before I assess the books.
He said early on that we should expand our portfolio to include more legitimate businesses where possible.
The Boxing Shed is just one of several new ventures and is already making headway into the investment and on the way to turning a tidy profit.
I needed an outlet for my rage, a way to release the tension burning me up.
When I couldn’t find a decent boxing gym near the club we base our operation from, we went looking.
When we found this one, it was run down.
It wasn’t losing money, but it wasn’t making anything either.
The previous owner had long since lost interest, and a deal was struck.
Given its proximity to the new marina, we decided to go upmarket, gutted the venue, brought in state-of-the-art equipment, and expanded the offering beyond boxing to other combat sports.
We cherry-picked the best of the existing staff and built on that.
My opponent, Adam, is a former MMA champion and an old acquaintance of Leon’s.
After an injury, he went back to college.
He’s now the manager here, and while he’s overqualified as a sparring partner, I get the feeling he gets a kick out of thumping me.
That or Leon has been in his ear telling him not to go easy on me.
I’ve been training daily since the place reopened, arriving in the morning lull so we can pummel one another and I can work through my issues.
“Fucking sloppy,” the coach calls. “Keep pressing… Get your left hand up quicker after you attack, Dante… That’s better.”
My reflexes and skills have definitely sharpened, not that you would believe it listening to my coach.
Pain. I crave it. Only physical pain is cathartic. Enough of it, and I can forget for a brief moment that my woman is in another man’s bed, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
Yet .
My opponent’s next punch lands square on my jaw. The pain is sharp and centering, and I come out swinging.
I never thought I’d end up a pain junkie, but here we are.
My fists land fast and precise. Adam’s head snaps to the right and blood trails from his mouth.
“Time out!”
The barked command from the coach brings me back from the brink, and I pull my next punch just in time.
Adam grins around his bloody mouthguard before he pops it out. “Jesus. You’re a mean bastard today,” he mutters. “What’s got your panties in a bunch?”
“We both know you let me hit you.” I head over to the side of the ring with him, where I peel open the Velcro on my gloves and slip them off.
“For the record, I never let you hit me,” Adam says dryly. “Leon warned me you were crusty, but you exceeded my expectations.”
The coach grunts and tosses a couple of towels at us.
Adam has his own demons he’s dealing with. And contrary to what he said about not letting me hit him, I’ve seen him in action when he’s putting one of his mentees through their paces—he could wipe the floor with me even after his career-ending injury.
“You two are a match made in heaven,” the coach offers his pearls of wisdom as he fishes in his pocket for a cigarette. He lights up and turns to leave, calling over his shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”
“He really needs to stop smoking.”
Adam’s lip’s twitch. “Have at it.”
“You’re the manager.”
“You’re the owner.”
I mean, he’s not wrong… I duck out of the ring, Adam following. Leon enters from the reception, passing the coach who’s on the way to his office.
Leon gives Adam a nod and smirks. “I told you he was in a mood.”
“We need a Dante warning code,” Adam replies, fist-bumping Leon. “Like overcast with seventy percent chance of aggression. Catch you both later.”
He heads off to shower. I’m still dripping sweat, but I sense Leon isn’t paying a social visit, so I wait.
“Ettore sent a message. He wants you at his home for a meeting,” Leon says, giving me a hard look. “You going to be okay with that? Or want me to go and offer your excuses?”
“No,” I say, slinging my towel around the back of my neck. “I’m ready. I can handle this.”
“You sure?”
His eyes search mine. I know what he’s asking without asking—can I handle being around Carmela…? Even if I don’t see her, which I expect I won’t, I’ll be in her space, close to temptation.
Can I handle it? My response exited my lips before my brain had engaged. It’s been over a year since the wedding—since I last saw her—but the pain is just as piercing, and Leon would be right to question me.
Just because Ettore is calling me in for a chat doesn’t mean I’ll see her, but I might, and being around Ettore won’t be much easier. He’s been very much a hands-off kind of don and usually sends Rocco over here for an update once a month.
I start walking toward the locker room. Leon falls in step beside me. Inside, I hear the water running in the shower as I stalk over to my locker. Leon parks his ass on the bench as I rummage through the contents, dragging out my things.
I toss the sweat towel into the nearby hamper and meet his eyes.
“The truth? I don’t have a clue if I can handle being close to her, knowing she’s under the same roof, or has existed in the same space recently.
All of it will fuck with me.” I peel my top off.
“It’s been a long year. There are minutes, sometimes days, when I can force what happened from my mind, but they don’t come along often.
” I thumb in the direction of the running shower.
“Adam helps. Being here helps. Every deal we make, every time we review the figures, and see our profits are up, our investments sound, the meetings with our peers, all help me to keep focused on the end game. But I don’t forget, and I will never forgive.
At some point, I will need that retribution. ”
“I’m going to be right there with you, looking for that retribution,” he says. “My father’s death wasn’t an accident, and all the roads lead back to Ettore.”
I scrub a hand through my sweaty hair. “I’m going to shower. When is the meeting?”
“This coming Friday.”
