Chapter 19 Emilio
Emilio
The underground fighting ring lives in a world of shadows and violence that money can’t hide. No matter how much the Rosetti family has invested beneath the boxing gym in Brooklyn, it's still a brutal arena where blood soaks into concrete and men bet fortunes on each other’s pain.
Descending the reinforced stairs, the smell hits first: sweat, blood, fear, and the sharp burn of expensive cigars in humid air.
Cologne does nothing against the raw scent of violence.
Wet slaps of flesh echo off the walls, the crowd's roar bouncing through the narrow corridor, bones cracking in the distance. Even the high-end ventilation can’t stop the damp that drips from the ceiling.
This is where my family makes millions, and where we partnered with the Callahans—before Dale’s betrayal ruined everything.
I’m about to risk it all on my brother’s willingness to forgive.
"Stay close," I murmur to Mara as we step onto the basement floor. "And don't react to anything you see."
Her hand slips into mine with surprising strength. She’s swapped her silk dinner dress for jeans and a sweater, but she still moves with a dangerous elegance. Men ogle her throat, her hips, the confident way she walks. Every brazen glance makes me seethe in anger.
The main area opens into a wide space dominated by a fighting cage at its center. Chain-links are splattered with fresh blood that gleams under harsh lights. Men shout and wave bills over the din. The whole room thrums with violence barely held in check.
Inside the cage, two fighters circle. One bleeds from a cut above his eye, crimson streaking down his face.
The other favors his left side, ribs likely cracked.
The crowd roars as the wounded man lunges, desperation driving him forward.
When they collide, the impact echoes, followed by the sickening crunch of cartilage.
"Jesus," Mara breathes beside me, but she looks fascinated.
"Where we used to do business with the Callahans," I say, scanning the crowd for Domenico's familiar profile. "Before Dale started skimming profits and Rafe had to kill him."
I spot my brother on a new raised platform that wasn’t there before the war started.
It’s clearly built for Dom’s paranoia and need to watch everything.
From up high he can see every entrance and stay safe.
A few leather chairs are set up, nice but thrown together fast. He’s in his usual spotless suit, dark hair perfect even underground, watching the fights with cold detachment.
Even from here I can see how the war has changed him: stress lines around his eyes, shoulders always tight, body positioned like he’s ready to draw a gun at any moment.
Two Rosetti soldiers sit on either side of him, men I’ve seen but never met.
They scan the crowd, hands hovering near their holsters.
“There,” I say, pointing at the VIP platform. “Dom’s holding court.”
As we reach the stairs, one of the guards steps forward. He’s built like a brick wall, knuckles scarred, eyes hard. I smell the gun oil on his jacket and notice his heavy boots built for kicking down doors. The harsh lights above paint shadows across his rough face.
“Private area,” he says, voice rough like gravel. “Invitation only.”
“Tell Domenico his brother needs five minutes,” I say, keeping my voice calm even though I’m boiling inside.
He glances at Mara, not checking her out but sizing up whether she’s a threat. Then he nods.
“Wait here.”
He climbs the stairs, his boots thudding against concrete as the crowd’s roar fills the air.
Behind us, a fighter’s knee crashes into his opponent’s ribs with a sick crack.
The crowd cheers, money changes hands, fortunes made and lost in the sound of breaking bones.
The smell of fresh blood mixes with expensive cologne and panic.
“Charming,” Mara says, though I see her eyes sweeping the exits and looking for anything she could use as a weapon. “Very family-friendly.”
“The Rosetti empire wasn’t built on charity work,” I reply quietly, knowing how sound echoes in this concrete tomb. “Sometimes violence is the only language people understand.”
“And sometimes it’s just profitable.”
True. The ring makes millions, launders money through betting pools, and offers a discreet meeting spot for people who can’t gather in public.
The guard returns and nods toward the stairs. “Five minutes.”
The VIP area looks thrown together but well-placed. It’s quiet enough for talk, with burgundy carpet softening the noise and plain chairs against bare concrete walls. From here, the fights below play out like theater, the glass turning the crowd’s roar into a low rumble.
Domenico doesn’t look up as we approach. He’s watching the cage, where one fighter has a clear lead. Blood pours from the loser’s broken nose, staining the floor under harsh lights. Even through the glass, the metallic scent drifts up and mingles with Dom’s subtle, expensive cologne.
“Milo.” My name sounds like a fucking disappointment. “And of course Mara Vale. We meet again.”
He keeps his tone polite but gives nothing away. This is Dom at his most dangerous, measured and precise, the rightful heir to our father's empire.
