Claiming The Prize

by Nadja Notariani

  The area swelled with additional newcomers to the fray, and when the double doors opened, loosing the latest arrivals, the band of Slovakian patriots raised their cheers. Midway through the stream of travelers, Drago Zadrovec emerged. Aware of the eager fans, he approached the young flag wavers and shook a few hands. Raising his hand in thanks, he turned, passing the ogling women with only a cursory nod and headed directly for Guy.

  “Thank you for greeting me here,” he said, offering his hand to the older man. “It is appreciated.”

  “Glad to do it, Zadrovec.” Guy shook his hand enthusiastically. “Welcome.”

  Blinding flashes from several cameras exploded in unison, the photographers hungry to capture the friendly welcome.

  “If your intention of joining Anto-Engage was unknown before, consider its announcement made,” Guy joked dryly.

  Drago's lip curved up in humorous agreement.

  “Gracie, navigate us out of here, would you?” Guy requested.

  Drago noticed the petite, dark haired beauty coming to Guy Antolini's side, the striking resemblance between the pair suggestive of their familial connection. His eyes lingered to make contact with hers, but Grace was occupied in finding her way out of the terminal. So instead, he studied her.

  Dressed in loose fitting denim and navy suede boots, Grace was outfitted casually. She did not have a coat, he noticed, but donned a knit cap over her shiny, dark locks and wrapped a matching smoky hued scarf around her neck. Drago watched, intrigued at her unaffected and natural movements, and he could not help but appreciate her beauty.

  “Forgive me,” Guy laughed at seeing the look on the Slovak's face. “This is Grace, my daughter. She usually keeps my manners in check, but neither of us enjoy crowds, and in our shared bid to escape them, we sometimes shed all decorum.”

  “It is nice to meet you,” Drago greeted as they continued down the corridor.

  She laughed, turning to look at him.

  “It is nice to meet you, too. You must think we have terrible manners.”

  She lingered on his eyes a bit longer than she intended, thinking that although dark and intense, they had a depth she liked at once.

  “Not at all. I do not care for crowds myself.”

  The eyes she had just thought dark and intense softened as the smile that lit his face crinkled them at the corners.

  “Grace is my right hand. She handles many aspects of my business, so be prepared to meet with her to set up training schedules, equipment needs, and most importantly for strategy sessions,” Guy spoke up, interrupting Grace's thoughts.

  “I understand, sir,” Drago stated as he watched Grace's cheeks flood with color at her father's open praise.

  Easy dialogue flowed on the two-hour drive toward the outskirts of the Lehigh Valley area, and Drago's curiosity kept conversation moving.

  “Have you always lived in this part of the country?” Drago asked.

  “I was raised here. Got my start in wrestling here,” Guy offered with a bit of pride in his voice. “The Lehigh Valley produces some of the best wrestlers in the country. Colleges scout the districts around here heavily.”

  “Is that why you started your gym in the area?” Drago questioned further.

  “That's a long story,” Guy chuckled. “My brother and I loved this area. It's a great place to recruit from, with the deep wrestling roots, but it's also a great location. We're close to Philadelphia, Allentown, and Harrisburg, but we still have the country setting. Plus, we're not far from New York and New Jersey. I'm not much for city life, and here, I can have the best of both worlds.”

  “But Drago, you live in a large city, don't you?” Grace asked, recalling the information she had read about him.

  “Yes, I do. Bratislava is my home. But we also have easy access to rural areas, and I enjoy the country very much.”

  “Well, it's country you'll get at our place. I've got eighty acres of peace and quiet. You're going to enjoy it!”

  “I want to thank you, Mr. Antolini, for offering me the use of your guest house.”

  “You'll be staying in the house then?” Grace questioned.

  “He will,” Guy broke in. “There's no sense in spending money on a hotel when we've got the house sitting empty. And, Drago, please call me Guy, or Anto. I'll never live it down if you start calling me Mr. Antolini!”

  Grace and her father laughed at the thought, and Drago allowed himself to relax and laugh with them before his thoughts returned to weightier matters.

