Chapter 16 – Ilya
W alking into the ring, the familiar rush of adrenaline surged through my veins. Violence, my oldest friend, lurked at the edge, waiting for permission to be unleashed as I fed off the energy of the crowd. The atmosphere was electric, the spectators starving for more.
More brutality.
More blood.
Hell, even death wouldn’t sate them, but they would go wild.
The air was thick with the scent of sweat, the cloying bite of sanitizer, and the faint, metallic tang of blood that couldn’t be erased, no matter how strong the cleaner. My mouth watered in anticipation of the impending savage collision. The crowd’s murmur buzzed around me, a blend of excitement and anticipation that heightened my focus. The mat under my bare feet felt firm yet slightly springy. The muscles in my body were engaged and loose, grounding me in the moment.
The man slotted to fight me galloped through the roped area and dove through the door into the domed metal cage where the match was to take place. He was called the Joker, a nod to the villain in some cartoon who was supposed to be psychotic.
What a fucking idiot.
Who moved like that? Heavy and solid on his feet, he had an impressive bulk that would slow even the most skilled combinations. A scar, pink and puckered, ran up his left calf. The wound was still healing. A grin tugged at my lips. Weakness number one. He lifted his hands, pumping them up into the air as the crowd roared in approval.
It was always sweeter when the local favorites fell.
I rolled my neck, popping and releasing the tension. My stance was loose, ready for anything this oaf threw at me. An official came to check me once more for weapons. There weren’t many places to conceal sharp objects in these skintight shorts, although plenty of cheaters tried.
I never needed a razor to end an opponent.
The local boy pointed at me. Gibberish spewed out of his mouth as he squared up to face me. My eyes locked onto his, reading every flicker of movement, every subtle shift in his stance. The Joker favored his left side—weakness number two.
My typical style was to let the others make the first move. I studied every motion and adjusted accordingly. But something about this cocky bastard tempted me to rush him.
I might have if there wasn’t a shout in Italian from the sidelines. It was the surname that caught my attention.
As the announcer began his introduction, my gaze swept the crowd through the linked chains making up the wall of this fighting ring. Sure enough, there was a group of the dark-haired lads from the Rinaldi Mafia taking up the prime viewing section. In their number was the little prince and the prick whose daddy ran the operation. I was not expecting to see the enchantress nestled between them.
Those dark chocolate eyes were pinned on me. Careful not to fall into their trap, I studied her without meeting her gaze.
Fuck. Was she really that small?
She looked…helpless. And those gimps beside her, what the hell would they do if a brawl broke out? Or something worse. I ground my molars. I could kill her brother and fiancé for bringing her here. And I would if anything happened to her.
The referee signaled the start of the match, and I abandoned my typical course of action. I launched across the mat, letting my body free like the coil of a spring.
The Joker bounded away.
“Coward,” I laughed under my breath, spinning to hound him.
He was trapped, back to the cage. That gave him no choice but to engage me—or run. To his credit, he stood his ground as I closed the distance. The sound of our breathing, heavy and deliberate, filled the small, enclosed space. Our first contact was almost gentle—a testing the reach and combination of movements—before we exploded into action.
The struggle was intense and intricate, a dance of strength and strategy. My senses were on overdrive as I exchanged a series of blows. Diving for a grapple, I missed. My hand slanted right off the slippery fucker. There was a light coat of oil on his skin. A growl of disgust rumbled up my throat. What a fucking cheat. He might be harder to hold, but I wouldn’t let that stop me.
The smell of sweat and the faint aroma of the mats mingled, creating an almost primal scent that heightened my awareness. Each move was calculated, each hit tested, as we tried to outmaneuver each other. The crowd's cheers and gasps were a distant echo, my focus narrowing down to the man in front of me.
And then, I caught him.
My arm slid around his torso to lock with my other. I used my weight to drag him to the mat. It took everything I had to hold the oily bastard. My mistake was not wrapping my legs around him and choking him out. I was in this for blood tonight. But I only landed one solid jab to his scarred leg. No sooner did my heel connect with his flesh than he rolled.
