by Grace Risata
Angelo was asking if I already knew everyone in his group. I spotted his idiot son, Carmine, hired goons Dante and Gypsy, and one very welcome familiar face.
“I’ve certainly met him,” I acknowledged, pointing to the attractive man on Angelo’s left, “but we’ve never been formally introduced.”
In response, Franco Barsotti stood tall and firmly took my hand in his.
“Ms. Donahue, the pleasure is all mine,” he admitted with a wink, flirting shamelessly. “It’s too bad we got off on the wrong foot. When I stormed into your gym to avenge my brother, I had no idea I might run into someone as gorgeous as yourself. Tonight is no exception. You are simply breathtaking.”
Thank goodness Samuel was hanging back and talking to Grizzly, otherwise I would have had to pry him off Franco right about now.
“Where is your brother this lovely evening?” I asked demurely, unable to pinpoint Antonio’s location. “Did he have to work tonight? Perhaps he found a more suitable job after I was forced to fire his lazy ass.”
Franco’s eyes narrowed, not expecting my brazen words and harsh tone.
“He appears to have taken a bathroom break,” the now agitated man explained. “Rumor has it that a certain type of loose woman has been known to pay him for sex in dark hallways. Perhaps he’s making money that way?”
Touche!
“Perhaps,” I replied harshly, giving him a complete once over from head to toe. “Although if cock size runs in the family, you have nothing but pity from me.”
Antonio growled in anger, Samuel stepped in to pull me out of harm’s way, and we finally took off in the direction of our seats.
“Was that absolutely necessary?” my bodyguard asked, knowing full well that it certainly was. I let him in on my little plan at the last minute, pleased to have his full support.
Instead of replying, I chose to focus on the very nervous woman occupying a seat in the second row of my VIP section. Once she saw me, Vera stood up and waved, glanced around quickly as though afraid she’d done the wrong thing, and finally sat back down with a look of terror.
“Hey, thanks for coming,” I said, leaning over the first row and giving her a quick hug. “I’ve somehow managed to keep your dress clean, but it was no easy feat.”
Her whole face lit up in recognition of the fact that my magnificent gown was getting the attention it so rightfully deserved.
“You look like a supermodel,” she happily confessed. “I hope my outfit is appropriate.”
My new friend did a tiny spin so I could examine her fashion choice. Vera wore a little black dress that was tasteful, yet sexy, black ballerina flats, and minimal make-up to show off her natural beauty.
“You’re perfect!” I admitted, quickly making introductions in an effort to include her in the group. I couldn’t help but notice the way her mouth hung open when she ogled my companions.
Pulling me closer in order to have a private chat, she quietly spoke in my ear.
“For fuck’s sake, girl. Where have you been hiding these hotties? Obviously the tall blonde dude standing next to you is off limits, but are the rest of them fair game?”
I turned ever so slightly to find out which man she was referring to. Of course it was Samuel.
“Why do you assume he’s off limits?”
“Every single person in this entire arena has had their eye on you since the moment you and that dress floated through the door. Eventually though, they looked away and returned to business as usual. All except for that guy. He looks at you like he wants to devour you whole. You know…in a good way. I’m guessing that dude is the main reason you needed such a hot-as-fuck dress. Although if he hasn’t made a play for you by now, the guy must be a fucking moron.”
“It’s complicated,” I admitted, using Samuel’s words as an explanation.
Soon Angela nervously joined us, taking a seat at the end of the row. That left me surrounded by Ian and Samuel, with Shorty sitting on the other side of Ian. It wasn’t more than ten seconds before the announcer stepped into the ring and got this party started.
“Welcome ladies and gentleman, Italian and Irish, spectators and competitors. We have a very powerful line-up of men ready to rip each other to pieces. Let me hear you make some noise!”
The crowd went wild and I could feel the adrenaline begin to pump through my veins. Taking a sideways glance at my bodyguard, I couldn’t help but notice his nerves. Samuel’s foot kept bouncing up and down while he scanned the room searching for danger.
