Page 11 of Diary of a Mafia Princess

Jackson stepped in once more, again swinging a hefty fist the size of a cannon ball in Dax’s direction.

Again Dax ducked it.

And then just stood there, like he was at the damn bus stop, waiting for his ride.

Jackson taunted him. “Come on! Fight!” He clapped his hands above his head a few times, riling the crowd up until they joined in with him, a low chant of, “fight, fight, fight,” starting up that matched the slow-paced clapping.

Luca joined in, then said to me, “When in Rome…”

I snorted on a laugh and shook my head, joining in the clap and the chant, because it was easier than resisting. Dax was a grown man. He wasn’t my friend. But I was suddenly glad Reaper wasn’t there. I didn’t really fancy trying to hold back all two-hundred-and-something pounds of him if he decided his boss needed help.

Dax rolled his head, the crack of his neck joints popping audibly from our front-row position. He shook his hands out and finally moved a little, switching his weight from side to side.

Like he’d just been waiting for the crowd to get behind him. Waiting for that swell of testosterone and violence that was practically palpable in the air.

I could feel it.

I was pretty sure Luca could too. His whole vibe shifted. Gone was the attitude and scowl, and in its place was something different. Interest. Excitement.

He was so fucking close I could smell the scent of his soap. Cheap but fresh.

Jackson lunged at Dax for the third time.

In the middle of the makeshift fight ring, everything changed.

Dax let loose with a solid punch to Jackson’s midsection. And then swung a left hook at his face.

It connected with a crack of bone, and Jackson went down like a sack of potatoes.

And then didn’t get back up. He lay on the ground, clutching his head, groaning in pain.

The crowd fucking erupted.

You could have slapped me in the face with a fish. I had severely underestimated Dax, and judging from some of the groaning around me, Luca included, most of the crowd had too.

Gold Chain walked to the middle of the makeshift ring, checked on Jackson half passed out on the ground, and shrugged, holding up Dax’s arm to announce him as the winner.

Luca gripped the back of his neck with both hands and screwed his face up. “Well, I picked that wrong, didn’t I? Who knew the tattoo artist could fight?”

I sniggered. “How much you lose?”

“Fifty.”

I didn’t even have ten to lose, so fifty would have hurt. “Damn.”

“Yeah.”

“Who’s up next?” Gold Chain called.

I lifted my hand quicker this time.

The organizer pointed at me. “New guy. You’re up.”

I pulled off my shirt and bounced on my toes, waiting for him to pick an opponent for me.

Luca raised his hand.

Gold Chain pointed at him and then squinted. “Luca Gu—”