Chapter 1
Chapter One
FOUR YEARS AGO
There’s an adrenaline that rushes through me before every fight. I fucking love it. I’ve been doing this for a year, underground fighting. It’s a way to burn energy and get out built-up frustration. I’m also really fucking good at it and win a lot of cash. Not that I need it.
Being the son of Emmanuel Lopez, current leader of the De La Sangre Cartel, has many perks. One of them being access to an unlimited bank account. I have three older brothers and a younger sister.
My family isn’t your typical crime family, though. There’s no in-house fighting or scheming to take that top spot away from my father. We all respect the man. He and my mom are fucking great parents, and when it comes time for my dad to retire, Elias will take his place.
I’ll work for the family business once I finish school. There is no other path for me. I was born into this. I’ll die in this too. I’m okay with that. Dying for my family wouldn’t be a hard sacrifice for me to make. I’d take a bullet for any of my siblings and my parents.
And her. Frankie fucking Giuliani. The girl whose big brown eyes are staring right back at me through the wire cage.
What the fuck is she doing here?
I walk over to her. “Go home, Frankie. You shouldn’t be here.”
As if on cue, she narrows her glare at me. “Screw you, Emilio. You can’t tell me what to do. Besides, I have money on the fight. I’m waiting to see if I win.” She smiles, and I swear I feel it in my heart.
“Oh yeah? You rooting for me?” I ask her.
“Nope, I bet on the other guy. I hope he knocks your cocky ass out.” She smirks and steps back.
I can’t help but laugh. Of course she fucking bet against me. I pull and she pushes. That’s how it always is with us. I know she feels it. I also know she doesn’t want to acknowledge whatever fucked-up connection it is we have. Over the last year, I’ve chosen to ignore it too.
It would be messy if I touched her. If I claimed her the way I want to, I’d end up destroying everything that’s good in her. I would corrupt her. Mind, body and soul. I’m not ready to do that.
I nod at my brother. Ezekiel’s two years older than me and probably the one I hang out with the most, other than my sister. But this isn’t the kind of place I’d ever bring Eliana. Ezekiel makes his way around the cage and stands next to a very smug-looking Frankie.
Joke’s on her, because I’m not losing this fight. I really hope she’s ready to fork over some cash. I smile at her before putting my mouth guard in and nodding at the referee. My fists bump with my opponent’s.
The second the bell rings out, I’m in the zone. Everything else fades away. That is until I turn, following the asshole who is trying to land a jab at my head, and I see her. I lose focus, and I feel the gloved fist connect with my skull, knocking me sideways.
Shaking through the pain, I refocus. That’s his one fucking shot.
I step to the side as I hit him with a right hook.
Seconds later, the asshole is on the ground, eyes rolling back in his head.
I stand above him and wait for the ref to call it.
As soon as he does, I turn and smile at Frankie, whose face looks like she’s seen a ghost. Ashen white.
I step out of the cage and walk around to find her. Ezekiel takes off my gloves and then starts working on the tape. “What happened?” I ask Frankie, who still hasn’t said a word.
“I wanted you to lose. That’s what happened,” she says.
“Sorry to disappoint.” I shrug.
“You don’t understand. I wanted to see you get some sense knocked into you, Emilio. Damn it,” she curses, spins around, and walks off.
Ezekiel laughs. “She really bet against you?”
“Apparently. I need to make sure she gets out of this place,” I tell him.
“Maybe get changed first. I’ll go find her,” he replies.
There’s a small makeshift changing room. I grab my shirt and throw it over my head before stepping into my shoes and picking up my bag. By the time I find Ezekiel and Frankie, they’re talking to three burly guys.
“What’s going on?” I ask them.
“Emilio, you know her?” One of the guys nods to Frankie.
“Yes.”
“You can vouch for her? She good for the money she owes?” he presses.
“How much does she owe?” I glance over at Frankie, who is doing her best not to look at me.
“Five hundred.”
“Dollars?” My brows scrunch down in the middle.
“Five hundred thousand dollars,” he says slowly.
My eyes widen. I turn back to Frankie and shake my head. “Really? You bet five hundred K against me?”
She lifts a shoulder. “I thought you’d lose.”
“Pfft, wishful thinking is more like it,” Ezekiel mutters.
“Look, I don’t care how I get it, but I want my money,” Joe says. He’s the organizer of these events and an ass. But he’s right. She bet it. She owes it.
I pull out my wallet and hand over a black card. “Here, I’ll fix up her debt,” I tell Joe.
“You sure?” he asks.
“I didn’t fucking stutter, did I? Take your money. I want to go home already,” I grunt at him.
Shaking his head, Joe hands the card to his burly friend and the guy taps the digits into his phone. “It worked,” the idiot says.
“Of course it fucking worked,” I grunt, snatching my card back.
Now I have to explain to my father why I just spent five-hundred grand. One, without lying to him. And two, without ratting out Frankie.
