Chapter 9
Maria
The halls buzz with whispers, but none of them settle the weight in my chest. It isn’t just the fight, it's where it’s happening. Somewhere even the boldest students refuse to talk about it out loud.
A lot of the students said they don’t know where it is. Yet the fight is all anyone is talking about.
Jo walks beside me, quiet for once. Even she understands the weight of what is happening. While in class today she told me about what the underground is.
The underground layers of Blackstone Academy aren’t just a place for fights, there is a system.
Beneath, are hidden layers of stone and history, a secret society that thrived in the darkness.
Deals were made, alliances forged, blood spilled.
It was where the unspoken rules of Blackstone were enforced.
A divided world beneath the college, ruled by the very families who control the city above. Each section of the underground belongs to a different syndicate, each space reflecting the power and legacy of the families who ran them.
And tonight, I’m walking straight into it.
The air is thick with cigarette smoke and the scent of whiskey and beer.
Dim lights flicker above, casting eerie shadows along the cracks on the stone walls.
The underground tunnels are older than the college itself, a hidden relic from a time when men made decisions in the dark, where secrets were buried along with the dead.
We reach the entrance, an old, rusted metal door at the end of a forgotten hallway. It looks abandoned, like it hasn’t been touched in years. But when Jo presses her palm against the hidden scanner behind a loose brick, the door unlocks with a heavy click.
The walls seem to breathe as we step inside.
Cold. Damp. Ancient.
Jo told me the Messina’s built this place, literally and politically. Their name shaped these halls long before any of us walked them.
I swallow hard as we move deeper. Students I don’t recognize lounge against the walls.
We stand in the middle, and I scan around taking it all in. Remembering everything Jo was telling me about the wings.
The Italian Wing. The Messina family hold their space in the underground with silent authority.
Their section is sleek, lined with dark leather couches and gold accents.
A long wooden table sits in the center. Training is brutal here.
Young men of the family are taught discipline, strategy, and the art of control.
Here, you learn not just to fight, but to command.
The Irish Wing. The O'Brien family’s section is rougher.
Bare brick walls, whiskey bottles stacked in corners, the scent of cigars lingering in the air.
The Irish believe in strength first, power through force.
Fists fly more often than words, and respect is earned in blood.
It is where boys become warriors, forged in brutality and loyalty.
The Russian Wing. The Petrov family owns a section as cold as their reputation.
Silent. Deadly. Efficient. Their space feels like a war room, dimly lit, lined with weapons on the walls.
Their training is precise, calculated, lethal.
They work in the shadows. You don’t see a Petrov strike until you are already bleeding.
The Other Factions. There are others, too.
The Cartel kids have their own area, filled with cigar smoke and the scent of burning money.
The Triads keep to themselves, but everyone knows their part of the underground was where secrets were kept and sold.
Each family has their space. Their sanctuary.
Their training ground. But the center of the underground? It’s neutral.
The fighting circle sits in the middle of it all. The only place where families clash but only when an agreement is made. No random fights. No betrayals. When two names are spoken for a fight, it’s law.
Tonight, Massimo and Liam are to step into that circle, and only one of them will walk away as the victor.
I see Massimo first talking to Sebastian, his best friend. I stop just far enough away so I’m not noticeable, yet close enough to hear what they are saying. Sebastian slaps Massimo a few times, then starts laughing, after calling him something under his breath.
Massimo catches my eye mid-conversation, grins, and leans in without warning. His kiss is fast, firm, possessive. Like he’s claiming me in front of everyone, and I don’t want him to stop.
“Maria, this is Sebastian, the man who will stand next to me until one of us dies.” I don’t laugh at the moment like they both do, because it’s not something which should be joked about.
“Watch, it will be me first,” Sebastian jokes, then turns to me. “Nice to meet my future sister-in-law. You know you can still run; I’ll hold him back for you.” He teases with me, and Massimo pushes him away, telling him to fuck off.
A circle is formed in the middle, with others standing shoulder to shoulder, shouting for the fight to start, their whispers blending into a low hum of anticipation. The walls drip with condensation, the dim overhead lights casting an almost theatrical glow in the center.
Massimo kisses me one more time then rips off his T-shirt, and I try to keep my eyes anywhere but on his chest. But it’s impossible.
He moves through the crowd to stand in the middle, in front of Liam.
His muscles taut, a smirk playing at his lips.
His body is all tension and intent, shoulders rolled back, chest rising slow and deliberate.
Ink crawls over his ribs, black lines that feel like warnings as much as stories.
The tattoos sprawl over his arms and across his ribs, which I want to travel my finger over.
My eyes follow the sharp lines of his torso, the deep ridges of muscle leading lower.
I swallow hard and force myself to look away, but it’s too late. Massimo smiles at me, his dark eyes locked on me like he can see through every innocent thought I try to cling to.
My breath hitches as he tilts his head slightly, as if daring me to look away again. I don’t. God help me.
My heart pounds, my stomach twists, but I feel the pull toward him. Like no matter how much I pray for strength, it will never be enough to fight the desire for him.
Massimo takes a step toward me, close enough I can see the faint bruise from a fight he must have had before.
And I’m falling straight into his fire.
He leans in just slightly, voice low, rough. Dangerous. “You like what you see, Angel?” He lets out a low chuckle then walks back into the middle.
Liam stands opposite, his tie loose, sleeves rolled up, fists clenched together.
A deep voice cut through the air. “No weapons. No interference.” A senior I don’t recognize steps forward, acting as a referee. His eyes flicker between Massimo and Liam, then he nods.
The fight doesn’t begin. It detonates.
Liam lunges first, a savage hook aimed at Massimo’s jaw. Massimo slips it, driving a fist into Liam’s ribs. The crack is sharp enough to make me flinch. The crowd erupts, a mix of cheers and jeers, boots pounding the stone floor.
