Chapter 18
Matt
Aron is predictably upset.
“Look, Aron, before you freak the fuck out, you’ve got to understand that this is the only way to get everyone to respect me the same way they respected Dad.”
Despite his usual calm demeanor when he’s on the clock, Aron visibly shakes with his anger. “Matt, he’s twice your size and the deadliest of all your acquisitions. His death toll rivals that of a hurricane blowing through a major metropolitan area. I love you, but you can’t win against him.”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” I reply, hoping to take the edge off my words with a grin. “I have to do this. If I don’t confront him, and in front of the entire Syndicate, I’ll lose credibility. Dad ruled with an iron fist, not iron words. There’s a reason I’ve still got bruises from his beating.”
“And I’m forced to look at those bruises every night! You’re seriously going to beg Grady to give you more of them?”
“Aron—”
He doesn’t give me a chance to finish. “How much do you plan to blow on this fight? Are you going to pay Grady to beat you to a pulp, or are you going to open a betting pool? What, hundred to one odds on you surviving? Thousand to one?”
“I’m not paying him one red cent, and I’ll forbid any betting.”
Aron puts his palms on the desk between us. “How will you goad him into fighting you, then? You’ve given all the other newbies a chance to make a quick buck with you. If he finds out you’re stiffing him, you’ll be deader than dead.”
I place my hands over Aron’s. “I won’t be stiffing him.
Grady doesn’t care about money. That man took hits for the price of a pack of cigarettes.
He’ll fight me for the challenge, if anything.
The prestige of a chance to say he beat the son of Don Tito.
You saw the look in his eyes when he mentioned Dad.
That psycho had some kind of beef with him, I guarantee it.
He’ll be chomping at the bit to fight me. ”
Rather than be reassured by my speech, Aron seems to get even angrier. His tanned face turns red, and he rips his hands from beneath mine, crossing his arms over his chest. “And what are the terms of this prize fight, hm? When is it over? What determines who won?”
“Last man standing.”
Aron’s voice drops to a harsh whisper.
“He’s going to fucking kill you, Matt.”
With that, he storms out, shouting at Jules to take over as my guard so he can “take care of urgent Syndicate business.”
Shit. I’ve never seen Aron so furious, not in my entire life spent with him.
I don’t see what the big deal is. I’ve taken on men as big as Grady before.
Bigger, even. I’m still alive to brag about it, so why worry?
There’s a lifetime of martial training in my head, from the best that Dad could afford to bribe or threaten.
Grady has, at best, had rudimentary street fighting for his education.
I know all the pressure points, locks, and holds to take out men three times my size.
Sure, there’s a bit of risk, but the same could be said about any worthwhile venture.
Since Aron’s not going to help, I have Jules bring Grady to my office.
Grady might not be fully twice my size, but he’s probably about one and a half times, if you go strictly by weight.
The big, bald man has a solid hundred pounds of muscle mass on me, easily as many tattoos, if not more, and a plethora of body piercings which, I’m told, the prison guards were all too chicken to remove.
In addition to all that, there are some …
rather interesting body modifications. Metal studs, implanted in several strategic locations.
Eyebrows. Cheeks. But, more importantly, his knuckles.
This man has a high pain tolerance, and he’s custom-built for destruction.
I can’t let him see an ounce of weakness. This is as much a mind game as it is a physical battle.
“Good afternoon, Grady. I trust you’re sleeping well here.”
Grady snorts. “Fucking pansy-ass mattress is too soft. I’d do better with a fucking concrete block.”
“Noted.” I gesture to the couch across from my desk, silently offering him a seat. “The leather might be a bit too cushy for you, but it also might be more comfortable than standing.”
He flashes his fang-grilled smile. “I’ll stay where I am, thank you.” There’s an uncomfortable silence while he surveys my office. Finally, he turns back to me with a face of mock concern. “Your girlfriend is missing. Everything okay at home, Don Matteo?”
“Cinder is tending to other business today.”
Grady’s smile widens. “I wasn’t talking about Cinder.”
Great. He’s clocked my relationship with Aron. That could spell trouble, especially if he decides to spread the word.
Luckily, Jules doesn’t outwardly react to Grady’s comment. As far as I can tell, he either didn’t hear, didn’t pick up on the inference, or didn’t care, any of which I can handle. The second rumors about our relationship start to fly, I’m as good as dead.
That might be Grady’s goal. He’s working at getting inside my head, at upsetting me. I need to focus. I can’t fall prey to this tactic.
“I have a proposition for you, Grady.”
“I don’t really swing that way, Don. Sorry to disappoint.”
I refuse to take that bait. “How would you like a chance to earn some freedom? I’m talking no guards, no surveillance, just full autonomy.”
For once, Grady’s aloof veneer cracks. There’s a brief flash of desperation before he resets.
“What’s the catch?”
“If you lose, you toe the line. In house by curfew, only kill who I tell you to kill, one hundred percent obedience.”
“That’s your big deal? No dice.”
I raise a brow. “Oh, I think you’ll like this deal. You see, I haven’t told you what you have to do to earn your freedom. It might be a simple task.”
The beast’s dark eyes narrow at me. He seems suspicious, and rightfully so.
Now for the big reveal.
“You. Me. The courtyard here at the mansion. The entire Royal Syndicate watching. We go at it until one of us is down.”
Grady crosses his arms over his broad chest. “What constitutes ‘down’?”
“Unable to continue. Interpret that as you will.”
By all rights, the wide, evil grin he sports should have me worried. I can’t let him get to me, though, so I push any concerns aside in favor of returning said grin.
“Do we have a deal?”