I carefully wrap white tape around my knuckles and fingers, taking my time with each layer. On the outside I look calm, but inside I’m burning. All because of the shit Lucia said. Anger and hatred are eating me alive.
Two days have passed, and nothing’s gonna put this fire out except blood. That bitch told me she loves her husband. Her fucking husband. The bastard I hate more than anything. Oh, the plans I have for her so-called love and that bastard husband of hers.
I glance over at Rafael, standing there in nothing but his athletic shorts, throwing punches into the air to warm up. His entire body, from his back to his chest and arms, is a canvas of tattoos. He’s so inked up that it’s hard to say he’s a man with tattoos—it’s more like a mass of tattoos with a man inside. The intricate designs perfectly capture his feral, unhinged nature. Rafael is wild and untamed, yet a loyal soldier through and through. He’s proven that to me more than once.
The roar of the crowd gathered around the iron cage signals that it’s time. We’re deep in one of Chicago’s seediest neighborhoods, a place known for brutal, no-holds-barred fights. A pack of lunatics steps into a giant cage to beat the hell out of each other until only one remains.
Lucky for me, I’ve always been careful not to have my face plastered across newspapers. Nobody here recognizes me, which means I can unleash all my pent-up rage on a bunch of deranged morons without a second thought. Of course, the crowd has more than a few of my armed men scattered throughout. I’m not about to risk dying like some caged animal if things go sideways.
Rafael and I step into the cage, and the sound of the bell launches us into chaos. I swing, punch, and kick without stopping, pouring all my rage into every hit. Lucia’s words loop in my head on repeat:“I love my husband.”
Every blow is fueled by those words, those damn words. For a month now, I haven’t been able to close my eyes at night without my thoughts spiraling. With Carlo gaining more power, there’s always the possibility that he’ll decide to lay claim to her. Just the thought of his hands on her, on the body I claimed, drives me fucking insane.
That’s the real reason I’m determined to take Lucia out of that house. As ridiculous as it sounds, even to me, I can’t leave her to her fate. I’ve filled countless women with my seed, only to hand them over to Rafael as soon as I pulled out of them. Jealousy has never been a part of my vocabulary. But Lucia is different. The mere idea of another man looking at her, let alone touching her, is something I can’t and won’t tolerate.
A sharp kick to my side snaps me out of my thoughts, yanking me back to the chaos around me. I whirl around to obliterate the bastard who dared land that hit, but Rafael beats me to it. He slams a fist into the guy’s chin, and the sickening crack that echoes leaves no doubt, his jaw is shattered.
Rafael follows up with a brutal kick to another man rushing toward us, then shouts over the noise. “Focus, boss. Not a good time to zone out.”
I stalk toward two men grappling nearby. Wrapping my arm around one’s neck, I yank him backward and tighten my hold, choking the life out of him. My voice is a growl as I bellow, “He has to die.”
Rafael pins another beastly opponent to the ground, hammering his face with punches until it’s unrecognizable.
“Who has to die?” he glances up and asks between punches.
Dodging the wild, flailing fists of the man I’m strangling, I tighten my grip and answer, “Carlo. I’m putting a hit on his head.”
Rafael rises from the man beneath him, whose limp body might as well be a corpse now. Blood drips from his fists, and his eyes widen in disbelief. “No hitman in Italy has the balls to go after Carlo. That’s a mission no one’s taking.”
I release the man in my grip, his lifeless body collapsing to the ground. Standing tall, I meet Rafael’s gaze, my breath ragged as I reply, “There is one.”
His eyes flash with understanding. That sharpness is one of the reasons I keep him close. Without breaking eye contact, he raises his leg and slams his foot into the crotch of a man charging at him from the side. The agonized scream reverberates through the cage.
“Salman,” he says with a smirk.
My fists clench as I nod. Then I spin swiftly and drive my fist into the throat of another bastard coming my way. Every strike, every kick, I imagine Carlo standing before me. That bastard, that son of a bitch, whose very existence grates on my soul.
Finally, out of the thirty men who entered the cage, only Rafael and I remain. We’re covered head to toe in blood, our fingers raw and split despite the tape meant to protect them. Rafael stands across from me, his chest heaving from the rush of adrenaline and excitement.
“I’ll call him tonight, boss. I’m sure he’s just waiting for the right spark to finally cut off Carlo’s balls.”
Salman, a notorious Arab hitman, has a long history of working for Don Fernando. But he and Carlo have never seen eye to eye. Carlo’s mistrust of non-Italians is no secret, and he’s openly demanded Don Fernando exile Salman on more than one occasion. Now that Don Fernando is out of the picture, I’m confident Salman would jump at the chance to settle the score with Carlo.
I wipe some of the blood from my face. “Make it crystal clear. If this leaks, his family in the U.S. dies.”
It took me three weeks to cut every tie with Italy. But because of Lucia, I’m still tethered to that damn country, forced to make trips I wish I could avoid.
Rafael nods without a word. I shift into a stance, raising my fists as the crowd roars in anticipation. “But first, let’s finish this and head to the Strip Temple. I need a drink, and you need a pussy.”
And with calculated force, I land my fist squarely on his face. He goes down hard, selling the blow as if he’s truly taken a brutal hit. It’s convincing enough for the crowd to believe he’s been seriously harmed. Now that no one is left standing to fight, the cage doors swing open, allowing the victor—me—and the rest of the fighters, whether alive or barely breathing, to exit.
***
I escort Senator McKay and his wife to the restaurant’s entrance, warmly shaking their hands and thanking them for attending the grand opening of my latest venture. As the elevator doors close behind them, I light a cigarette and head back inside.
This is the seventh branch of my upscale restaurant chain, perched on the top floor of a luxurious high-rise. It offers a breathtaking 360-degree view of Chicago’s iconic skyline and the vast lake embracing the city.
I settle at one of the tables, staring at the orange-hued sky as the sun dips below the horizon. Dialing Rafael’s number, I barely hear the first ring before he picks up and dives straight into it.