“Dom.” I settle into the chair across from him. Mara slips into the seat beside me. “Thank you for seeing us.”
“Did I have a choice?” He finally looks up, his gray eyes, so like mine, scanning us. “After your mysterious absence from family business and now this late-night summons?”
His disapproval presses on me, but I push forward. “Mara has information about Callahan operations. Intelligence that could help us end this war.”
“Intelligence.” Dom lifts his glass, taking a slow sip. “And how exactly did you come by this information, Miss Vale?”
Mara leans forward, meeting his gaze without flinching. “I have contacts in their organization. People who owe me favors, who’ve shared information about their operations and security weaknesses.”
“Contacts.” Dom’s tone is skeptical. “In the middle of a war, you have friendly contacts feeding you Callahan secrets?”
“Not friendly,” Mara corrects smoothly, her tone honey-over-steel. “Profitable. Information is a commodity, Mr. Rosetti. And I’ve been in the business of acquiring valuable commodities for years.”
It’s a careful dodge. It doesn’t admit her involvement but gives a believable reason for her knowledge.
"Intelligence as commodity." He tries out the idea, nodding slowly. Below us, the fight hits its peak as one man finally falls, his opponent standing over him with raised fists while the crowd erupts in celebration. "A motivation I can understand. What intelligence are we discussing?"
"Financial systems, communication protocols, planned operations." Mara speaks with the confidence of someone who truly has valuable information. "I know their weaknesses, their security gaps, their next moves."
"Including the attack on Pier 17?"
"I got advance warning through my network," Mara says carefully. "Enough to alert Emilio before the worst damage happened."
Dom's expression stays the same, but he glances at me, a sure sign we'll be discussing that later. Like why I hadn't mentioned the warning about the attack came from Mara. Fine, I would deal with that later.
"And what do you want in return for this intelligence?" Dom asks.
"Protection," I answer before Mara can reply, my tone harsher than I meant. "A place in the family organization. Immunity from reprisal."
"Immunity." Dom's laugh is soft, dangerous. "You're asking me to bring an information broker with questionable loyalties into our organization."
"I'm asking you to accept someone who warned us about an attack that could have wiped out half our income. Could have killed Leo." My voice hardens despite trying to stay diplomatic. "Someone who's offering to share valuable intelligence that could end this war."
"And coincidentally happens to be your former lover who's now back in your bed."
The cruel comment makes my vision blur red. I clench my fists so tight my knuckles crack. "Careful, Dom."
"Or what?" He sets down his glass with deliberate care, the crystal ringing against the table. "You'll choose her over family again?"
The truth stings because he's right. I am choosing her over family stability, over protocols, over the balance that has kept our organization running for generations.
"If necessary," I say quietly.
Silence stretches between us, only broken by the distant sounds of chaos and business from below. Dom studies my face with the same intensity he uses for business decisions, seeing the truth in my expression.
"You love her," he states, not a question but a fact.
"Yes."
"Enough to compromise family security for her safety."
"Yes."
"Enough to burn bridges with your own blood."
"I've already done that."
He nods slowly, taking it all in. Any mistake here could cost lives. When he speaks again, his voice is final.
"One night," he says, each word deliberate. "She can stay at the mansion for one night while we verify her intelligence. If it proves valuable, we'll discuss longer-term arrangements."
Relief washes over me, but I keep my face calm.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet." His gaze shifts to Mara, cold as steel. "The moment I suspect betrayal, the moment she becomes a liability rather than an asset, this conversation never happened. Are we clear?"
"Crystal," Mara replies, steady despite the threat in the air.
"Good." Dom stands, adjusting his jacket. His hands hover near hidden weapons as the leather holster creaks. "Then let's discuss the specifics of this intelligence. Starting with Callahan financial operations."
We follow him down a quiet corridor to a small meeting room behind the VIP section. The heat presses in. Mara's hand finds mine, her fingers ice-cold, her body tense.
"One night," I murmur in her ear. "That's all I need to prove you belong with us."
She offers a sharp, secretive smile. "One night might be more than either of us can handle."
The room is small and soundproofed, built for private talks. Dom sits at a plain wooden desk; Mara and I take seats opposite.
"Begin with their financial systems," Dom instructs, pulling out a digital recorder. "Every detail you can remember."
Mara leans forward, confident as she lays out the facts. In the dim light, every movement is precise: the line of her jaw, the intensity in her dark eyes, the way she underlines her points. She is in her element, dangerous, brilliant, impossible to ignore.
But then again, she always has been.