Black Hearts Red

by Leigh, Anne

  It was really delicious, but I had no clue how to make it.

  “I can ask Auntie Brynn if she knows how. If not, I’ll order it from somewhere.” I sat up straighter so I could reach Greyson’s left ear.

  “You’re on.” He smirked and there was a devious twinkle in his eyes.

  My dear friend was a decent poker player.

  As a matter of fact, he was the only one who could give Matteo a run for his money (if we were playing for real) on this table.

  Matteo discarded two cards and drew one.

  In the past, I could look at him and know if he was holding good cards.

  That was how well I knew him.

  We’d been playing poker since we were ten.

  It was a game he’d mastered.

  Actually, Matteo was a shark in all card games. He’d shared with me that he learned how to play from his grandfather who was a legend in poker. It was the game that the Troudeau Enterprises was built on.

  When Greyson told me that Matteo wanted him to beat him in poker, I knew what he was telling Greyson. That there was no chance in hell that he was helping him.

  That made me really angry.

  I didn’t have the heart to tell Greyson, who was technically doing me a favor, that Matteo was setting him up to fail.

  I flexed my neck, meeting Matteo’s stare head on.

  He wasn’t looking down at his cards. He wasn’t even paying attention to his date, the woman whose French-manicured nails were hanging onto his left arm.

  He already knew that he was going to win.

  It didn’t matter if he was dealt with a pair or a three of a kind, Matteo could do these calculations in his head and he’d bluff and play until he was holding a straight flush or a five card, if we were playing with a wild card.

  Greyson’s cards were good.

  He had a flush.

  A straight flush.

  Greyson murmured something in my ear, but his voice was dulled by the intensity in Matteo’s eyes across from me. I saw his left hand gripping his cards as if he wanted to disintegrate them to pieces, and judging by the amount of jaw ticking he was doing, it would be a wonder if he could eat tomorrow.

  Why was he acting that way?

  I nodded at Greyson’s words, not really knowing what he said and when Greyson’s lips touched my hand again, hearing something like “for good luck” I had the strongest and strangest feeling that Matteo was jealous.

  No, that couldn’t be.

  Why would he be jealous?

  “Raise,” Matteo said, his words cutting like spikes through the mostly silent table. We didn’t have a crowd like our parents. Everyone was interested in the older generation. Us youngsters were left alone.

  Nic said, “What? You’re raising for what? We’re not even betting, brother.”

  “Greyson.” Matteo’s eyes flickered to my friend. “What you’re asking of me, I’ll do it. Whatever it is. If you win.”

  Greyson chuckled, “Really? You sure you can beat my cards? I have a ---”

  I covered Greyson’s mouth with my right hand. What was he doing revealing his hand to a master player? To which Greyson reacted by nibbling on the open surface of my palm.

  Nic’s brows furrowed, “What the hell? Grey. Ali.” My brother didn’t judge. He knew Greyson and I were friends. Sometimes he joked that we were pretending to be friends when we were really together.

  That was disgusting.

  Greyson was cute and all, but he was the biggest dork I’d ever known.

  Right now, my brother was reacting to the fact that Greyson was kissing my palm as if he was my lover.

  “Hey, Ali’s hand smells good and I know she washes for more than fifteen seconds, so you can’t blame me for munching on them,” Greyson retorted as he lowered my hand to his chest, making me laugh. He was such a clown.

  He tried to raise my hand to his mouth again, but I put force against it, knowing that if he kept pushing, my brother might not be so magnanimous.

  Nic might not be overprotective, but he was also not lax.

  I didn’t have a boyfriend because I had no time for a relationship, plus I knew that he’d have to be grilled by my Dad and my brother.

  “If I win…” Matteo’s tense statement hung in the air, his eyes were on me, not on Greyson who he was making the bet with, “You’ll owe me a favor.”

  Was he talking to me? Or Greyson?

  Greyson said off-handedly. “Call. Sure. Whatever.”

  The other player, Matteo’s friend, Harry, a funny guy who’d been joking the whole time with Greyson, bowed out and left the table to get a drink.

  The dealer dealt the cards.

  We weren’t playing for real money, but there was still a dealer assigned at each table.

  I heard a bunch of checks from Matteo and when the party planner’s voice could be heard on the overhead speakers with a ‘ten-minute warning,’ Greyson looked at his cards and slowly set them face up on the green baize.

  Smiling smugly, my friend said, “Here ya go. Nine, eight, seven, six, five. Annnnd what’s that? All hearts baby.”

  He raised both of his hands, and I shook my head at how ridiculous he was, all gloaty and giddy and just happy.

  It would be hard to beat his cards.

  Greyson reached for my head and as he was about to give me a kiss on my cheek – my friend is very affectionate, he’s also like this with Sofia, his phone chimed with an incoming text.

  We watched as Matteo’s large hands lowered his own cards on the table and slowly turned them over.

  An ace, a King, a queen, a Jack, and a number ten.

  All of them were diamonds.

  A Royal Flush.

  He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

  But his stare burned through me, leaving me to feel as if I’d singe in a hundred-degree inferno.

  He never played to lose.