  Six weeks ago, the invitation to fight Matt Harrison had come from AMMAO owner and president Derek Sloba. Drago had climbed the ladder of victory in Slovakia quickly in his professional career, transitioning into the WOMA six years ago at the age of twenty-one. His solid record of seventeen wins and two losses had caught someone's attention. An opportunity like this may not come again, and Drago intended to grab it with both hands. But in order to secure a coveted five fight contract in the premier organization he had to defeat Harrison. Drago was determined to do so decisively.

  Turning into the blacktopped lot of First Strike gym, Guy announced, “I'll introduce you to my team and give you a tour of First Strike today. With that out of the way, we can get down to business tomorrow morning.”

  “I am looking forward to it,” Drago responded.

  “Afterward, we'll take him to Maria Therese's. What do you say, Gracie?”

  “Do you like Italian food, Drago?” Grace asked. “Maria Therese's has the best gnocchi, and their homemade sauce is very good.”

  “Italian food is a favorite of mine.”

  “We'll make this short and sweet, Zadrovec. I'm sure you're tired and hungry after traveling,” Guy assured him, leading the way into the gym where Drago would spend the next six months training.

  * * *

  “The best Italian fare around,” Guy informed Drago as he slid into the booth.

  Grace sank down opposite him, unthinking, as normally it was only her and her father for dinner. Realizing her error, she thought to move to her father's side, but Drago slipped in beside her, settling the issue. Something about his presence left her acutely aware of herself, and she wavered between being beguiled and unsettled.

  Standing an inch over six-feet tall, Drago hovered around two hundred-twenty pounds naturally, but cut weight to fight in the light-heavyweight division at the lesser two hundred-five pounds. Kept in military fashion, his closely cropped, dark hair faded to a short finger cut on top, and his deep set eyes shone like liquid onyx. There was a ruggedness about his face, enhanced perhaps by the long flight. His Eastern-European heritage was evident in the prominent nose and hint of squareness at his jawline. Wide cheekbones broadened his face somewhat, and his lower lip was fuller than the top, giving his mouth a hard countenance that served him well in his profession. But Grace noticed that it softened when he smiled.

  They shared a basket of bread over their salads and dinners while Grace listened to the two men discuss the industry, finding Drago's voice entirely pleasant, its deep timbre sending tiny chills up her arms. He listened more than he spoke, seeming to weigh his words carefully. He was neither animated nor monotonous, but calmly confident, and when he spoke, it was with a certain authority Grace had not encountered outside her father. She became more intrigued as the meal progressed.

  “Please, would you care to order coffee?” Drago asked.

  “Absolutely for me,” Grace chimed in.

  The conversation switched to more general interest about his homeland, and Grace was fascinated with his descriptions of daily life in the far off country. Having a degree in history gave Grace a good grasp of the political upheaval the area had endured for some decades before gaining its independence. Drago was astonished at her knowledge of the former Czechoslovakian state and gladly related the latest news on political issues the nation faced. Coffee gone, Grace sadly realized that it was time to go home. She had enjoyed Drago's company greatly.

  The trio rode to the eighty-acre Antol
ini compound, and with good-nights exchanged, Guy led Drago down the lane.

  Alone in the rustic stone and log guest home situated on the Antolini property Drago unpacked his bags, knowing immediately that six months in the guest house was going to be much more comfortable than the efficiency apartment he would have rented. The mission style bedroom furniture rested on tightly woven tan Berber which covered the floors except in the kitchen, bathrooms, and entryway. Stone fireplaces in the living area and bedroom were fueled by natural gas, and Drago realized that with the flick of a switch, fire roared to life. Experienced with fire building, the convenience was not lost on him. Quietness enveloped the rural setting, allowing his ears to hear the faint cry of wind cutting through the black night. It was eerie and peaceful all at once.

