18. Viral
VIRAL
LUCA
My phone started vibrating before I made it through the conference-room door.
Not ringing. Vibrating. Constantly.
By the time I dropped into the chair at the head of the table, the screen had stacked thirty-seven notifications beneath a frozen image of me driving Jax backward after he cornered Riley and blocked her path.
My face looked carved from violence. The angle caught Jax off-balance, making a controlled restraint look like the opening frame of a takedown.
Across the bottom, a red banner screamed: SANTORO SNAPS.
"Turn it over," Donny said.
I did, but the buzzing kept crawling through the polished wood.
Donny eyed it. "Great. Even facedown, you're exhausting."
Dawn leaked gray through the glass walls.
Nobody in the room looked like they had slept.
Celia from PR had one laptop open, a tablet propped beside it, and two phones charging near her elbow.
Three members of her team whispered over engagement charts while the resort's legal counsel scrolled like every new post contained its own cause of death.
"How bad?" I asked.
Celia looked at Donny first. That told me enough.
"Ten million views across platforms," she said. "#SantoroFury is trending in nineteen countries. The original clip has been reposted by every major sports account, and someone added footage from your Diaz fight."
My stomach tightened.
"Take it down."
"We don't own it."
"Then bury it."
Celia stared at me. "It's the internet, Luca, not a body." Exhaustion sharpened her otherwise controlled voice. "This is moving faster than we can issue statements."
One of the wall screens flashed to a muted news panel. My younger self appeared beside last night's footage—blood on my face in one frame, my body driving into Jax's space in the other. Eight years collapsed into a split screen, daring anyone—including me—to find the difference.
Violent relapse?
The caption vanished, replaced by Heroic Restraint?
The question marks pissed me off more than accusations would have.
"I didn't hit him."
"I know," Celia said.
"Riley knows. Security knows. Half the roof saw it."
"And the other half saw the angle that gets clicks."
Donny shoved a coffee toward me. "Drink before you threaten the internet."
I ignored it. "Where's Jax?"
"Already posted," Celia said. "Called it a misunderstanding. Then tagged three fight promoters."
Of course he had.
My phone rattled again. This time it skidded half an inch across the table.
Celia rotated her laptop toward me. A live graph climbed almost vertically beside resort search traffic.
"Bookings are up thirty-one percent since midnight."
Silence settled.
I stared at the number, then at the still image of Riley behind me, her arms locked around herself and fear still stark on her face. They saw entertainment. I saw what being close to me had already cost her.
"Thirty-one percent," Victor repeated, like the number belonged to him.
He leaned back in his chair, suit immaculate despite the hour, and tapped one finger against the table. Two investors stared at the screen with the bright-eyed hunger of men who had never been the ones bleeding in the footage they profited from.
"This is momentum," Victor said. "You don't fight momentum. You direct it."
Donny glanced at me. "Hear that? Your public breakdown has a growth strategy."
I picked up the coffee he'd pushed toward me, mostly so I wouldn't put my fist through Victor's smile.
On the muted television, a retired heavyweight jabbed at the air while the chyron beneath him read: SANTORO STILL DANGEROUS?
Another panelist shook her head and pointed toward the clip. The feed switched to closed captions.
He had complete control. That was protection, not relapse.
Then a former trainer appeared in a box beside her.
Men like Luca Santoro don't change. They pause.
The coffee turned bitter in my mouth.
Victor spread both hands. "We have every demographic talking about you. Sports networks. Lifestyle press. Entertainment outlets. Women's safety advocates. This kind of reach would cost millions to manufacture."
"Good thing Jax did it for free," Donny said.
Victor ignored him. "You issue a controlled statement. Announce a charity partnership. Maybe a self-defense initiative. Then we capitalize while the window is open."
"Capitalize how?"
"Appearances. Sponsorships. A documentary conversation. Possibly an exhibition."
Donny's chair creaked as he shifted. "He's retired."
"Retired athletes come back for exhibitions every month."
"I'm sitting right here," I said.
Victor finally looked at me. "Then say yes before the public finds someone else to obsess over."
Celia closed her laptop halfway. "Pushing Luca into an announcement before we know what else is coming would be reckless."
One investor cleared his throat. "The resort is exposed either way. At least this gives us leverage."
There it was. Not concern. Not whether Riley was okay. Not whether Ava might see her father's worst night dissected between commercials.
Leverage.
