1. Lucas
CHAPTER 1
Lucas
T en years later:
Gloves up, I dance around Nora, light on my feet. She's grinning, that punk-rock spark in her eyes to go with the blue highlights against her mid-length black hair.
"Come on, abogada," I tease, jabbing the air. "Show me that legal left hook."
"Keep talking, patron," she quips back, ducking under a lazy swing. "I'll have you begging for a recess."
We dance around each other, a violent ballet—two childhood best friends who speak in jabs and hooks instead of words. I throw a one-two combo, and Nora counters with a smirk.
"Your honor," I pant, "I object to that last hit."
"Overruled!" she laughs, bobbing away.
She's fast, but I'm fueled by adrenaline.
Suddenly, the door to the gym creaks open. A draft whispers through the room, carrying with it a shift in the atmosphere. We both look toward the door, our fists still raised in anticipation of the other's next move. But mine drop to my sides as I take in the woman standing in the doorway.
She's stunning, with long black hair cascading over her shoulders and piercing green eyes that seem to see right through me. She's dressed in a tailored black suit that hugs her curves in all the right places, starkly contrasting our sweaty gym clothes. Nora and I exchange glances, silently acknowledging that this woman doesn't belong in a place like this.
"Watch your six, Lucas," Nora warns, feinting.
"Always do," I reply, but it's a lie. Because right now, all I watch is the beautiful woman who's quickly approaching my ring.
And then it happens.
Nora's fist rockets into my jaw—a powerful, unforeseen blow. The world blurs as I stumble, legs turning to water. The crowd gasps, a collective breath held.
"El patron is finally down!" Escapes someone in the audience.
My back meets canvas, stars exploding behind closed eyelids. As I blink my vision back to the real world, I see Nora standing over me; concern etched between triumphant blue eyes.
"Lucas? Are you okay?" she asks, offering a glove.
"Damn," I groan, accepting her help. "Didn't see that coming."
"Clearly," she chuckles, patting my shoulder. "Next time, don't let pretty girls distract you."
The gym erupts in cheers and whistles, a mix of shock and awe at the unexpected knockout. I shake my head, clearing cobwebs, a grin splitting my face despite it all.
"Next time," I promise, but we both know my focus isn't likely to improve—not with that beautiful girl standing just a few feet away from me, distracting me completely.
Bouncing back to my feet, I shoot Nora an appreciative nod. "I've taught you well."
"Yeah, yeah," she says with a wink. "Now go. I know you're dying to talk to her," lowering her voice enough this time so only the two of us can hear.
"Me, dying?" I quietly scoff, rubbing my jaw—not because it hurts, but to buy time, stall my racing heart. "Just a potential client, that's all."
"Uh-huh." She doesn't buy it, and neither do I.
Shoulders squared, I stride towards the mystery woman, trying to look more boxer than beat-up. Her green eyes track my approach, and I swear there's a storm brewing in them.
"Hey," I start, voice not as steady as I want. "I'm Lucas. You new here?"
"Sì," she replies curtly, her light Italian accent painting the word in colors of old country and warmth. "Serafina."
"Nice to meet you, Serafina." My tongue trips over the syllables, a clumsy dance of nerves. "You come to watch or to train?"
"Both, maybe." A corner of her lip quirks up, a hint of intrigue. "Your gym always this welcoming?"
"Only on days when I get knocked out." I laugh it off, hoping to spark more than polite interest.
"Good to know." She leans against the wall, arms crossed, a masterpiece framed by peeling paint and sweat-stained posters.
"Look, if you decide to train..." I clear my throat, "We'd be glad to have you here. And I'd—uh—I'd offer personal lessons."
"Is that so?" Her eyebrow arches, and I can't tell if she's mocking or genuinely curious. But damn, even her skepticism looks good on her.
"Absolutely." I flash what I hope is a winning smile. "Half price for new customers. Consider it ... my way of making up for today's show."
"How generous," Nora's voice cuts in, full of mirth, as she strides over with a towel draped over her shoulder.
"Shut up, Nora," I grumble, but I can't help the grin.
"Sounds more like a sweetheart deal to me, Lucas." Nora winks at Serafina, who watches us, a hint of amusement in her guarded gaze. But I can see the blush creeping up her cheeks, letting me know that Nora's comment has affected her as much as it has me.
"Don't mind her. She's always looking to stir up trouble," I stand taller as I lock eyes with Serafina. "So, what do you say?"
"Take it, chica," Nora chimes in. "He's not so bad when he's not flat on his back."
"Thanks for the endorsement," I deadpan, rolling my eyes.
"Anytime, my friend." Nora punches my shoulder lightly before sauntering off.
"Maybe." Serafina pushes from the wall, steps close enough for me to catch a hint of lavender mixed with gunpowder—a scent as complex as the woman wearing it. "I'll think about it."
"Take your time," I say, but every fiber in me screams for her to stay.
She nods, her full lips pressed in a line of unreadable thoughts, then turns to leave. I watch her go, my mind already spinning plans for round two.
"Who was that?" Nora strolls up to me, her curiosity piqued by the mysterious angel.
"My future wife," I murmur, ensuring only she can hear me.