  Deciding to shower while the fires banished the damp chill from the air, he opened the closets and found stacks of white towels and washcloths. Bone tired from traveling and having his hunger sated, showering was the final luxury he craved before collapsing into bed. The heated water soaked its warmth into weary muscles, and his body relaxed as steam filled the air. Tomorrow would begin the most intense training of his career, but tonight he would welcome the empty thoughts and bliss of sleep that exhaustion would bring. Lying in the queen sized bed under the down comforter and thermal lined fleece, Drago drifted into slumber, his last thoughts of the soft spoken beauty whose company he had enjoyed this day.

  * * *

  Six o'clock in the morning brought the shrill, rousing cry of Drago Zadrovec's alarm. Sitting up, he remained a moment, the events of yesterday re-playing in his mind. He was here, at Guy Antolini's training camp, in America. Drago had been to America before, once when vacationing with a woman he thought he may love, and again four weeks ago to sign his single fight contract. Now he was here to better the skills needed to become the champion.

  He knew all about Guy Antolini, for the man was a legend. Guy's kicks had been feared during his reign as heavyweight champ. Many men had collapsed with broken ribs and bruised organs from a single kick, and more had been knocked unconscious when those deadly and precise legs connected with temple or jaw. When other fighters were so fatigued that they could barely keep arms raised, Guy Antolini was still breathing close-mouthed, a testament to the brutal cardio training he subjected himself to. Drago knew Guy was the right man to help turn his dream into reality.

  The guest house was about a half-mile from the main dwelling, and as Drago jogged toward the brick, colonial two-story, morning activity was evident. Yellow light shone from the tall windows on the side he approached, and a steady plume of smoke rolled from the wood stove's pipe into the dark sky. The biting wind at his back, Drago anticipated the promise of warmth as he knocked at the side door. When the white panel-box door swung open, a thermal-pajama clad Grace hurried him inside, pushing the door closed against a blast of wind, the whirlwind of twisting flakes losing vigor in the stillness of indoors. The power and shock of the frigid assault brought breathy laughter from the pair.

  “Come in! Hurry!” Grace encouraged. “It's freezing out there! Did you walk?”

  “Yes. Well, no. I ran,” Drago said, laughing with her and shaking the frozen flakes from his coat. “Walking would have taken me too long.”

  Grace took Drago's coat and hung it in the mudroom and returned to the cozy kitchen as he familiarized himself with his new surroundings. A black, wood and coal burning stove sat on a raised brick hearth, its blower fan softly humming, circulating heat around the sitting area. Olive green walls topped winter-white bead-board that extended from floor to chair rail, and the ten-foot high ceilings gave the impression of a much larger room. Similarly, the cabinets were bead-board panels, and above, glass panels were used in place of the wooden fronts, showcasing colorful dishes of red, yellow, and green within. Butcher-block counters mimicked the honey oak floors, and red and yellow Dutch-Country rugs added color between the counter and island.

  Before the wood stove was an off-white, wicker settee and two matching chairs atop a pale pink, rose-covered area rug. Green and white gingham cushions added comfort to the old rattan, and throw pillows of green, teal, and pale yellow littered the pieces. It was Grace's favorite spot in the house, especially on cold mornings. The cottage-like look of the arrangement encouraged cheerfulness with its light, spring colors during the often bleak winter days.

  “Would you care for some hot coffee? It's decaf,” Grace asked.

  “Thank you, yes. Forgive my intrusion. I was not aware of the morning plans for traveling to the gym.”

  Grace handed Drago his mug and plunked down into her usual spot.

  “It's really no bother. Please, sit down. You'll be waiting for Anto for awhile. He usually stops home to shower around eight o'clock before going to First Strike.”

  “Where does he go so early?” Drago wondered aloud.

  “Oh, he rides the property, inspecting the barn, fences, and that sort of thing. This time of year, he's watching the ewes. It's nearly lambing time. You're welcome to wait here. There's fruit and bread on the counter if you'd like something to eat,” Grace answered.

  “That sounds very good. Thank you.”

  Grace set out a plate, and Drago began helping himself after Grace encouraged him further.

  “I'll be back down shortly. If you need anything at all, please help yourself.”

  She floated off to get ready for the busy day.