“It’s okay,” I said reassuringly. “You have nothing to worry about.”
“Yes, I do. My whole future rides on the outcome of one single fight, Leandra. You have no idea.”
“Bennie told me about your bet. In the grand scheme of things, money isn’t everything, Samuel.”
“Yes it is, Lee,” he replied sadly. “It is when you’re me.”
Due to the uproarious behavior of the audience, we were unable to continue our conversation. The first fight was about to begin and I eagerly waited for Hawk to get his ass kicked by Franco.
“In this corner, we have Hawk ‘the destroyer’ Murphy. Formerly a fixture in the underground MMA scene, he’s now representing the fighting Irish!”
Much to my complete and unbridled joy, the arrogant asshole only received a smattering of applause. Of course, Angela stood up and screamed her head off, not noticing the crowd’s lukewarm reception of her boyfriend.
“Over here, we have Franco ‘the iron fist’ Barsotti.”
I honestly didn’t hear the rest of the biography of the Italian stallion, due to the eruption of hooting and hollering from nearly every person in the audience. It took all my willpower not to clap for the jackass.
You see…the enemy of my enemy is my friend. I hated Hawk far more than I loathed Franco. Had I been in his position and felt someone did a disservice to my brother, I would have done the same damn thing. Most actions in life have consequences. Antonio got fired, thereby sending Franco to threaten me and vow retaliation. I then used him to exact revenge on Hawk in punishment for stealing my money. If that’s not some fucked up circle of karma, I don’t know what is.
While Hawk was busy strutting around the ring like a proud peacock, Franco wisely sized up his competition and took the first opportunity to launch an initial blow.
Soon fists were flying, blood was flowing, and I watched in absolute satisfaction as Hawk hit the mat in the second round and didn’t get back up. It’s not like he was dead or anything, the man just took one brutal strike to the head and got his dumbass knocked out cold.
The only aspect of this situation that left me feeling a bit guilty was the inconsolable woman at the end of my row. Angela charged the ring and began screaming for a doctor. I gave the signal and a crew of my men carried Hawk’s unconscious body out of the arena. You would have thought that might be enough to calm the woman down, but of course it wasn’t. Before following her boyfriend, Angela stopped to look me in the eye and threaten revenge.
“This is all on you, bitch. You planned this whole fucking thing from the start. He never had a chance!”
Standing to my full height and getting right in her face, I snapped back.
“If your boyfriend would have expended half as much energy training as he did looking in the mirror and preening, then none of this would have happened. The jackass didn’t take this fight seriously and he only has himself to blame.”
Angela cleared her throat, spit in my face, and walked away. Fighting every instinct that screamed for vengeance, I simply wiped off her saliva and smiled devilishly at the crowd. Motioning for the announcer to hand over his microphone, I tapped it once and then spoke.
“It would appear that next month’s fight night might just feature some lady warriors!”
The crowd erupted with laughter, applause, and raucous cheers. Anyone in attendance belonging to the Irish group promptly stood up and raised their fists in solidarity to the queen. Me.
Do you know wh
y?
No, not because I’m fucking awesome, which I am. But because they were slowly realizing why I put Hawk in the ring instead of a more worthy opponent. I wanted Hawk taken out, but not by my hand. Had I put strong fighters in the ring and we won both matches against the Barsotti family, it would have given the impression that the Italians were weak. Naturally, that would not sit well and the truce might have been prematurely derailed. However, by pairing Hawk with Franco and knowing the stronger man would prevail, I’ve actually won by losing.
Never one to sit idly by and let fate decide things for me, I figured it would be wise to bait Franco a little bit to get him riled up before the fight. Hence the ‘tiny cock’ comment. I’ve learned from past experience that competitors who have something to prove, some personal grudge against their opponent, usually have an edge in battle.
Now that the appetizer was taken care of, I had one more pair of fighters to watch before the main event. That’s right…Grizzly and his foe were moved to the last bout instead of the second match. Evidently none of my people gave a shit to bet on two Italians, so the guy from Sicily and his challenger were bumped up. I guess it draws more of a buzz to save the best for last.