I strip the rest of my clothes and head into the shower.
As the hot water pelts me, I’m not thinking about the rest of the conversation I need to have with Leon, but Carmela.
About how I abandoned her to him. I want her.
It never goes away, a burn low in my belly, a restless sickness I can’t shake off.
Time has passed. Maybe she has come to care for Ettore. Maybe my plans are about to screw up her life for the second time…
I don’t want her to be changed, nor for her to have changed her mind about me and us. That’s the bottom line, the unholy fear that grips me in the still of the night.
I’m stuck here.
She’s there with him.
Is she still the same? Has it changed her?
I fucking must have done.
I get updates from Christian occasionally, but, through necessity, we agreed to keep them to a minimum. He doesn’t talk about her when we do catch up, and I’ve made a point not to ask.
He sent her to me in Ettore’s office and again at the wedding reception.
“Now. Tell me how she tastes, asshole, I need to know.”
“Like sweet, young puss y.”
My brother is something else. He sure as fuck lives for danger. I’m here, and he’s there with her multiple times a week, her personal chauffeur and bodyguard.
My brows pull together and a weird flutter kicks off in my gut.
I turn the shower off, wrap the towel around my waist and head back to the changing room.
Adam has finished and is exiting the changeroom when I return. Leon is still sitting with his back against the lockers. He has his cell in his hand and his thumbs are moving over the screen.
“Do you think I should be worried about Christian with Carmela?”
His head snaps up. His cell dings. He glances down, scowls at whatever he reads, and shoves it in his pocket. “He comes over as obsessively loyal to you. Also, didn’t he have a large hand in you taking her V card?”
“The fuck?” I toss my towel into the hamper and shove my feet into my boxer briefs.
“You asked my opinion, asshole. One day, maybe soon, you’ll get the girl, and I’ll get to carve pieces out of Ettore until his heart gives out.
But it’s not today, and I need to know you’re not going to go caveman if I let you out to play on your own.
And no, I don’t think Christian is screwing you over.
Also, the two of them hate each other. He blames her for you being here. You know that.”
“Fine,” I say, pulling my pants on before reaching into the locker for my dress shirt. “I don’t know why I even mentioned it.”
“When I came in here today, I was worried about you with Ettore; now I’m worried about you with Christian.
” He grins. “Don’t pick a fight with your brother.
One, he has your back—always. Two, your boxing might be improving, but you’re not close to his level of crazy, nor do you spend your day dealing with the scourge of this lifestyle.
He would kick your ass… Do you need me to come along? ”
“No.” I shake my head, working the buttons closed.
“I’m not really worried about Christian.
And Ettore might have suspicions you’re more than a club manager, but that’s all they are.
If he meets you in a business context it will elevate your profile.
Better if we don’t play that card yet.” I sit down for my shoes, then straighten, grab my suit jacket, and give Leon my full attention as I slip it on.
“I trust you, and I trust Christian, despite my earlier lapse of judgment. After the last few years and the way things have been sliding, I’m just fucking glad to have you back.
Going there won’t be easy, but we’ve come this far, and I won’t fuck that up. ”
“Good. I appreciate the price we’ve all paid—that we’re still paying.
I should have come back sooner. I feel a lot of fucking guilt that I didn’t.
After my visit around your father’s funeral, I knew it was time, but something still held me back.
Bitterness. Sawing between my conviction that Ettore was behind my father’s death, then, despite digging, not finding evidence to back it up. ”
“You couldn’t have known how this would play out,” I say. “None of us could.”
“We’re going to have to agree to disagree on that.
My gut told me he wouldn’t stop—he didn’t.
Even without any evidence, his ways, his actions in taking Carmela from you…
in removing you as consigliere and sending his thugs to fuck you up.
They all tell me about his character. I still want my revenge and still think he’s the man I need to exact it from…
That he hasn’t even had the courtesy to visit you once.
That he hasn’t so much made a social visit to me, to ask about my fucking mother, is telling.
My father was the underboss, a position that carried respect. ”
“He won’t ask because he’s guilty.”
He nods. “It’s hard to disguise just how many soldiers we’ve amassed, and we definitely can’t play with the books without risking his wrath.
Rocco, while a weak consigliere, is good with finance.
Ettore will be aware we’re raking in the profits.
One of the reasons I keep expanding and investing is to keep money off the table and out of his hands.
But aggressive expansion isn’t sustainable, and we are reaching the tipping point…
You know he’s likely to press for you to marry Helena.
Rocco said that Ettore would look favorably on the match last time he was here.
Maybe that is behind him finally inviting you for a meeting.
Maybe he’s thinking it will get the bitch off his back.
Maybe he wants her as a spy in our camp. Maybe both.”
I grunt and shake my head. “Marry Helena? That’s where I draw the line.”
“You shouldn’t,” he says.
I frown. He can’t be serious. “No fucking way am I marrying her.”
“Why not? You don’t have to fuck her. Don’t even need to share a home with her. Get her a house somewhere—and a credit card. It will shut Ettore up. Might even make him relax his guard.”
I really hate that what he’s saying makes sense.