  Underneath her calm exterior, Grace felt curiously excited. Rushing to ready herself, she dressed in navy compression leggings and a team Anto-Engage compression shirt. Tuesdays were jujitsu lessons, and also the day Grace took notes on all her father's trainees as the Friar worked with them. Of course, Tuesday evenings were team meeting nights, and she speculated about what would be on the menu for the evening meal. More so, she anticipated the outcome of the sparring sessions between Carson and the Slovakian. It promised to be an interesting day. Donning baggy jeans over her leggings and brushing her hair into a pony-tail, Grace headed downstairs.

  Drago was looking at the photos lining the hallway when she rounded the bottom of the staircase. He smiled at her – that smile that opened his face up – and Grace felt her legs go wobbly.

  Oh, this will never do, she warned herself. Get a hold of yourself, Grace.

  “These are all you...,” he half-stated, half asked.

  Grace broke into a grin, her dark eyes agleam.

  “Yes, they're all of me. Anto has his own ideas about what constitutes a good photo.”

  Her cheeks were blushed lightly at his inspection of her childhood images.

  Drago was moved. These were not studio poses of the 'perfect family'; they were treasured moments of life. Guy had spent time and money preserving these moments in his daughter's life, and something about that made them more powerful. The wall was lined from top to bottom. Grace riding a bicycle. Grace with her first missing tooth, at the gym, a few jujitsu practice shots. Guy with his daughter perched upon his shoulders when he successfully defended his title. There were so many. Drago's perusal stopped on a photo of Grace hanging over the edge of a First Strike sparring cage, her expression intense, caught in the middle of yelling instructions to a fighter as Guy stood beside her watching on. This snapshot, above the others, captured the essence of father and daughter poetically. Guy's eyes were focused on his daughter, and a look of pride shone on his face. Drago knew the woman more from this singular image than he had in the previous night's conversations. Passion for the sport was evident on her face, and Guy Antolini obviously trusted his daughter with his team.

  “Grace, these are quite impressive,” Drago commented. “You are valued, no?”

  Her reddened cheeks gave the only evidence she had heard his words.

  “Let's enjoy another coffee before Anto drags us off to begin the day.”

  Drago smiled again and nodded toward the kitchen. Grace Antolini was not like most women; this he knew. He was at ease in her company, and he liked spending time with
her far more than he was entirely comfortable with.

  Chapter 3

  Grace was professional at First Strike, but her easy manner was still in evidence. Their morning meeting had gone smoothly, and Drago found himself pleased with the workout schedule she had designed for him. Mornings and afternoons utilized different routines, and Sundays were days of rest.

  “I designed this last week, so Anto may decide to rearrange things once you have a run through this week,” Grace noted.

  “It looks challenging, but I much enjoy a challenge.”

  Drago looked at her pointedly, and his lingering gaze suggested there was something more to his answer. Grace lowered her eyes to interrupt the moment, but her skin tingled its wake. His deep voice, combined with the sound of his thickly accented words spoken with slow care, seemed to make everything he said carry a weight beyond its surface meaning.

  “Anto will keep making it harder as the weeks go on,” she said, shuffling the papers in front of her, wanting something to focus her eyes on other than him. “Especially if he thinks you aren't wishing for anything, even death, to end the day.”

  She laughed then, and he laughed with her. One minute she felt more aware of herself than she had ever felt before, and the next, she found being in his company easy and relaxing. These new sensations were both exhilarating and troubling.

  “I will not be gotten rid of so easily,” he returned, again making her wonder if he spoke about an entirely different topic than the one at hand. “I am ready.”

  “Then let's get you started,” she smiled, heading for the stairs. “Each morning you'll complete a strength and cardio workout before your first session with the Friar. Take a seventy-five pound bar and work through eight repetitions of these six different exercises from the list I printed for you. After one full set of all six, loop a medicine ball in between your legs in a figure eight pattern while in a semi push-up position. You'll repeat the entire group until you get five finished rotations and end with a twenty-minute deep stretch. Most of this I took from the workout schedule you sent us. I added a few things that Anto thought would boost your results, but since not much is changed, you'll have it down in no time.”