We writhed and grappled, muscles straining, breaths coming in sharp, controlled bursts. The rhythmic slap of our bodies sounded against the mat, punctuated by the occasional grunt of frustration. His strength was formidable, his technique sharp, but I was fueled by a surge of determination.
With a quick, decisive movement, I managed to slip my leg around his and destabilize him. His elbow connected with my rib, but I seized the moment, transitioning smoothly into a dominant position. The final submission came almost naturally, my hands finding the perfect grip as I applied pressure.
The Joker’s face turned purple. Strangled gasps for air sounded in my ear.
“Yield,” I hissed.
He whipped his head back and forth.
Confident in my hold, I cut my gaze across the space, finding the dark eyes I knew were glued to me. They blazed with a feverish intensity. Those ruby lips were parted, as if she’d gasped in surprise.
That’s right, rusalka, don’t forget how easily I can kill.
I would destroy anyone who stood in my way of taking her.
The Joker’s tap on my arm was the sweetest sensation, signaling my victory. The crowd erupted, but I was already lost in the elation of the win, the satisfaction of hard-fought triumph coursing through me. Never taking my eyes off her, I pushed my opponent off me with a brutal kick that sent him launching across the mat. It was a dirty move to hit an opponent who’d already yielded. But if he didn’t want to be brutalized, he should have won.
Leaping to my feet, I stood stalk still, waiting for the decree as the winner.
“I give you your champion. The Bear!” the announcer boomed.
The referee came to lift my hand.
“Touch me, and I snap your neck,” I growled.
He wisely dropped his hand.
I held the enchantress’s gaze for another half dozen breaths, before turning sharply on my heel and stalking away. If this victory tasted sweet, how much better would the end game be? Maybe I would celebrate tonight by blowing something up. If I learned one thing from the war camps of my youth, it was how to create an absolutely glorious fucking mess. The Rinaldi’s had a warehouse that was stocked full of illegal goods, just waiting for a malicious force like me to send it sky high. It was what they deserved for complicating my plans to kidnap their princess.
The stale, moist air of the locker room threatened to sap the sweetness of victory. I bent over the duffel bag, pawing through the mess for a shirt and gym shorts. My shoes were under the bench with my socks. I would shower and tend to my bruises and cuts back in the safety of my rental. But I faltered, foot slipping out of the shoe I tried to shove it into.
I couldn’t leave. Isabella was here.
There was a sudden urgency to watch over the rest of the fights. While mine had been a big draw, it wasn’t the headlining match tonight. It was unlikely the Italian boys would want to miss the final fights. And after those, would their evening end? There was still another hour or so before the afterparty. I groaned. Was I going to have to stay for that too? Those events were filled with cheap booze, hookers, and carnality. And not the good kind.
That was no place for the young members of the mob to be.
They had better take her home.
Wondering if I could contrive a way to end the night with some disaster that sent everyone scurrying for safety, I stepped back into the main space of the building. Instead of seeing the organizers for my winnings, I circled the perimeter. Few spectators hung around the edges. Those who did were engaged in backdoor deals or other nefarious business. Most crowded toward the center where the cage was constructed on a raised platform. It was standing room, save for the two bleachers, one on each side, where the wealthier patrons had seats.
Once I made a lap around the space, I settled into a spot along the far wall. From there, I could see the entirety of the one bleacher. And then, I watched her.
Isabella wasn’t looking at the fight. She was sliding glances between her brother and the young man sitting next to him. Although she wore a mask of indifference, the frequency of her looks told me she was invested in whatever conversation the lads were having.
She doesn’t even look at her fiancé.
I rolled my neck. Vertebrae popped, and relief flowed through the spine. Tonight hadn’t been about the winnings, although they were substantial. I needed the release before I did something crazy.
Like, destroying more of Isabella’s life.
What started as a simple kidnapping had quickly turned into a conflagration. I couldn’t steal Isabella away without making sure the Italian Mob didn’t follow. But when the restaurant went up in flames, the destruction felt so damn good that I proceeded to systematically break every aspect of her impending marriage.
It was my small revenge on her for daring to entertain the idea of marrying anyone else. But it wasn’t enough.
