No phones. No filming, no outsiders, no trade. No one talks about what happens here. Debts are settled, scores are evened, and bones are broken.
The referee is a broad, tall beast of a man named Fabrizio. I’ve dealt with him before. He’s an old fighter himself, and he pairs me up with another late arrival.
I wrap my fists in tape and feel the icy calm settle inside me. There’s no room for uncertainty here. No space for feelings of want and desire, of despair and guilt. There’s no room for mistakes. It’s just me and the opponent and the welcome bliss of pain.
I step into the ring.
This place has a smaller mat than my usual, and the cage is crudely put together. Clearly made for dramatic effect and using scraps.
Fabrizio calls out the rules.There are only two.
If you tap out or lose consciousness, you lose.
No weapons.
Everything else is on the table.
The mat is cool beneath my bare feet. I raise my hands, tuck my chin, elbows in. The guy facing me is about my height, but he’s built leaner, with less muscle on him. He’ll likely be fast. If I had to guess, he’s a new initiate in the mafia. A young man with too much testosterone and too little sense.
I can beat some into him. Hopefully he’s strong enough to beat some into me, too.
The bell tolls, and he’s immediately moving. Good. I move with him, conserving my energy, using smaller steps andstaying on the balls of my feet. He hits first and I duck. While he’s still adjusting, I aim a sharp kick to his left knee as he passes me.
He gives a lowwhooshand stumbles.
I let him find his footing and hear the crowd roar around me. This has to be a new initiate. Fabrizio has paired him with me to teach him some humility. Fuck. I wanted a real opponent.
His eyes flash, and he calls out an insult in Italian. I make acome-hithermotion with my fingers.
If you choose words in a fistfight, you’ve already lost.
It doesn’t take long. He gets a solid hit to my ribs that I let pass through, and pain blooms. It grounds me.Good.He leaves himself too open, and I grip him in a body lock. I plant my foot, twist my hip, and throw him off balance.
We hit the ground together.
He doesn’t know basic moves. It’s easy to slide my arms around, twist, and hold him in a tight lock he can’t escape out of. His hand claws at my bicep, but he can’t escape it.
It only takes a few seconds of trying before he slams his hand against the mat twice. Tapping out.
I release him, and Fabrizio steps into the cage. “Victory to Rafe!”
The crowd applauds, and more than a few jeer at my opponent. A guy who looks a lot like him gives him a wolfish smile. Has to be his older brother.
Yeah. He was definitely put in here to be taught a lesson.
Damn it.
“We have a surprise!” Fabrizio exclaims. “Someone tried to sneak in tonight. Uninvited.”
He’s one of the ugliest fighters I’ve ever seen, and he handles enforcement in this place. A cheer rises from the crowd. It happens occasionally, but rarely at a fight I’ve been to. Someone is going to get it tonight.
There’s a shuffle amongst the crowd, and then two guardswalk up with a woman between them. She walks unencumbered, nearly as tall as them both.
There’s a blonde braid down the side of her neck. She’s wearing a jacket, and beneath it, a set of navy sweatpants.
My breathing stops.
“This pretty thing was looking around the house,” Fabrizio continues to the jeers of the crowd.
