Chapter Twenty-Two
Leaving Amelia in a bar full of leering men wasn’t easy, but I knew Remo wouldn’t let anyone near her. Because he knew what she meant to me, and because it would have undermined his own authority.
My pulse sloshed lazily in my veins after the brief spike when I’d killed the man who’d dared to insult my wife. I didn’t even remember his face, only the hand reaching for something that was only mine.
His death had been too quick for the crime, and my two opponents tonight would have to quench my lust for blood and savagery.
The other fighters of the night gave me a wide berth when I picked a bench to change into my black fighting shorts.
I sank on the hardwood. Except for the shorts, I wouldn’t need anything else.
Unlike most other fighters, I didn’t tape my hands.
I preferred to feel blood and breaking bones on my bare skin.
Everything that dulled my senses was ballast. Not to mention that I despised the tight sensation of the tape against my scars.
One fighter after the other left the changing room until it was time for my first fight.
The friend of the man I’d killed was led into the changing room from the outside.
He’d obviously caused too much of a ruckus.
They’d forced him to wear fighting shorts like the rest of us, and it didn’t do him any favors.
His broad shoulders told me he had probably played football in high school, but the way he rounded them and his beer belly revealed he hadn’t done any sports since then.
I doubted he’d fought since kindergarten.
He was a waste of my time and wouldn’t sate my need for brutality. I’d have to be careful not to kill him within seconds. Though it would spare me an uninspired fight.
His terrified blue eyes darted to me, lingering on the many scars decorating my upper body. I’d survived things he couldn’t even fathom.
The loudspeakers crackled, then the referee’s distorted voice announced our fight, and a roar went through the audience.
They always cheered, and then they threw up.
The bouncers dragged him out despite his struggling.
I stayed seated for a moment longer. I was still calm, the rage only a simmering deep inside me.
I pushed to my feet and walked out. The crowd parted to let me pass. Nobody tried to pat my back or shoulders as they did with the other fighters. I’d broken a few arms and hands in my first appearances before people knew I didn’t appreciate being touched.
“Kill him!”
“Slaughter him, Madman!”
I gave the old man a hard look. I didn’t do this for them. For these weaklings, watching fights was a way to escape the boredom of their lives. Most of them would never know pain or suffering.
My gaze moved past the cheering crowd toward the booth where I’d left my whole life. Amelia sat ramrod-straight, her fearful face directed at me. She needn’t worry about me.
I drew my focus back toward the cage where my opponent was clinging to the bars, pleading with the crowd and Remo to release him. If he thought he could appeal to my Capo’s humanity, he knew nothing about how he’d ripped the power from his enemies.
Even the worthless crowd laughed in the face of his terror.
I climbed the steps to the cage under the rising roar of the audience. The judge opened the door for me, then stepped back so I could enter. He avoided my eyes and made sure he didn’t touch me. My opponent pressed his back against the bars, watching me with wide, horrified eyes.
“I won’t fight you! This will be the end of this bar!”
The cage door fell shut behind me with a bang.
“Let the fight begin!” the judge screamed, followed by raging applause.
I tilted my head at the cowering creature before me. Maybe someone without my disposition would have felt pity. I felt mildly annoyed that I was supposed to make this fight worthwhile.
I stepped toward him when he stayed pressed up against the bars. He fell to his knees and folded his hands in a prayer. “Please, I beg you. Show mercy.”
Releasing a quiet sigh, I bridged the distance between us, determined to end this right away. This groveling creature wasn’t worth my time, or anyone’s.
I gripped his neck to snap it. My eye caught movement as his hand soared up toward my upper body.
Pain sliced through my side. A terrified shriek drowned out the crowd’s unified gasp of shock.
My eyes zoomed in on Amelia, where she stood with fear-widened eyes in the booth.
I gave her a small smile before I glanced down at the short pocketknife sticking out of my waist. He couldn’t have picked a worse weapon.