Leaning back in my seat, I closed my eyes for a second and relaxed, letting my mind wander. As was common these days, it went right to memories of the time I spent in Kansas.
“What’s on your mind?” Samuel asked, speaking quietly into my ear. “You look like you’re falling asleep.”
“I was thinking about our food fight at that BBQ place last week. I have a taste for ribs at the moment.”
“Oh. I kind of figured you might be a little uncertain about the last fight and that’s what was bothering you.”
He knew I had a tidy sum of cash on the line, but not the exact amount.
“Life isn’t about money or walking away victorious,” I explained ruefully. “It all comes down to who stands by your side when the chips are down.”
“I know that,” he replied, staring at me in confusion.
“Do you?” I countered mysteriously.
Another few minutes passed with no conversation and I couldn’t help but be reminded of a painful fact that had bothered me all day.
“Do you remember what happened exactly one week ago, Sam?”
The man hung his head and refused to meet my gaze.
“Of course I do, Lee. Something like that happens only once in a lifetime. Do you honestly believe I’d forget?”
My mind drifted back to our lovemaking under the stars and I swear I actually felt an ache of longing in my chest. That was a moment I’ll treasure for as long as I live…and I would give every cent I had just to go back and relive it.
I was torn from my reverie when the crowd erupted in boos and taunts. Apparently the Sicilian fighter actually ran from the ring after a particularly brutal attack by his rival. He didn’t get very far before several audience members grabbed him and hauled his cowardly ass out a side door. I have a feeling that’s not going to end well at all.
Realizing that there was only one remaining battle, the audience rose to their feet in anticipation of the grand finale. Techno music with a pulse pounding beat blared from hidden speakers while the spotlight flashed around the room as though seeking out the last two competitors.
For some odd reason, an ominous tune began to play as a figure clad from head to toe in a long black robe suddenly jogged his way down to the ring.
“In this corner…we have the undefeated Italian Champion…Valentino the Victorious…weighing in at two hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle!”
Valentino ripped off his hood to reveal a complete beast underneath. Holy fuck. The man was a vision of bulging biceps, ripped abs, and a body sculpted from a boulder. I’m talking hard lines, not an ounce of fat on the guy, and a look of sheer determination.
“His opponent…fighting for the Irish…a newcomer who refuses to give me any kind of statistics at all…Grizzly…the Grizzly!”
“Oh, shit,” I mumbled, fully aware that sounded lame as fuck.
Instead of making a grand entrance from any side door, Grizzly stood up from his seat next to Shorty and happily waved his arms to the crowd like a raving lunatic high on drugs.
But he wasn’t done quite yet.
Proceeding to the stage, he promptly ripped off his t-shirt and sweatpants, twirled them around like a male stripper, and threw them into the audience.
The crowd was so completely stunned that you could hear a pin drop.
Standing proudly in all his glory, was one peculiar man dressed in vintage Rocky Balboa white silk boxing shorts, goofy socks, and dorky shoes that went all the way up to his knees.
Had I not seen his bizarre attire before the match, I would have been as shocked as the audience.
But they didn’t stay quiet for long.
The Italian side broke out into uncontrolled laughter and jeers, while my unruly Irish brethren started to scream in protest.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me!”
“What the fuck is going on here? Is this some kind of joke? It’s not funny!”
“I bet money on this jerk-off!”
I looked at Samuel, keenly aware that I trusted this man when he assured me that Grizzly could take on any enemy with one hand tied behind his back. In response my bodyguard merely winked, nodded his head, and wiped his sweaty palm on the thigh of his designer pants.
“You got this, motherfucker!” he screamed at Grizzly.
Meanwhile, my brother was not as convinced.
“Lee…I have no words right now. I just want you to know that I bet ten grand on your mystery man to kick Valentino’s ass. On the off chance that I pass out, please carry my body home and put me in bed, will you? Or maybe this is just some really bad nightmare. Can you pinch me so I wake up?”
