8. Dominic
EIGHT
DOMINIC
I followed Luca through the crowd.
The fighting ring sat dead center in a dim warehouse, bathed in the stark glow of industrial lights hanging from chains. Around it, men shoved money into each other’s hands. Feet stomped against the concrete as another fighter dropped.
Luca’s sharp eyes scanned every face. I stayed behind, letting him take the lead but keeping my gaze on the opposite side of the room. We didn’t need to speak to know what we were doing. It was instinct—checking corners, watching the way certain men lingered too long in one spot, the subtle shifting of money between hands.
“We could scout the upper decks,” Luca muttered, nodding toward the dimly lit balcony above the ring. “Can’t see shit in the shadows over there.”
I smirked. “If you wanted to go somewhere alone, I know a better spot.”
He shot me a look. “Focus.”
“I am. Just multitasking.”
Honestly, he was better at this than I expected. Watching him work was almost as satisfying as getting under his skin.
We moved toward the balcony, weaving through the crush of bodies. My gaze flicked to the edges of the room, noting the way certain groups clustered too tightly.
“Anything?” I asked as we reached the stairs.
“Not yet.” He paused, his head tilting as he scanned the upper level. “You?”
“Couple of guys who look like they’re sweating more than they should be. Could just be the heat.”
“Or they could be waiting for something.” He started up the stairs, his movements smooth despite the creaking metal.
The upper level was quieter. The ring looked like a spotlight on a grimy stage. Luca crouched at the railing, his attention sweeping the crowd below.
“Looks like someone’s dealing by the far wall,” he muttered.
I leaned against the railing beside him. “Bratva?”
“No, but I’ll keep an eye out for anyone watching them too closely.”
I glanced at him. “You’re surprisingly good at this.”
His lips twitched. “I can do everything. Try to keep up.”
“You’ve got enough ego for three men, but I’ve seen what you’re packing.”
He shot me a lazy smile. “Then you know it’s more than you can handle.”
“I already handled it, sweetheart.”
His smirk faltered as if he wasn’t sure whether to rise to the bait or let it slide.
As we moved along the upper level, I couldn’t stop staring at him. It wasn’t often I saw him like this. Most of the time, he was too busy throwing barbs or trying to piss me off.
Pretty boy Luca had it good. If I were half as professional as I pretended to be, I would’ve docked his pay and reminded him that mouthing off to me had consequences. One look into those dark eyes, and I let him get away with attempted murder.
Was it an attempt ?
Luca sent out mixed signals. He sucked on my thumb like he needed my cock, but glared at me like it was my fault. Christ. It shouldn’t have felt that good. He had me clenching my fists under the desk to keep myself from shoving my cock into that perfect mouth.
Control yourself.
Luca wasn’t just one of my guys. He was a Costa. I couldn’t fuck him. It wouldn’t end well. He was in such a dark place. He needed to be helped, not bent over, but I craved Luca like the last cigarette before an execution. Every time he squared up to me with attitude, I wanted to slam him against a wall and kiss him.
A roar erupted from the crowd, and the fight in the ring ended with a sickening crack. One fighter dropped like a sack of bricks, blood streaming from his nose.
Luca tried to speak, but I couldn’t hear him over the noise. He cupped his hand around my ear. “I need to head downstairs for the fight.”
I frowned, nodding.
We descended the stairs and met Santino, who sat by the ring with a clipboard.
Santino thumbed through the clipboard. “You remember the rules?”
Luca sighed. “Yeah.”
The family had made it clear that Luca was to throw the fight. They didn’t give a damn about what it would do to his already shattered sense of self.
I clenched my jaw.
“Dom,” Santino said. “You staying ringside?”
I shot him a look. “Someone has to make sure this shitshow doesn’t go sideways.”
Luca shrugged out of his jacket. Then he unbuttoned his shirt. It slid off his shoulders, revealing inked skin. His muscles flexed as he tossed the shirt onto a bench. Luca wrapped his hands with a roll of tape. Santino handed Luca a mouthguard, and Luca slipped it in without a word, his gaze distant.
His broad back rippled as he ducked under the ropes. The low murmur of the crowd turned into a roar. Santino grabbed the mic and called out Luca’s name, and my stomach dropped.
Now everyone was watching.
Including me.
