“Everyone loves an underdog.”
“I don’t,” he states plainly as he takes his seat.
The man looks like the embodiment of a mafia don as he sits in his expensive Italian suit with a giggling Beta on his lap.
The only people working the event are trusted employees from our casino. They’re being paid triple plus tips to be here, and they all know how to keep their fucking mouths shut.
The girls are handing out drinks as more people funnel into the warehouse. We capped the list at one hundred, and even that feels like too many. In any other circumstance, I’d never allow Elena to come to an event like this.
As much as I hate Finn’s reasoning, I also understand it.
Anthony Amante needs to be taken care of immediately. I know that more than anyone. I know the man’s secrets, and that’s why he wants me dead and his sister in the hands of some sadistic bastards.
Matteo Amante’s death truly created a massive hole in the Italian mafia structure in the West. Our only hope is to create a better ally by letting Salvatore know that we had nothing to do with his daughter and we’re on the same side.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is the ten-minute warning before our fighters take the ring,” the announcer says over the speaker, and I wait.
Declan holds Elena’s hand as Cillian walks behind her. We have three more security personnel flanking them as they make their way to our seats.
Cillian sits next to Mr. Barbieri, and Elena sits next to him. Despite Declan’s protest, I take her other side, and he takes the last seat in the row, where he looks intently around the booming space.
“Glad to see you walking around, Cillian.”
“Not so bad for my first bullet,” Cillian replies with a smile, acting like his leg isn’t killing him right now.
“And it was your brother who inflicted this wound, Miss Amante?” he knowingly prods, with a smile in our Omega’s direction.
She leans forward and returns the smile.
“My brother had a little fit about my pack of choice.”
“Ah. We’d all heard you ran away, but I didn’t realize until recently that it was into the arms of the Irish.”
“What can I say? I love to be difficult,” she jokes, playing the part perfectly. Salvatore smiles and shakes his head.
“You haven’t heard from Natasha, have you?” he asks, clearly a plea from a desperate man.
Elena reaches over Cillian, and I watch him stiffen. He hasn’t been this close, close enough to scent her, since before everything happened. She holds Mr. Barbieri’s hand. His date seems affronted by the physical touch. I’m of the same sentiment. I want to break his hand at the wrist for touching what’s mine, but I just sit back, watch, and wait.
“If I hear anything, you’ll be the first to know. But we both know Natasha is tougher than nails. Whoever took her will definitely be paying for it.”
He gives her a soft smile, and she drops his hand.
“Right, well, let’s see if the Irish are as good at fighting as they claim to be,” Barbieri says, changing the subject.
We don’t reply, knowing that it doesn’t matter who he sent to fight Finn.
Finn doesn’t lose.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to tonight’s showdown. Let’s get started. Weighing in at two hundred and ten pounds, we have Finn O’Brien,” he shouts.
There’s a mixture of claps and boos. Elena doesn’t react, and I squeeze her thigh. She looks down at the touch and then my face before she registers what she’s supposed to do.
She shouts along with the crowd and claps her hands, rooting for the man who locked her in a room for three days.
“Tonight’s opponent is one new to the ring here at Sunset. Weighing in at two hundred and twenty-five pounds, we have Alessio Barbieri!”
“You sent in your son?” Elena questions with shock, and Salvatore laughs, shaking his head.
