by V Domino
Fight For Me
Copyright © 2020 by V. Domino
Cover Design: Sinfully Seductive Designs
Interior Formatting: Sinfully Seductive Designs
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: [email protected]
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
FIRST EDITION
ISBN: 9798688227758
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To my loyal friends and readers!
You guys make every stressful moment worth it.
To my patient husband who didn’t mind my no makeup and slouchy self.
To my daughters…
because I have to. Just kidding, sort of. I love you!
I’d also like to dedicate this book to the mean and nasty people who
intentionally tried to bring me down with their “reviews”
You guys lit a fire under me.
*smiley face*
**TRIGGER WARNING**
Before continuing on, please be aware that the Dark Renzetti series contains graphic violence, power control, explicit sexual content, kidnapping, and attempted sexual assault. Each book is on different levels in terms of triggers but all contain them. This book has cussing, alcohol, cigarette and drug use and is for mature readers only.
Thank you!
Life gives us choices and demands, ones that must be met with the same ferocity they were dealt with. Make life your bitch or become its bitch.Make it bend to your will or you’ll be the one bending to it.
There’s no easy recipe for success but our choices are usually simple so when the bell sounds and my opponent rushes towards me, I smile. I’m always ready to fight and this right here is where I thrive. Where my demons dance and sing.
It’s my birthday today, a day I should be celebrating—and in a way I guess I am—but where I am and where I’ve been since I was twelve put a cap on any joy I should be feeling.
Looking down at my release forms while I sit in the Counselor’s office feels surreal. I never thought I’d see the outside of this godforsaken complex again; in reality I knew I would but the pain and misery I’ve dealt with made it seem like an impossibility. An unrealistic hope that I’d let go of years ago.
I reread my name and release date wondering if I’m dreaming; if this is some cruel joke the Universe feels it owes me. It would be just my damn luck too. The juvie center I’ve spent the past seven years in has shown me that life is nothing but a shitstorm and you either fight through it or curl up and wait to die.
I refuse to give in and I refuse to give up fighting because I have a score to settle. I have my baby sister to find and these forms in my hand just gave me the extra boost of steel in my spine to do so.
“Lucian Twitch DeLuca, did you hear a word I said?”
The center’s Counselor, Cindy Lopez sits behind her desk with a brow cocked. I almost smile at her use of my nickname, like it was my God-given middle name. Her wrinkled face morphs into one of concern. Since the day I arrived here she’s looked out for me and even though she has always been kind to me I’ve always treated her with a cold indifference. Not because she deserves it but because that’s who I am. I have no smiles to give, no charming words to spew. I’ve got bitterness in plenty and cruel words sit on the tip of my tongue constantly but for Lopez, I hold them back. That’s about as much kindness as I can show her.
I sit up straight and stare into her brown eyes while I wait for her to repeat whatever it is she said.
“I was saying, niño.” Little boy. “When you arrived here you didn’t have anything. No clothes aside from the ones you came in with, and no money—but I’m retiring and my last day is the day before you’re to be released.” She speaks to me in Spanish a lot and even though I’m fully Italian, I can easily understand. Spanish, when spoken correctly, is very close to my native tongue.
She stops and drinks some water, not because she’s nervous but because she’s old as hell and gets winded easily with her Parkinson’s disease. I watch her shaking hand as she slowly reaches for her water. Her shakes remind me of my Tourette’s syndrome but where her disease is very obvious and painful to watch, my syndrome is slight, and you’d only notice it when my agitation is high.
Normally I twitch at random moments which is the reason for my nickname. I prefer to be called Twitch than by the shit name my aunt stuck me with when she saved my sister and me from being killed alongside our parents. I shake off the memories that always stir my demons and focus on Lopez.
“From the little bit you’ve confided in me over the years, I know you don’t have any family to stay with but my home is very large and empty.”
When I continue to stare without comment, she sighs heavily like I’m grating on her last nerve and I suppose I am. I’ve been this way since the day my parents were killed and I’m not about to change my character to satisfy anyone. Don’t get me wrong, Lopez is the closest thing I have to a grandmother but I’ve done some dark shit in my young years especially while living in this hellhole, so my demeanor will never be described as jovial. With that in mind, I open my mouth to give this woman a break but before I can even say anything her Latin fire shows itself.
“Mira pendejo, I’m not going to offer again so pay attention. I’m retiring and I’m offering you a place to stay until you can get yourself back to your city and find that baby sister of yours. You’re still planning on finding her, yes?”
I bite back the smirk because I know she’ll hit me with something if I show any amusement at her calling me stupid. She has hit me before and I still have the scar on my bottom lip from her cane. She feels terrible about that, even to this day, but I deserved it. You say something disrespectful, you get a slap. Simple.