Now that I’d given into the call of the inner beast and beaten the shit out of an opponent, it was time to focus. I would orchestrate another scenario where I could place the dead lookalike and take Isabella for my own. The bought and paid-for body I’d acquired from the cremation schedule was still fresh enough that it would pass. But every day that I delayed was another that something could happen to the chilled corpse. Storing such a delicate item was far from easy. It didn’t matter how obscure the location was, there was always the chance she was discovered in the rental. I didn’t dare move her to a more remote location, because I might need her abruptly and couldn’t afford wasting time trying to grab her.
I had yet to come up with another plan.
Starting another fire was full of risks, but it was the best way to stage the narrative.
Isabella will have to live in hiding. There would be no contact with her past, including her brother. I didn’t have one by blood, but I could imagine it would be hard if I was torn from my bratva family and Dimitri. I would have to make it up to her and make the separation bearable. I pushed that thought away. It was a problem for the future. I would explain to her in no uncertain terms that her fiancé’s life was on the line if she didn’t cooperate. Watching them now, they might as well have been strangers. That made it easier, not seeing outright affection between the two. I doubted I would be able to control myself if she was hanging off him as any number of the women in this warehouse clung to their dates.
Isabella chose him. She left Chicago abruptly to be with him.
I growled.
In time, she would choose me. That line of reasoning made me the villain in this story, but I didn’t care. Isabella would be mine. That was the only acceptable conclusion.
Returning my gaze to her after sweeping the room yet again, I saw her fall still. A shiver vibrated her frame, and her gaze snapped across the warehouse. She was searching. You can feel me, little one. A grin tugged at the corner of my mouth as I stepped back, letting one of the steel pillars camouflage my body. Perhaps I would visit her tonight. There were still some gifts I hadn’t given her.
Just thinking of how annoyed she would be to find them, after expressly forbidding it, lifted my mood.
Isabella continued to watch the shadows, gaze flickering back and forth, but staying in this general area.
I was proud of her survival instincts. She could feel the predator and was aware that she was being watched.
A man with beady black eyes stepped in front of me. While I could easily see over his head, he clearly wanted my attention. It took everything in my power to resist connecting my fist with his nose for interrupting me.
“You fought well,” he said, sticking out his hand for me to shake.
I stared at him silently and unblinking. Not moving a damn muscle.
Retracting the proffered hand, he cleared his throat. “My name is Tullio, Tullio Fabrizi. And I would like to offer you a sponsorship.”
The name rang a bell. He was connected to the Rinaldi Mafia, but I would have to consult my notes to see which little vermin he was.
“How about we go for a drink? You’re new in town, they said?” He rubbed his hands together. “You do know what a sponsorship is, right? The organizers told me you didn’t have one—which I can’t believe. You’re fucking incredible. How has someone not picked you up?”
Because in the past, whenever I fought, it was purely for release. Working with the Vlasovs paid well. I had use of the bratva gym, could work with trainers at other athletic centers, and had access to anything else I needed. I was never in the underground fights for glory. In fact, up until this past summer, my participation had been forbidden by the late pakhan. Dimitri only allowed it because he thought I would go crazy if I didn’t find an outlet. Little did he know I’d been traveling to fights across the country without his father ever knowing I broke the decree.
But it wasn’t the offer of sponsorship right now that intrigued me. This was an in with the famiglia. If I played my cards right, I could come and go as I pleased. It would make kidnapping my prize and faking her death all the easier.
I could make it so they never came after her.
“Are you alright?” Tullio peered up at me, the same way spectators peered at zoo animals.
It took everything I had not to look back at Isabella. I couldn’t have this man seeing me staring at her. “There’s a diner out by the airport. I’ll meet you there after the fight and…you can tell me more.”
I didn’t want to seem too eager. But this squat, porkish gangster wasn’t even the least bit suspicious. He saw me as a brutal creature, able to score him fame and money. I suffered through the unpleasantries of his farewell, and when he was finally gone, I resumed my vigil, my mind playing through the possible ways I could use this to speed the process of leaving town.