3. Lucas
CHAPTER 3
Lucas
I lock the last punching bag in place, the clang of metal echoing through the now-deserted gym. It's late, and the stillness wraps around me like a worn-out sparring glove—comfortable but heavy with sweat and memories. I drag a hand down my face, the scent of leather and disinfectant from my skin mingling with the fading adrenaline of the day's training sessions.
"Another day, another dollar," I mutter, flipping off the main lights, leaving only the dim glow of the exit signs and security lights to guide me. My fingers hesitate on the switch, the darkness around me less intimidating than the thoughts I can't shake. Serafina.
I shouldn't be thinking about her. Not when there's equipment to store, schedules to plan, and a business to run—a business I've poured every drop of my soul into.
Love, romance, and all that sentimental shit has no place in my ring.
That's how I've lived my life since my mother passed away. Guarding myself from heartache and trouble, like I promised. But something about the way she carried herself—strong and guarded, yet with a hint of vulnerability behind her guarded exterior—as if taking my boxing classes would somehow save her from whatever demons she was battling, sparked a desire within me to protect her, to be everything to her—something I've never felt for another woman.
As I think about her, I scrub the mats more forcefully than necessary. The Clorox bites at my nostrils but is a clean, honest sting. A reminder of how far I've come—the kid from the hood who never knew his father. A kid who chose calloused hands over cold steel.
I'm proud, damn proud, that I never folded under the weight of easy money and quick fixes. The Mexican Mafia, some Cartel that goes by The Fallen Angels—they'd wanted me, tried to tempt me with promises of power and protection. With the full financial backing of the mafia to get my fights seen by the entire world. But I'm not a man to be owned. I'm a fighter, through and through.
Although I never got my answers, the promise to live a clean life still rules my life. A promise is a promise, after all.
With a final glance around the dark gym, the pride swells in my chest again. I listen to the silence settle, thick and full of echoes of grunts and the thud of gloves against bags. The lock to the front door clicks into place with a satisfying snick, a period at the end of another day's sentence.
The cool night air kisses my skin as I leave the gym. My muscles hum with the day's work, a subtle reminder of each punch thrown, every combo drilled into muscle memory. I walk across the parking lot, my steps echoing in the quiet until I reach her—my rumbler. She gleams under the streetlights, curves, and edges in all the right places. She's not just a car; she's a testament—a tangible proof that discipline pays off. I run a hand over the hood, still marveling that she's mine, bought with cash saved from countless hours in the ring.
"Alex," I speak into my phone, the streetlights casting elongated shadows as I stride down the sidewalk. "Necesito un favor - I need a favor."
"Shoot," Alex's voice crackles with static, but the eagerness is clear as daylight.
"There's someone I need you to look up. A visitor at the gym from today." My words are careful and measured. "Can you... look her up?"
"You got a name?" There's the sound of keys clacking in the background.
"Just her first name, Serafina." I slide into the driver's seat of my cherry red rambler.
"Just need to pull the footage and a description of who I’m looking for."
"You’ve got it. Gracias, amigo." My thumb hovers over the 'end call' button, my mind still on her.
"Lucas," Alex's tone shifts, serious now. "You sure about this? You know what they say about curiosity and cats."
"Fuck off," I quip, trying to laugh off the knot forming in my stomach. But the truth is, Serafina's gotten under my skin in a way no one has in a long time. And no matter how pathetic Alex thinks I am, I need to know more about the beautiful Italian angel.
"Alright, give me 30 minutes," Alex's warning hangs in the air as we disconnect.
Home isn't far, but I drive slowly, savoring the silence before stepping back into the chaos of my simple life. The condo, the proof of my hard work, is uncomplicated and functional, just like me. Fight posters adorn its walls, and the shelves are filled with trophies rather than trinkets. There are no lavish furnishings because every penny is earmarked for the future—for more gyms where kids can learn to fight life's battles inside the ring instead of on the streets.
My phone buzzes, slicing through the quiet like a well-aimed jab. Alex's name lights up the screen. "What's up, bro?"
"Lucas," Alex's voice crackles with urgency. "Got some news about your mystery girl."
"Hit me," I say, though my heart thumps against my ribs, anticipating the blow.
"Es la hija única de los Mancini," he says, and the weight of those words hits harder than anyuppercut. Serafina Mancini—the only daughter of the biggest mafia family in town.
"So I've got a fucking principessa, a mafia princess, in my hands," I breathe out, my grip tightening on the phone while my free hand runs through my raven disheveled hair. If the rumors are correct, I should be running in the opposite direction of her.
"Man, you need to tread lightly," Alex warns, his tone somber. "Remember the streets, remember the offers we got. You've worked too damn hard to get caught up in that world. You may not be able to walk away unscathed this time."
"I know, I know," I mutter, pinching the bridge of my nose. The thought of Serafina entangled in that life—of me getting pulled back into the shadows I fought so hard to escape—is a one-two punch to my gut. But something about her makes me want to throw caution to the wind.
"Only looking out for you, patron," Alex continues.
"Appreciate it, brother." I hang up, my thoughts a tangled mess. Serafina Mancini. Off-limits doesn’t even begin to cover it. And yet, nothing's ever simple regarding matters of the heart.