  Greyson never had a chance.

  I knew that.

  Which was why I had to resort to what I was about to do.

  And I just hoped that everyone understood.

  I could only hope…

  Matteo

  I’d stood in the middle of the cage many times.

  Sometimes to train.

  Sometimes to fight.

  But during all those times, never for money or bets.

  My mom was a sweet lady, but she’d never forgive me if I fought for money.

  When we were younger, Dad told me and Reece the story of how he became a fighter, how he had to fight for money to save his ideals, and how my grandfather orchestrated the whole thing, to make Mom follow his demands.

  I loved fighting.

  But I loved my mom more.

  So I respected her wishes.

  Most of the time.

  I trained in martial arts at the same time I learned how to swim.

  I loved evading my opponents, watching how they moved, threw a punch or a kick and beating them to it.

  Tonight, as the sides of the soundproof glass closed in on me, I took a deep breath. Exhibitions were only for show. No one really got hurt. But it was still one of these times when I could show my mom that she could be proud of me. My dad too.

  I already knew how proud they were that I was their son.

  I aimed to always make them see me as an asset not a liability.

  I’ve been participating in exhibition fights since I was eight.

  There were a few times where I got knocked down, but I welcomed all of them.

  They made me become a better, skilled fighter.

  I might not fight for money, but I still fought for something.

  And tonight, there was an air of menace that I wanted to unleash. It’d been bugging me since I’d seen the captivating beauty whose smiles have evaded me the whole night.

  She used to look at me with sparkly, shining eyes. Her laughs used to be handed out easily, just an afterthought.

  Now she couldn’t even stand to be in the same room with me.
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br />   Litton St. Germain’s voice interrupted my dragging thoughts.

  Litton had been the official voice-over of Supreme World Fighting Club for as long as I could remember.

  He was there to announce the fighters in the beginning and he was present in the end to raise the victor’s hands.

  “Ladiesssss and gentlemen, are you ready?” Litton’s voice was loud above my head. “Tonight for our featured fight, we have the birthday celebrant’s one and only son, Matteo Tanner. I know his momma is not extremely pleased that he’s standing in the middle of the ring, but hey, he’s old enough to choose what present to give her.”

  I could imagine my mom laughing at Litton’s comments. I couldn’t hear them because the cage was devoid of any outside noise, but I had no doubt Litton was trying to calm Mom’s nerves. It didn’t matter if I’d been fighting more than half of my life, my mom would still see me as the boy who needed band-aids when I had a scratch.

  I took a bow from my corner, facing the glass, mouthing ‘Happy Birthday, Mom’ towards the camera and waving.

  The lights then went out for a second.

  When it turned back on, the spotlight was on a small form that was wrapped in a black ninja outfit.

  The man I was supposed to fight was at least six feet tall and had muscles that could put me in a headlock in a matter of seconds.

  The person on the other side of the cage was smaller, his height barely reached my chin, and the fact that he was wearing a disguise made me wonder who he was.

  Was he a new fighter that Dad hired?

  Litton’s voice over could be heard above us and he introduced the fighter as Black Fata.

  I was confused at what was going on.

  I didn’t know that Niro wouldn’t be available tonight.

  I could care less that he wasn’t the one I was fighting; I just wanted a heads up that he wasn’t going to be in the ring.

  Last minute changes didn’t suit me.

  I hated surprises. They made me antsy and made my mind race.

  One thing about fighting that I’d learned throughout the years though was that it didn’t matter who you were faced with, you just had to outwit them.

  I didn’t know who the Black Fata was.

  And I didn’t have to know him.

  All I had to do was win.

  The electronic sound of the bell signaling the beginning of the fight bounced off the inside of the cage.

  Black Fata walked to the middle of the ring, where the emblem of Supreme World Fighting was laid.

  He put his hands which were wrapped in black hand wrap together and his head bowed to me.

  An act of respect to another fighter.

  I returned the favor and immediately after, he took a swipe at my leg.

  I kept my balance and raised my right hand for a jab. My opponent was definitely skilled because before my jab could even reach him, his head went down two notches as I missed and he slipped by my jab effectively.

  I was a Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu practitioner. Although I was also skilled in Taekwondo and boxing, my moves could be credited to the combat arts of grappling and ground fighting.

  I felt a solid kick on my right leg, my opponent effectively using his shin bone to knock me off balance.

  It would have been good to study his fighting techniques before tonight, but I didn’t have the luxury of time. I didn’t even know it was him I was fighting and not Niro until now. Dad must not have known that Niro was not available this morning when we talked. Dad wouldn’t spring a last minute surprise fighter on me.

  Black Fata moved flawlessly, effortlessly. He reminded me of Bruce Lee’s style of fighting. I appreciated the kicks he delivered, and the right hook that he just successfully landed on my left jaw stung a bit.

  There was no doubt that he’d had the training and the fighting techniques down pat. It was just too bad that I didn’t get introduced properly to him.

  I looked up at the time reflected on the glass.

  Three minutes and twenty seconds left.

  Exhibition matches lasted longer than ten minutes, but this wasn’t a regular match, or an exhibition fight. At all.

