TWENTY-TWO
Carlo
After the stunt Emily pulled, I needed to blow off some steam, so I headed to one of our underground clubs that ran illegal fights. The anger inside me was fucking boiling.
I didn’t even know where it was coming from anymore. Her screams, her tears, were still in my head… fuck. I couldn’t shake them, no matter what.
What pissed me off the most was the question I couldn’t stop asking myself: Why the hell did I care? What the fuck was wrong with me that a girl’s tears got under my skin like that? I shoved the thought aside, threw on my workout shorts, laced up my gloves, and focused on the only thing that ever cleared my head, fighting.
Maxim walked into the locker room. “Fabiano wants to see you.”
Fabiano. Lucia’s brother. He was a man’s version of his sister, but I could only hope his loyalty didn’t follow the same fucking path. At the very least, dealing with him might distract me from the crap swirling in my head.
“Tell him to come here. I’ll see him after the match,” I muttered, tightening my gloves as I got to my feet.
Maxim nodded and sent the message. As we headed toward the ring, his phone buzzed. He answered, listened for a few seconds, then turned to me. “Giorgio’s calling. Emily packed her stuff and moved back to her old room.”
I stopped walking and turned to him, frowning. “Why is he calling you?”
“Because, unless it’s an emergency, he’s not allowed to call you. Your rule. Remember?”
I took the phone and said in a voice that I tried to keep calm, “Giorgio, from now on, if it’s about Emily, you call me directly. No exceptions.”
“Yes, boss.”
“As for her moving back, the answer is NO.”
“It wasn’t a request, boss. Since I’m not allowed to touch her, she packed her stuff and left on her own. Said if Don Carlo has a problem with it, he can drag her back himself. I can bring her back in a... safer way, if that’s your call.”
I squeezed the phone so hard the plastic creaked under the pressure. “Leave her be.”
I tossed the phone back to Maxim and stepped into the ring. My opponent was a beast, thick, tattooed, and mean-looking. Perfect. I needed someone big. Someone who could take a punch. Someone I could break.
He was quite a fighter, tight punches, good footwork, decent defense. But it was more than just a match for me. I was letting out every bit of fury that had been eating at me. The guy lasted maybe fifteen minutes before I knocked him flat.
He hit the mat with a heavy thud, blood already pooling under his face. My fist was still raised, ready to crush his skull. But I stopped myself. He didn’t deserve to die. He hadn’t done a thing wrong. He was a good fighter and I wasn’t about to kill someone because I couldn’t get a handle on my own shit.
I stepped out of the ring, spat out my mouthguard and a mouthful of blood with it. Apparently, he’d landed a few decent hits without me even noticing.
Maxim stood nearby, watching in silence, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He was probably already in my fucking head. Knew exactly what was messing with me.
I went straight to the showers, let the hot water crash over me as I braced both hands against the tile. I tried to flush it all out, Emily’s eyes, her voice, the chaos she left behind. But none of it went anywhere. The steam didn’t do shit.
When I came out, Maxim was waiting. “Fabiano’s here.”
I nodded once. “Clear the locker room.”
After it emptied, I sat on the bench, shoulders still tense, and motioned for Maxim to bring him in. Fabiano walked in with that same calm composure he always wore. Tall, built, clean-cut, he looked more like a Calvin Klein model than someone tied to the Mafia.
He wasn’t officially part of the Mafia, not yet. No vows. No blood oaths. I’d heard he kept his hands clean from his father’s dirt. Still, he greeted me with respect, and when I gave a small nod, he sat across from me on the bench and got straight to it.
“I’m here to ask for your permission.”
“Permission to do what?” I asked, leaning back against the wall.
“To go to America. I want to find Lucia.”
“And when you do?”