I take hold of her hand. “Let’s go,” I tell her.
“I don’t need you to bail me out, Emilio.”
“Yeah? You got that kind of money?” I ask her.
I know she has access to it and could likely pull it together, but I also know she doesn’t have a card with that kind of limit. Her mother likes to try to keep her kids grounded or some shit, restricts their funds. Clearly that lesson was lost on this one.
“I’ll pay you back,” Frankie grumbles.
“You’re right. You are paying me back. Right now. I’m going to go and tell your dad how and why you owe me five-hundred grand.”
“Yeah, we’re not doing that.” She snatches her hand out of mine and ducks around me, disappearing into the fucking crowd.
It doesn’t take long for me to find her. Thanks to the handy little GPS tracker her father has on her phone. I might have paid someone to hack into the app for me a few years ago.
“Frankie, what the hell?” I storm into my cousin Jazzy’s living room. We’re all cousins, but not by blood. We grew up together. Our fathers have been lifelong friends and business partners.
“What’s going on here?” Jazzy asks, pointing between me and Frankie.
“He’s an asshole,” Frankie says.
“I’m an asshole?” I laugh while aiming a finger at my chest and telling her she’s lost her damn mind in Spanish.
“English,” Jazzy snaps out. “Sit.” She points at me. “Both of you, before I call your fathers.” That gets Frankie and me to sit in the chairs opposite her at her dining table. “Why is he an asshole?”
“He thinks he can tell me what to do. Newsflash, he can’t,” Frankie snarls at me.
“Sure. Now tell her what you were doing.” I smirk, knowing full well she won’t want to. Some guy walks out as if he owns the place. Must be the asshole Jazzy is dating. “This him?” I ask.
“Yes. Be nice or I really will call Tío E,” Jazzy threatens.
“You could do better, Jazzy. But you already know that. You really shouldn’t settle for someone… less-than.” I side-eye the fucker in front of me.
“Emilio,” Jazzy groans.
“You’re right. I’ve been telling her the same thing. I’m Jake.” He holds out a hand.
“Emilio,” I reply reluctantly as I return the gesture.
“I know who you are,” Jake says, sitting back down and picking up a fork.
“Is that Aunt Antonia’s lasagna?” Frankie asks.
“It is.” Jazzy nods.
“Is there any left?” Frankie looks towards the kitchen.
“No. Now tell me what you were doing?” Jazzy glances from me to Frankie again.
“I can’t. You’ll tell my parents, and then I’ll get grounded for life. Probably the next life too.”
“If it’s that bad, then maybe you shouldn’t be doing it in the first place,” I add.
“Shut up,” Frankie hisses at me. “You were there too.”
“That’s different.” I shrug.
“What were you both doing?” Jazzy asks.
“I was betting. On a fight,” Frankie explains.
“A fight? What kind of fight? And how were you betting?” Jazzy raises her brows at Frankie.
“An underground fight. She wasn’t supposed to be there,” I clarify.
“Why were you there?” my cousin asks me.
I smile wide at her. “I was the star of the show.”
“You were fighting? In an underground what? Fight club?” Jazzy looks surprised. I’m not sure why she would be. Everyone knows I’m a fighter.
“Yes. And I won.”
Jazzy rolls her eyes and then she turns her attention back to Frankie. “Why were you there?”
“I was hoping to watch this asshole get his ass whooped. And I wanted to make money while it happened.” Frankie grins.
“Except you lost. A lot of fucking money,” I remind her.
“How much?” Jazzy asks.
“Five-hundred grand,” Frankie says. “I really had high hopes he’d lose.”
“How did you even pay that?”
“She couldn’t. I paid it for her,” I grunt.
“And how did you pay it?”
“Papa has a joint account for us to access. He won’t care.” I shrug.
“Right. So, how did you both end up here?”
Frankie aims an accusatory finger at me. “He’s threatening to tell my dad.”
“You owe me five-hundred grand. You can’t pay it, but I’m sure your daddy can bail you out,” I tell her.
“He isn’t going to rat on you, Frankie. And you…” Jazzy points to me. “…should not be fighting. What would your mother think?”
That makes me grimace. My mother would have a coronary if she knew half the shit I did. “She doesn’t need to know.”
“That’s what I thought. So if you rat her out, guess what she’s doing?”
“Telling my mother,” I groan.
“Exactly. You are both in the wrong. You really shouldn’t be fighting, and you certainly shouldn’t be spending money you don’t have. Especially betting.” Jazzy is always the voice of reason. She’s the oldest of all us cousins.
“Good chat, Jazzy. Love to stick around, but my dad’s been blowing up my phone for the past thirty minutes. If I don’t show my face soon, he’s going to send a search party.” I stand and walk out. I had no intention of asking Frankie’s old man for the money back. I just wanted to make her squirm.