  It was just me trying to give Mom a birthday gift.

  Black Fata’s left leg led as he prepared for another kick.

  This time, I checked him with my right leg.

  A hiss escaped his mouth and I couldn’t help but gloat.

  There was nothing better than hearing the sound of pain coming out of another fighter.

  It meant that I was doing my job, that I was battling him equally if not better.

  I watched as Black Fata’s stance leaned on his right leg and as he lifted his left leg to throw another kick, I lowered myself to the floor, thereby knocking him off balance, helping me setup for a leg lock submission.

  I didn’t go for the heel hook since I’d lose dominance and with Black Fata’s skills, I had no doubt that I would find myself in a similar predicament.

  I looped my left arm around his right ankle and placed my left fist in my right palm. I made sure to drive the bony part of my wrist into the bottom of his Achilles tendon, keeping my hands high on my body so that he wouldn’t have too much slack to get out of.

  I watched as my opponent’s head lowered to the floor, followed by his back.

  He wasn’t unconscious or anything, but he was submitting. This wasn’t a real match after all. Even if it felt like one.

  Green lights flickered above us, signaling the end of the match.

  And as I slowly removed my arms from my opponent’s leg, I watched as he lowered the cloth that covered his nose and mouth.

  Time slowed to a crawl.

  And when those lips as red as the strawberry lip balm she loved to put on herself and many times, she had passed it to me so I could try it on too, made an appearance, I felt my heart thudding in an unfamiliar rhythm.

  I could have hurt her.

  I could have seriously injured her.

  She kept her head down, probably hoping that her parents would not be privy to what she’d just done.

  “Matty.” Her voice was supplicating, asking for understanding.

  If I’d known it was her.

  No, I should have known it was her.

  But I ignored the scent of hydrangeas and berries that had invaded my nostrils when I had her pinned down.

  I ignored the tell-tale signs of her body favoring her left side because she’d injured her right leg at a roller-skating gig.

  Anger infused my veins, fury at her for putting herself in this position. Rage at myself for not seeing that it was her.

  “Don’t speak right now, Ali,” I said as I lowered my lips to her left ear. To the audience watching us outside of the cage, it would appear we were talking. “I could have hurt you.”

  “I’m fine…” Her voice was low. I might not have been in her life for years, but I still knew when she was trying to win an argument. Alissa didn’t accept a loss. From anything. Especially from me.

  “I’ll deal with you.” I muttered, “Now cover your mouth unless you want your mom and dad sending you to Siberia for the next five years.”

  Uncle Zander and Aunt Sedona were cool parents. However, they would definitely be shipping off their baby daughter to somewhere where the population was under 100 if they learned that she was the one being kicked around in that cage. That she voluntarily put herself in a position to be physically hurt.

  I would not be disagreeing with them.

  “I only wanted to –“ She was still talking, and I sent a murderous glare her way.

  “Not now,” I said, handing her my right arm that she begrudgingly took. Her fighting skills were impressive. She’d no doubt been practicing them for years.

  I ignored the melancholy of missing that part of her life. Maybe if I was in it, I’d have recognized her kicks from a mile away, even if she was disguised from head to toe.

  We took a bow towards each other, effectively signing off on the fight.

&nbs
p; And as I gazed down at her face, now masked with the black cloth except for her eyes, I felt the stirring inside of me. Her violet eyes pierced through me, this time she was staring at me with nothing but raw challenge.

  Gone was the apologetic Ali.

  Gone was the façade of passivity.

  Facing me was the girl who’d rock climbed with me during summer vacations and who’d beat me in downhill skiing during our winter friends’ and family getaways.

  She wasn’t a girl anymore.

  She was a woman who almost kicked my ass if I didn’t carry all of my senses close to my person.

  She was the woman who’d avoided me the whole night yet she was standing in this cage with me, making me wonder what the hell happened to Niro, and how in the world she’d managed to accomplish this deception.

  I didn’t doubt that she could do this.

  The deception part was no doubt concocted with her harebrained friend, Greyson, who I was going to knock his teeth out for allowing Ali to be in danger.

  But then again, I couldn’t solely put the blame on Greyson because I was talking about Ali here.

  Whenever she set her mind on something, Ali was a hurricane to be reckoned with.

  She was the woman who never backed down from anything.

  She was the woman who could look hot in a black dress and even hotter in a full Ninja suit.

  She was the only woman who could make me bend…but not tonight.

  Especially not after the stunt she’d just pulled.

  There was nothing that she could say that could make me see that she was right to put herself in harm’s way.

  Nothing at all.

  Alissa

  The bathroom he’d stuck me in must be away from the gym bathroom that the fighters used.

  For as long as I could remember, the fighters had a big bathroom that they all shared.

  This one was by its lonesome and it had different types of body washes customized for the hotel.

  I let the water wash the sweat off of my body. Fighting always made me break a sweat. Fighting a formidable opponent such as Matteo made my whole metabolism go into overdrive.

  His skills had improved. A hundred times better.

  He and I used to spar, and I’d won half the battles that we engaged in.

  Now, even with my excellent sparring skills, I could tell he was on another level.