This couldn’t seriously injure me, only piss me off.
“You ruined this for you,” I said as I leveled my gaze on the man before me. “I had every intention of making this quick. Now I’ll have to paint a picture with your bowels and blood.”
I clasped his hand, still wrapped around the handle of the knife, and jerked it out.
Blood trickled down into my shorts, but it wasn’t enough to be worth my attention.
Using his hand, I rammed the short blade into the soft spot beneath his rib cage, then twisted it around for good measure before I sliced down.
He screamed and gurgled, his eyes shock-wide as he stared down at the knife now buried in his lower belly.
I ripped it out, then stepped back. He stumbled to his feet, gasping and choking, and with a resounding splash, his bowels tumbled out of the long gash and plummeted to the floor, painting it red and brown and white.
The crowd groaned, roared, and gasped, followed by gagging and vomiting.
He swayed, his eyes crossing as he stared at his bowels.
He stumbled forward, then face-planted on the ground.
His body convulsed with painful gasps and whimpers.
I knelt and turned him over on his back, then sank my hand into his empty stomach.
He choked in agony. “Did you get the knife from your friend?”
He gave a minuscule nod. I pulled my hand out, then watched as the life left his eyes. With the pocket knife in my other hand, I headed toward the door. My side stung. It wouldn’t stop me from winning my second fight of the night, but it was definitely a bother.
Amelia rushed toward the parting crowd and reached me when I stepped out of the cage.
Fear lit up her eyes. I walked down the steps and cupped her throat, then lowered my head for a searing kiss that filled the bar with utter silence.
People stared at us, at me, at Amelia’s scarred back.
For them, I was the monster who’d disfigured her, the beast who held his beauty captive.
If they knew the length I’d go to protect her, they’d fear me even more.
I pulled back to Amelia’s flushed face and took her hand.
She flinched. I looked down at my blood-covered hand.
I had completely forgotten about the other man’s filthy blood.
It should never have touched Amelia’s perfect skin.
I tightened my hold on her and led her through the alley between the crowd toward the changing room, only stopping once to ram my knife into the throat of the man who’d given my opponent the weapon.
I left the blade in his body to avoid more bloodstains on Amelia.
I didn’t say a word until I reached the changing rooms. There I tugged her toward a sink, turned the water on, and washed her hand with soap, then cleaned mine.
She watched silently, her brows dipping with deep worry. “You’re hurt.”
I kept cleaning her hand until the water came away clear. “His blood should have never touched you.”
She touched my cheek. “What if you have internal bleeding?”
“I have endured enough torture in my life to know if I’m in imminent danger, and I’m not. It can wait until we’re back in Los Angeles.”
“There are Camorra doctors here,” she whispered, shocked.
“I’m invincible as far as these people are concerned.”
She closed her eyes and let out a shuddering breath. “I’m not sure I can bear seeing you enter that cage again.”
“You can’t leave.”
“I won’t,” she said firmly, her eyes filled with determination. “Not because Remo wants to prove a point, but because I won’t leave you. I did that once, and I won’t ever do it again. I couldn’t be with you when my father tortured you, but I can support you today.”
I wanted to hold on to the rage that had consumed me in the months and years of Amelia’s absence, but it was becoming more difficult by the day.
I loved this woman. She was the only person I’d loved since my mother had been ripped from me as a little boy.
She would always be the only person I loved.
I kissed her, and I didn’t pull back even as the door swung open, not even as steps approached us.
But I looked up when they sounded too close and raised my head to meet Nino’s evaluating gaze. “Do you need medical assistance?”
“No.”
Nino shook his head. “You don’t have to pretend in front of me. I know you’re injured. I saw you battered and broken when we conquered the mansion. It’s not a weakness to sustain an injury. It’s how we handle it that determines our strength. And you’re being unreasonable.”
“You can’t do anything. I won’t cancel my second fight, and I won’t go out there bandaged. This won’t kill me.”
