"There’s only one problem. I don’t want to be recognized. I plan to continue my career as a singer, so…"
"That’s not a problem either. Our fighters wear special living masks."
"Living masks? And during a fight don’t those cause more trouble than they solve?"
Ennio snorts.
"Underground fights have existed for centuries. Plenty of people prefer to stay anonymous. There are masks engineered in underground bio-labs that don’t interfere with fighting and still cover your face."
"Okay. Last question. If I do these four fights, am I free? I’m not tempted by a fighter career. I want to be an artist, I want a family, I want to live quietly with Alex. I don’t want to stay involved in this."
"Four fights, Bay. That’s all. If you want to stay afterward and earn some extra money you can, but four is all the contract requires."
I sigh.
"All right." My stomach tightens with nerves as I agree. "But in this situation I think we need a better communication method than a burner."
"Agreed. We have that handled too. Tomorrow you’ll get a package with a special phone. It stores nothing, no data at all, even the FBI couldn’t pull anything from it. I tested it."
Of course he did. Ennio is always one step ahead.
"All right. So you’ll contact me through that phone and give me everything I need to know?"
"Yes." Then Ennio hangs up.
Fifteen minutes later, while I’m still standing outside in a daze staring blankly at the lake, my regular phone starts to ring.
I answer and to my shock it’s the same real estate agent I talked to earlier.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Nolan," he says. "I have great news for you. We’d like to invite you in to discuss the sale of the house."
"But I don’t have the funds yet, I’m working on that…"
"It’s all right, Mr. Nolan, no need to worry. Come in and sign the contract. You will handle the financial side with Mr. Ferro."
"Oh… ah… uh…" I let out a helpless sound of surprise.
Wow. Ennio is fast. Lightning fast. The house will be mine!
Do I sometimes forget that Ennio is mafia, not a charity organization? No matter how euphemistically he describes his family business, those people… they’re criminals. Drug trafficking, a network of brothels where omegas are forced into illegal prostitution, underground casinos, betting operations, an entire chain of fight clubs, plus a dozen other businesses I won’t even list, and they have half the local politicians in their pockets. If I don’t keep my word, I’m done.
I turn and look at our mobile home. In the window I see Alex.
He’s standing by the espresso machine with a frown on his forehead as he hooks up a carton of milk. His lips fall into that adorable pout. My heart trembles with love.
His soft pink-blond strands fall across his cheeks and I keep staring like a lovesick puppy, absolutely mesmerized by his very existence.
Alex is my whole universe.
The idea of fighting doesn’t feel that frightening because I know that thanks to it, Alex will live close to campus, safe and without stress. He really loves that little house.
For him I’ll do whatever I have to.
I step inside.
He turns toward me and I see that glow in his eyes he always gets when he sees me, and he simply smiles.
I come closer, grab him by the waist, and lift him into my arms, carrying him to the bedroom.