I set the cup down carefully. "No interviews. No fight talk. No turning Riley into a campaign."
Victor's jaw tightened. "This isn't only about you anymore."
I leaned forward. "It became about me the second you started pricing what happened to her."
Nobody spoke.
My phone buzzed again against the table. This time, Celia glanced at the screen and went pale.
"The paparazzi are at the front gates."
Donny was already on his feet. "How many?"
"More arriving by the minute." She opened the laptop again. "Security says they're blocking the entire rear service entrance too."
When I reached the courtyard, the noise had already breached the walls. Shouts carried over the hedges. Camera shutters snapped in rapid bursts from beyond the iron gates, sharp and mechanical, like a room full of insects chewing through metal.
Ava stood beside the fountain with Riley, one hand wrapped around the strap of her little backpack. Another flash went off through the bars. Ava jerked so hard the backpack slipped from her shoulder.
"Daddy?"
I crossed the courtyard fast, finding that Riley had already crouched in front of Ava and blocked her view of the gates with her body. "Eyes on me, sweet girl. Not the lights. Just me."
Ava pressed both hands over her ears. The shouting swelled.
"Luca! Are you fighting again?"
"Luca, look this way!"
"Luca, did your family see the video?"
"Are they afraid you'll snap again?"
Something inside me went cold. I took one step toward the gate.
Riley looked up. "Don't."
The word stopped me more effectively than a hand to my chest.
Ava's breathing had gone shallow and quick. Her gaze darted past Riley toward every burst of light. Riley unzipped the front pocket of the backpack and pulled out the soft headphones Ava carried for crowded places.
"Here we go," she murmured. "Blue side first."
Ava shook her head, curls brushing her cheeks.
"That's okay. You hold them."
She placed the headphones in Ava's hands instead of forcing them over her ears. Then she lowered her voice until I could barely hear it beneath the chaos.
"Can you find five green things?"
Ava's mouth trembled.
Riley pointed toward the planter. "I see one."
Ava stared at the leaves. Another flash popped. Her shoulders climbed.
I positioned myself between them and the gates, broad enough to block most of the line of sight. Useless against the sound, but it was something.
"Two," Ava whispered.
Riley smiled like there weren't thirty strangers trying to turn her fear into footage. "Good. Keep going."
I watched my daughter count leaves while men yelled my name like they owned a piece of it. This was what fame looked like from her height. Not money. Not applause. Not headlines.
A wall of strangers demanding she be afraid in public.
Ava found the fifth green thing and lifted the headphones to her ears. Riley helped settle them into place, then held out her hand.
"Inside?"
Ava nodded.
She reached for Riley first.
I followed them toward the doors, carrying the backpack she had dropped and the sick certainty that every choice I had made was now standing at the gate, shouting for my child.
The heavy bag swung back at me, and I hit it harder.
Leather cracked beneath my gloves. The chain groaned overhead. Sweat ran into my eyes, but I kept moving, throwing combinations until my shoulders burned and the room narrowed to breath, impact, recoil.
Left. Right. Hook. Again.
The bag absorbed everything the gate hadn't: the shouting, the flashes, Ava reaching for Riley instead of me. I drove another punch into the center seam.
"You planning to break your hands before lunch?"
Riley's voice came from behind me.
I didn't turn. "Thought you were with Ava."
"She's in the suite with Donny and her tablet. Headphones on. Door locked."
That should have eased something. It didn't.
I hit the bag again.
Riley stepped closer. "Luca."
"I heard you."
"Then stop."
I caught the bag against my chest as it swung back. My lungs dragged at the air. "You saw what happened out there."
"Yes."
"She was terrified."
"Yes."
"And it was because of me."
"No." Riley's answer came sharp enough to cut through the noise in my head. "It was because strangers were screaming through a gate."
"They were screaming my name."
"And you think disappearing into a gym makes that better?"
I pulled off one glove with my teeth and threw it onto the bench. "I'm trying not to make anything worse."
Her laugh held no humor. "By beating yourself bloody where she can't see you?"
"She shouldn't have to see me like this."
"Like what? Angry? Scared? Human?"
I finally faced her. She stood near the edge of the mat, arms folded tight, leaving more space than usual between herself and the door. The sight of it sent a fresh surge through me.
My gaze caught on her posture. She noticed.
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Turn one ugly moment with Jax into proof that everyone near you gets hurt."
I looked away. "You both got dragged into this because of me."