“Si vecchia,” my voice is deep and raspy as I call her old. It sounds rude but it’s the closest thing to an endearment and it’s one I’ve called her for years. She doesn’t mind me calling her old but when you call her old hag… Let’s just say her cane to my mouth was enough to shut me up and respect her.
“Okay then, you will come and stay with me. You’ll help me around my home for a few months and I’ll pay you each week. No funny business though, you stay clean and out of trouble and I’ll make sure you have a car to take with you to New York. Deal chiquito?” Little boy.
I’m completely taken aback. I always knew this lady had a soft spot for me, though I don’t know why. She has even saved my ass from isolation a few times when I got into fights here and let my darkness take over, almost killing my opponent in the process. I’ve never been able to figure her out. I know she and her husband were never able to conceive before he passed away in the nineties and for whatever reason she loves troubled kids enough to become a Counselor for this Californian juvenile detention center.
“I don’t know what to say.” I really don’t. I’m number one in the fighting ring some of the damaged teens have created here and she knows this so I’m a little shocked that she’s willing to open her home to the likes of me. Her trust in me is the kindest thing any authority has ever shown me.
“Say yes and take the bus to my home when you’re released. I’ll be waiting for you with a home cooked meal, so you better show up Lucian or I’ll have to get my ass out on the streets looking for you.”
The phone
on her desk begins to ring so I stand to leave.
“My address is on the back of the last paper. Don’t disappoint me, niño.” Boy.
I don’t reply or look back as I exit her office and make my way to my cell. Day after tomorrow I’ll be free. I’ll be able to get to New York and begin my search for Sia, my angel face sister. In my mind’s eye, I picture the chubby-faced baby my mother brought home from the hospital, but I know she’s older now. Eleven years old to be exact but I need to find her. I have no clue what she looks like now or if her name is still Sia Romano. It’s possible my aunt changed her name too.
I think back on the last days I’d seen my parents alive. I don’t remember their names but their faces are like photographs in my mind. Each detail burned into my memory like my beautiful mother and her long brown hair, which usually hung like a silken curtain draped over her shoulders, and my father with his crooked smile and mischievous eyes.
I remember my mother’s raspy voice as she told me she had a surprise for me on my upcoming eighth birthday and the tears in her eyes when I told her that my sister was the only surprise I needed. In my young mind I was my sister’s keeper and protector.
That sense of responsibility was brought on by many factors but mostly because when Sia was brought home, my father put her in my six-year-old arms and spoke with his deep voice rumbling around the room.
“Ragazzo, this is your new little sister.”
I reached for her tiny hand and watched with fascination as her fingers wrapped around my finger.
“You see how small she is, how she is at your mercy? Do you feel the power you hold over her?” I nodded because I did feel it. That tiny baby was at the mercy of everyone including me. One drop and she could break like the glass cup I had dropped that morning.
“Then you see how much protection she needs. She cannot defend herself if someone tries to harm her.”
I remember pulling her closer to me at the mere thought of someone hurting her.
I promised my mother that day that I’d always protect her, and I promised my father that I’d kill anyone who even thought of hurting Sia. I meant it too.
For a child, I was skilled with a butterfly knife and I wasn’t afraid to use it, in fact, I was eager to show off what I’d learned. My father had given one to me on my fifth birthday and he spent a couple of hours every day teaching me how to maneuver it. He taught me how to flip the blade around one-handed without cutting myself, though I have many little scars to show the lessons. He taught me various spots on the human body that could cause a quick death and other spots that caused a slow and painful death. I loved my knife but when he started teaching me how to fight, I was hooked. I was determined to be Sia’s personal guard forever.
Compared to other fathers I’m sure my pop would have been considered evil and maybe a little psychotic. But to me, he was fatherly and gave me some of the best memories and talents I’ll forever be grateful for.
I don’t know who or what my father was involved with but I do know my father was someone important. We had guards in our house and my father was treated reverently like he was someone to be feared and respected. Perhaps he was but along with the fear he endowed upon others he also had those who hated him, those who coveted whatever position of power my father held. I remember the night someone paid him a visit at our home, the last night my parents were alive.
My mother had tucked me in bed, but I wanted to be close to my sister.
“Mama, I want to sleep with Sia. Please?”
With a soft smile and a ruffle to my hair, my mother picked up off the bed and carried me over to my sister’s nursery. Sia began to cry after my mother tucked me into the toddler bed so my mother picked her up out of her crib and sat in the rocking chair. I watched her rock back and forth as she sang to us.
Over the hill
And under the moon.
Around the bend
And through the woods.
At the crooked Willow
Is where we’ll meet...
It didn’t take long for my mother’s voice to lull me to sleep but I woke up later when I heard screaming. I jumped out of the bed and peeked through the crib bars, seeing Sia sleeping soundly. I went to the door and looked out trying to see down the stairs towards the sitting room where my mother and father usually spent their evenings, but I couldn’t see from this angle. Just as I decided I must have dreamt the entire thing, a loud gunshot went off followed by my father’s torturous howl.
