Page 18 of The Mafia’s Girlfriend

I’d never met the others. The world of fight rings consisted of a web of connections no one ever tried to label too well. We all moved around, meeting at new sites, never calling out others in real life. It was a second identity, one all of us—fighters, managers, sponsors, and coordinators—kept on the downlow.

Tall, built, and with craggy facial features that hinted at his low patience, Jimmy eyed me seriously. The guy never cracked a smile. He seldom laughed, and if and when he did, it was a reaction to a dark brand of humor.

I smirked as I walked closer.

“I knew you’d win.”

I leaned against the wall next to him. “Why wouldn’t I? I bet Ramirez three times before this.” Rolling the back of my head on the bricks, I studied him smoking a cigarette. “I guess you wouldn’t bother to come watch. No one cares about reruns.”

“I knew you’d win because you’re a good fighter.”

Irritation flared within me. I turned, wedging my shoulder against the wall as I faced him. “Then why do you set up me with his shitty matches like Ramirez? Why do you want me to stick with fighting low-key, weak amateurs?”

He didn’t reply, narrowing his eyes as he watched the smoke rise from his exhale.

“I’m in this shit to make money, Jimmy. Not to fool around. This isn’t a damn hobby.” He knew this. He’d always been aware of my motivation to fight—for the paycheck. “Why train me for years if you don’t want me to be successful?”

“You’re not ready.”

I growled, knocking my fist back to the wall. “I’ve been ready.”

“You have to build up your rep. It’s not a sprint but a marathon.”

I scowled. “Spare me the pretty words. That’s bullshit. It’s not like I’m just starting out.”

He faced me with an unreadable expression. “You are, though. You’re not in the same leagues as the ones who’d bring in the payout you dream of.”

I crossed my arms. “That’s not true.” I wasn’t being cocky and trying to sound like someone I wasn’t. My record spoke for itself.

“Besides, the level you’re participating at is safe.”

“Fuck safe, man.”

“You’re all Nina has,” he reminded me.

I pushed a heavy sigh out. I’d never understood the tie between Jimmy and my mom. They knew of each other, that was obvious. She mostly turned to look the other way when I came home from fights. Jimmy talked to her when I was younger, I guessed to explain that he’d take me under his wing, but that was it.

I didn’t need him to tell me that I was all my mother had. She was all the family I had in the world, and at this rate, it’d always be the two of us. Me trying to make money to keep her alive and her eking out a living in pain.

This feeling of being stuck in a rut ate away at me. I was convinced it didn’t need to be like this. If he agreed to one more damn fight, against a worthy opponent...

“How’s she doing?” he asked.

I bit back my frustration. “She’s doing as well as she can be.” It was no secret between us that she suffered with her health. I knew so little about Jimmy that I was clueless about his wealth, but I’d be damned if I accepted charity from him. We were poor. We were scraping at the bottom of the barrel, but I would work for what we deserved.

“You being good to her?” he asked.

“Oh, fuck this, man.” I pushed off the wall, not in the mood for his concerned-relative attitude. I appreciated that he was concerned about her, but if he really wanted to make a difference, he’d let me in a better level of fighting. “You know, Ben was talking to me after my match.”

Jimmy tipped his chin up as he dropped his cigarette. Crushing the butt with his shoe, he leveled me with a hard look.

Ben was one of the men who helped set up the fights. He wasn’t the top coordinator, but he was involved with the “administrative” angle. “He said I’d make a lot more if I was matched with someone sponsored by the families.”

“For fuck’s sake.” Jimmy growled, shaking his head. “No.”

“Give me a damn reason.”

“I have.”