thirty-three
Gabriel
She won.
Valentina won against Naomi. My chest swells with a pride so sharp that it borders on lethal. I never doubted my wife could claim that ring; my only fear was that she’d been thrown into this fight without the preparation she deserved. And that? That’s something I’ll deal with personally.
But first, I’m going to take my victorious wife in my arms and celebrate the way a man celebrates what’s his. My men are everywhere, sweeping the place clean, taking care of the girl Victor used as leverage against Valentina. She’s safe. Victor, however, is nowhere in sight. Bastard must have slipped out before he got a taste of the wrath I had planned for him.
I move without thought, driven by instinct. My eyes lock onto one thing: my wife in the ring. The sight of her pulls a smile from me… a smile that dies the moment a surge of noise snaps my attention toward Naomi’s motionless body. The medical team crowds her, and behind them stands a man whose expression promises trouble. Five more hover behind him,
deep in a discussion that does not belong here.
My gaze flicks between Valentina and the men. My heart drags me toward my wife, but my instincts are never wrong.
I approach slowly, angling myself to catch their words, but it’s useless. Russian.
This isn’t good.
“Gentlemen,” I drawl, a razor-edged smile curves my lips. “I trust you enjoyed the fight?”
All eyes snap to me. A beat passes before one of them finally answers, his accent thick as concrete. “Enjoyed? Why ask?”
“Because the winner is my wife,” I say, my voice calm but lethal. “And she owns this place. Since she’s busy, I figured I’d make sure our guests feel… attended to.”
One of them rises, his tall, burly frame widening. I need to lift my chin to meet his stare. The man isn't just huge; he’s a giant.
“Let’s drop the bullshit,” he rumbles. “You know who we are. We know who you are, Savastano. Victor promised us our money tonight. When his little girlfriend lost, he ran like a coward.”
I don’t blink. “Whatever Victor has promised you, you won’t be collecting it here. So take your disappointment and get out, while it’s still a request.”
Another man huffs, annoyed. “Why? We're not causing trouble.”
I shift my gaze to him, letting my voice drop to ice. “Because standing in Cosa Nostra territory, doing business without our don’s permission,istrouble. And I don’t tolerate trouble.”
A third man rises, calm. The kind of calm that means danger. It silences the others.
“He’s right,” the man says. “We’re leaving. We’ll deal with Victor another time. Our apologies for the intrusion.” His gaze sharpens, locking on mine. “Send my regards to your don. The Prizrak sends his regards.” His lip twitches; something betweena smirk and a warning before he turns and walks away, his men falling in behind him like shadows.
I chuckle after them because everyone has heard of Prizrak. Only, no one has ever seen him. Until tonight.
My eyes lock onto my wife again, now surrounded by doctors. I start toward her when my phone vibrates with a message.
Unknown number:
This isn’t over.
My brows draw tight. Unknown or not, I know exactly who’s behind it.
Another message hits:
This is just the beginning.
I narrow my eyes at the screen. Beginning of what?
As if summoned by the thought, the next text arrives:
The beginning of your downfall.