I’ll never forget his gut wrenching and broken yell.
I jumped to action then, running to my bedroom and grabbing my butterfly knife. I wanted so badly to help my father, but his words played on repeat in my young mind.
Sia is at the mercy of everyone, you must always protect her.
I remember trying to figure out a way I could get her out of the crib but I couldn’t hold her and climb back out, so I stood guard. I waited and planned my attack. If someone came through this door, I wouldn’t hesitate to defend my sister.
My small heart was beating so fast during those moments of terror. Terror that no child should ever feel but at the same time; adrenaline and excitement flowed too. A darkness that I’ve always known was within me flowed fast and smooth, making me salivate to kill the boogeyman who dared come into my father’s home.
I never found out who it was. I never got the chance to see the evil who destroyed my life and sentenced my sister and me to a painful separation. One that I’m glad only I feel because Sia was just an infant when my aunt walked into the bedroom that night. I don’t remember her name, but I do remember her words as she tied Sia to her chest with a blanket while having me cling to her back as we ran through the darkened neighborhood.
“One day, nipote, you’ll find your way home. One day you’ll make the monster pay for what he did. For now, you must go away until it’s safe for you and Sia to return. I am going to change your name so the monster can never find you. You must never tell a soul what your real name is, ragazzo. Understand me?”
I didn’t but I did understand that she was protecting us from the boogeyman so I nodded.
I spent the next eleven years in a lonely torment unlike any other. A pain so deep that hatred and rage became the constant companions to feed the demons within me. Pushing me daily to survive and find the bastard that ruined my life.
Vengeance is a delicious darkness and once I have it, I will revel in it.
With these thoughts in mind, I get ready for my last couple of days in this shithole by setting up a fight. I’ve got some energy to spend and darkness to expel.
I watch the men move fluidly on the floor with the footwork of lithe dancers, except these men are no ballerinas and the audience in attendance are not prim and proper ladies and gents. No, this crowd consists of mafia members from all cultures, mafiosos, bikers, local gangs, and damaged souls looking to be entertained by blood and brutality. And for the right price I’m all too happy to provide the savagery they feed on.
My name is Neviah Mazzi but to these people I’m known as Silver—the chief of New York’s biggest underground fighting ring. A woman in a man’s world who is treated with respect. The cops have tried shutting me down but like the fighters entertaining my bloodthirsty crowd, I know my footwork. Pivot, block, feinting, and offense. Always offense. I’m never backed into a corner and I always keep a steady head.
My ring is in no man’s land, a truce territory within the old brewery that is now owned by me. It was once Alessandro DeLucci’s but when I promised him a small cut of my first year’s earnings and a spot for his son Johnny- my best friend- on the fighter’s list, he gave the dilapidated place to me. After filling the pockets of politicians and serving blackmail to others, it is now known as Barbarity Ring.
I hired interior and exterior designers who did outstanding renovations to keep the place looking respectable on the outside, with it’s clean parking, trimmed bushes and decorative sign declaring it to be a gy
m. And in a way, I guess it is but once you get inside you find yourself standing amongst wide industrial halls that lead you to different places.
If you turn right, you’ll come to the bar which serves an array of different drinks and the restrooms are just beyond that. If you continue down the hall you come to the elevators which take you to the basement or the VIP area on the second floor. To get through, you’ll need to be checked by my enforcers first.
If you go in the opposite direction of the bar, you’ll meet another set of bouncers who check each person before entering the ring itself.
The arena.
This is where most people go to view the fights.
The room is large and has all of the old piping and air ducts exposed, feeding the industrial look. In its day, the factory line was in this room so it’s the biggest in the building but I had walls removed to make it even larger, now it can seat up to two hundred people which is why we only allow those on a guest list; the elite.
The general seating surrounds the octagon cage for an up-close-and-personal viewing of mayhem.
The VIP area is for our most important elite guests- those who have generously donated to the cause. This is where you’ll find me most nights.
“Aye, Silver!” Camila Blanca, my white haired, right hand gal says as she sits next to me while keeping her eyes on the fight below us. Her given name may be Camila but because her father happens to be the Boss of the southern mafia known as the Blanca Cartel, she’s known as Jefa. Ironic, huh? She goes by the Spanish word for lady boss but she’s my right hand. We’ve been best friends for years now and despite her nickname she’s not looking forward to the role she’ll have to take when her father steps down, or gets killed. When that happens, because it inevitably will, she’ll truly be the boss. For now, she’s content in her position with me and her father gave his approval for her illegal business venture without asking for a cut. As long as we use the guards he appointed to Jefa and keep him in the loop at all times, she had his blessing to partner with me.