“Break him!” someone shouts.
“Messina’s done!” another fires back.
They collide again, fists like hammers. Liam rams Massimo into the wall, stone sconces rattling from the impact.
My breath sticks in my throat as their forearms lock, muscles trembling, teeth bared.
Liam drives a knee into Massimo’s thigh.
Massimo answers with a vicious headbutt that shatters Liam’s nose.
Blood sprays, thick and wet. The crowd roars louder.
My stomach twists, my nails bite into my palms. I can’t look away.
Massimo pounces, fists flashing. Left, right, left, each blow snaps Liam’s head back.
Liam spits blood, grins through it, then explodes forward, tackling Massimo down.
He straddles him, raining fists into Massimo’s face.
The sound of knuckles cracking against skin echoes like gunshots.
The crowd start stamping their boots even harder, as they shout, chant, hungry for blood.
Sebastian leans close, his voice warm in my ear. “Don’t look so worried, Maria. This is nothing.” His arm drapes casually over my shoulders, but I can’t move.
Massimo doesn’t cover up. He takes the punishment, blood running down his cheek, lip split wide. His eyes stay cold. Calculating. Waiting.
Then he strikes.
He catches Liam’s wrist mid-swing, twists hard. The pop of bone snapping silences the chamber for a heartbeat. Liam’s scream fills it. Massimo slams an elbow into his temple, dropping him like a stone.
The crowd erupts again, some cheering, some cursing. A few laugh nervously.
Massimo hauls Liam up by the hair and smashes his face into the wall. Once. Twice. Three times. The wall streaks red. Liam’s body sags, but Massimo doesn’t let him fall. He drives his fist into Liam’s gut, deep enough to fold him like paper. The sound of retching mixes with the crowd’s noise.
“Finish him!” voices howl.
“Kill him!” someone screams.
Massimo drags Liam down, pins him to the floor, and rains punches into his face. Each one heavier than the last. The wet thud of flesh against bone fills the chamber. By the tenth blow, Liam’s face is ruined, swollen, bloodied, barely recognizable.
The crowd falls into stunned silence.
Massimo rises slowly, chest heaving, fists dripping red. He stands over Liam’s broken body, not victorious. Commanding. Untouchable.
And then he looks at me.
The chamber may be full, but in this moment, it’s only his eyes on mine. Cold, unyielding, daring me to understand.
He didn’t fight for sport. He didn’t fight for pride.
He fought for dominance. For power. For me.
And he won.
Massimo walks over to me, wraps his hand around the back of my neck, and slams his lips into mine. Letting everyone down here know that I’m his and no one will take me from him.
The Messina estate, just how I imagined it to me.
Elegant, powerful, and intimidating. The dining room alone feels like another world, the long wooden table set with fine China, crystal glasses, and enough silverware to make my head spin.
Who needs this many things next to their plate when eating?
The chandelier above casts a golden glow, bouncing off the polished floors and the tall windows that let in the last bit of evening light.
I sit beside Massimo, close enough to feel the heat of his body. He kissed me, made my head spin and now he sits like nothing’s changed, while our future is decided two feet away.
Across from me, his mother watches with a poised, unreadable expression.
She’s regal, refined, and intimidating in a way that doesn’t require words.
His father, on the other hand, is more direct.
He speaks in a low, commanding voice, talking to my uncle about alliances, agreements, and timelines as if my wedding is a business deal.
And maybe it is.
One thing I have learned from the small time I’ve been here; Massimo is every bit what his father is.
Luca, Massimo’s younger brother, leans back in his chair, swirling his drink in his glass with an amused grin, while Camilla, his sister, eats in silence, her sharp eyes flickering toward me every so often.
I get the feeling she’s analyzing me, trying to determine if I’m good enough for their family, her brother.
Then there’s Sebastian, Massimo’s best friend, relaxed, he lounges in his chair like he belongs here, throwing in the occasional remark to keep the conversation from getting too heavy. I can see why they are friends; they respect each other.
I force myself to take a bite of the pasta, my stomach twisting as my uncle clears his throat beside me.
“How soon are you expecting this marriage to happen?” He finally asks. His voice is steady, but I know him well enough to sense the weight behind his words. My uncle, I know, is still worried about this, and I can’t lie. I am too.
Massimo’s father sets down his wine glass. “Two weeks.”
I freeze for just a second. Two weeks?
I knew the wedding would be soon, but hearing it aloud makes my breath catch. I reach for my glass, taking a slow sip of water to steady myself.
My uncle’s jaw tightens, but he nods. “I see.”
I glance at him, and then at Massimo, who hasn’t flinched at all. He looks completely at ease, like this was expected to happen. Like this was always the plan.
I swallow hard, pressing my hands against my lap. Two weeks. That’s all the time I have left with my uncle, with college, with anything that feels like a life of my own. And after that, a war will start.
“Maria?” The sound of my name startles me, and I gaze up to find Massimo’s father regarding me, waiting. “Is two weeks okay with you?”
I hesitate before answering him, and I feel Massimo’s gaze on me, then I whisper the word, “Yes.”
He studies me for a long moment before exchanging a glance with my uncle. “Then it is settled.”
And just like that. Two weeks from now, I will be Maria Messina.
Sebastian grins, raising his glass. “Well then, a toast to the future Mr. and Mrs. Messina.”
Glasses clink. Camilla smiles. Luca chuckles. My uncle exhales. And Massimo… Massimo just watches me, as if he can still see the worry all over me. The panic of what's about to become for us.
And for the first time tonight, I let myself look back at Massimo.
He’s dangerous, possessive, and relentless, but I am his now.