Nino shrugged. “As with my brother, only your own stubbornness can kill you.” He gave me a curt nod, then he left.
Shuffling in a farther part of the changing room reminded me we weren’t alone. I raised Amelia’s hand to my lips. “Now return to the booth. I’ll have to focus on my next fight.”
She opened her mouth as if to protest, but I pressed my index finger against it. “Hush, dove. Go now.”
When I left the changing room with a heavy heart, the crowd parted for me immediately.
A cleaning team was busy wiping up the blood in the cage.
There was no trace of the man who had died outside the cage.
His body had been carried out, and once the floor in the cage was clean, the fights would continue as if nothing had occurred.
And to these people, this was ordinary. Though I noted the stench of vomit and cleaner with relief.
At least some people had been shocked by the display of violence.
My own belly still churned when I thought of how Steel-gray’s bowels had spilled on the floor.
I hadn’t thrown up. Not like young Amelia on the night of Nestore’s birthday.
Memories from long ago popped up uninvited in my head: bowels covered the floor in the splendid ballroom, and my father looked down at the boy who’d been kind to me with cruel eyes.
I snapped back to the present day when I arrived at the booth. “Your husband knows how to put on a show. It never gets boring,” Remo said, his eyes lighting up with dark amusement.
“I guess he needs a pay raise then,” I said with a too-bright smile as I sank down on the bench.
Fabiano let out a choked laugh, then focused on his drink.
“He’s the Underboss of the richest state in Camorra territory. Money certainly isn’t an issue,” Nino drawled.
“She was joking,” Savio said, rolling his eyes.
“You know what your husband’s reward is for being so very entertaining?” Remo asked, his face hard.
My belly twisted.
“He gets to keep you, even if his loyalty to you trumps his loyalty to me. I’d say I could hardly give him a bigger reward.”
I swallowed thickly. “Nestore is absolutely loyal to you. He’d die for you.”
“And he’d try to kill me for you.” He leaned back, his gaze moving on to the cage where new fighters were facing each other.
It seemed our conversation was over, and I decided to be even more careful around the Capo in the future.
I wouldn’t tell Nestore about this. Maybe he knew, but I didn’t want to risk his safety.
When it was time for Nestore’s second fight, I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I just wanted to leave this booth, this bar, this city. I desired to get as far away from the Falcones as possible.
Nestore’s second fight took almost fifteen minutes, but not because the Steamroller stood any chance against him.
He landed only two hits, one of them on Nestore’s injured side.
His death was slow and agonizing. I focused on my drink in front of me, on the golden hue of my nail polish, on the markings in the dark wood of the table.
I heard a loud snap, like a thick bone breaking.
When the pained gurgles finally subsided, I looked up.
Nestore stood in the center of the cage, over the battered corpse of his opponent.
He held something in his hand, and upon closer look, I recognized it as the man’s heart, a piece of the aorta dangling from the organ and dripping blood.
The head of the man was twisted at an unnatural angle, but so were his arms and legs.
The stench of vomit hung heavily in the air. Savio let out a low whistle, but he, too, looked a little green even though he tried to play it down.
My own belly roiled violently, and only my talent to ignore what was happening around me and go to a quiet place in my head allowed me to keep my food down.
Remo stood and clapped loudly, and the crowd eventually joined in, but shock and revulsion definitely dominated the crowd’s reaction.
I brought my palms together in a half-hearted clapping motion.
Savio leaned across the table so I could hear him over the crowd. “If this doesn’t make you throw up or, better yet, run as fast as your legs can carry you, then you must be a very messed-up chick.”
I pursed my lips. “I don’t fear the darkness that lurks behind Nestore’s face.”
Savio scoffed, then looked at Fabiano. He mouthed, “Crazy.” Maybe he was right. Perhaps I was as messed up as Nestore. Maybe I had been all along. Perhaps my running had been an attempt to escape myself as much as Nestore’s darkness.