Eager to comply with his request, I jabbed him in the ribs.
“Thanks for that, but it didn’t work,” he complained.
“Quit your bitching and take a good, hard look at the guy,” I demanded. “He could totally win.”
Grizzly easily stood at least four inches taller than Valentino. With a full beard, skin covered in a motley assortment of tattoos, and unshaven chest sporting an obscene amount of dark hair, the man did not fit the mold of a prize fighter. They were usually waxed, tan, and eager to display the merchandise.
Take Valentino for example. He wore no shoes at all and had the customary tight shorts that were designed to stay in place, unlike Grizzly’s vintage loose-fitting ensemble.
“I did take a look at him, Lee,” Ian explained. “Why do you think I’m about ten seconds away from a heart attack? If you thought our crew was planning a mutiny before…well…now we’re really screwed!”
Always ready to have my back in any given situation, Samuel leaned past me and attempted to smooth things over.
“Come on, Ian. Man up! You’ve been through worse than this. It’s not like you’re six years old stuck on a Ferris wheel with your old man about to heave his guts all over you. I imagine the poor guy had a stomach full of cotton candy, popcorn, funnel cakes, and all those other greasy foods one might find at a carnival…”
My eyes grew wide as Ian’s hand shot up to his mouth, desperately fighting back the bile that must have risen in his throat.
“That was a low blow,” I chastised my bodyguard, mildly impressed that he remembered my story from last week.
“Will you two shut the fuck up and pay attention to what’s happening in the ring?” Shorty demanded, pointing to the stage where two men circled each other, both of them refusing to make the first move.
“Ryan Walters! Ninja Slam!” Samuel screamed, jumping up and taking a few steps forward in order to get closer to the ring and coach his prized athlete.
Grizzly must have understood whatever bizarre code words were being shouted, because he instantly sprang into action and attacked his opponent. Valentino tried to fight back, but Samuel kept barking out orders that made no
sense, spurring Grizzly to obey without question.
“Blue Devil! Leg Crunch! Mario Smackdown! Zelda’s Revenge! Chrystal Cunningham!”
That last one sounded like a woman’s name, and my suspicion was confirmed when Grizzly grabbed Valentino’s ass and then punched him square in the jaw when the poor guy lost his balance.
Eventually Grizzly wore down his opponent with an odd combination of wrestling, boxing, kickboxing, and karate moves. I think some old Wrestlemania tricks were thrown in for good measure.
Once it became apparent that Grizzly might actually have a chance, every one of my soldiers in the crowd jumped to their feet and began cheering him on.
“GRIZZ-LEE! Grizz-lee!” was chanted over and over again, the twisted hand of fate firmly choosing our side to win.
Samuel kept careful watch over his friend throughout the battle, and I couldn’t stop looking at my bodyguard in awe of his loyalty. It wasn’t long before Valentino staggered around in a daze, finding it difficult to stay on his feet. One final blow to the midsection, followed by a sweep of his legs, sent the man sprawling.
He didn’t get back up, thus ending the fight and netting me a cool hundred thousand dollars.
It also set an unprecedented series of events into motion.
Some of the Italians, including Barsotti’s son, began to loudly protest and scream that the fight was rigged. In response, the Irish audience members started to huddle up and prepare for battle.
As for me? I was more caught up with love, not war. You see, the second that Grizzly raised his fist in victory, Samuel began jumping up and down with pure, unbridled joy. My bodyguard wrapped me tightly in his arms, broke into the happiest smile I’d seen on his face all week, and kissed me with a passion so unrestrained that I had no choice but to return it tenfold.
My hands dug into his shoulder, urging him closer, while our tongues joined together in harmonious glory. For some reason, amidst all the chaos, our only focus was entirely on each other.
Fuck the rest of the world. I had everything I’d ever wanted right at my fingertips.
After what felt like hours, but was probably only a minute or two, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Waving off anyone that dare interrupt my bliss, I continued to make out like a teenager late for curfew who just didn’t give a flying fuck.