I swore as Luca’s opponent climbed into the ring. A guy built like a fucking tank, with a face that looked like it’d been rearranged one too many times. He cracked his knuckles, staring Luca down.
Fuck .
Luca bounced on his feet, unbothered by the mountain of muscle in front of him. His expression was cold—no, empty . Nothing scared him.
The bell rang.
Luca feinted left and drove a brutal right hook into his opponent’s ribs. A sick thud echoed through the warehouse, and the guy staggered. Luca didn’t give him time to recover. He landed a devastating uppercut, snapping the guy’s head back, and sent him crashing to the mat.
The tank dragged himself up, blood smeared across his mouth, and Luca smiled. A hard smile that twisted deep in my gut. He wanted this. He needed this.
He fought like a man exorcising a demon. Like every punch could bleed the poison out of him. He took hits he didn’t have to take, staggering only to come harder, fists flying with a furious grace that left his opponent reeling.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
What the fuck are you trying to prove, Luca?
My jaw clenched as the fight dragged on. He was faster, but he let himself get hit. I saw the split-second hesitation before he dropped his guard. He didn’t flinch when a fist collided with his jaw, snapping his head to the side. He liked the pain. Welcomed it. Like it was penance for something no one else could see.
Maybe he was trying to beat something out of himself.
Perhaps he threw punches at men built like Adonis to vent his frustration for not being able to fuck them. Was this how he dealt with it when he couldn’t play straight with his comare ?
Was I the demon in his head?
That twisted inside me like a blade.
Another punch landed, a brutal hook to his jaw that snapped his head to the side. I forced myself not to react. This wasn’t my fight to interfere in, no matter how much I wanted to drag him out of there and tell the family to go fuck themselves.
Another punch. Luca took them all, staggering back enough to sell it, but he could take the guy apart if he wanted to. I’d seen him fight when he wasn’t holding back. This wasn’t Luca. This was a puppet on their strings.
I gritted my teeth. “This is bullshit.”
Santino frowned but said nothing.
Luca took another hit, this one sending him to his knees. The crowd roared. The brute stepped in for the kill, and I grimaced. I thought Luca might snap and end it. But he didn’t. He stayed down, just like they’d told him to.
The ref called it, raising the other guy’s hand in victory. The crowd erupted again. Luca stood slowly, wiping blood from his mouth as he walked back to our side of the ring. He grabbed his shirt and headed toward the locker room.
I turned back to Santino. “Why the hell is the family screwing with Luca?”
He exhaled slowly. “He has to prove himself.”
“By making him look weak in front of everyone?”
Santino’s jaw tightened. “Vinn thinks Luca is a loose cannon. A guy like that, with that much baggage? It’s dangerous.”
“How is this supposed to help him?”
“This is about control.” Santino sighed. “Vinn needs to know he’s not going to snap and take us all down with him. Throwing the fight proves he can follow orders, even when he hates it. That he’ll take a hit for the family.”
“Luca’s not a fucking liability. He’s done nothing but prove himself since he came back.”
“The family doesn’t see it that way. They see a guy who broke out of the Bratva, killed their Pakhan, and showed up at our doorstep with nothing to lose. That’s a wild card, Dom. Wild cards get people killed.”
My teeth ground together. It wasn’t fair. Luca had already given more than anyone had a right to ask, and they were still testing him. “And what if he snaps because of this? Then what?”
“It’s not my call, Dom. I don’t like it, either.”
I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood. I couldn’t care. It was the quickest way to get myself killed, but every time he took a hit, I felt it.
“So, you coming to Delilah’s birthday party on Friday?” Santino asked. “It’s at Vito’s. The boss will be there.”
“Yeah, I’ll go.”
Vinn Costa, the boss of the family, didn’t attend parties to celebrate. He used them to watch.
When Vinn handed me the casino, it was a challenge. It took years to get to that moment. After leaving New York, I’d been nothing. Homeless, drifting from city to city, living on subway benches and in shelters.
The Costas should’ve killed me when they found me running illegal poker tables under their noses. Santino saved my life, vouched for me to Vinn, and handed me my first real shot. I took every shit job no one else wanted. When the time came to get Made, Santino put his reputation on the line to sponsor me. One wrong move could destroy everything I’d built.
I couldn’t fuck this up. I owed the family.
Loyalty had gotten me this far, but watching Luca bleed made me question the cost.