Page 13 of The Mafia’s Fiancee

Win stupid prizes, motherfucker.

Wheezing out hard breaths, I climbed off the dead man. Shouts of praise and even louder yells of shock rang out all around. I staggered back, spent and wasted of energy after such a hard and long fight.

Holy shit. I’d given my all to stay alive in that fight, and it showed in every tired, exhausted movement I made. I hadn’t strained that hard in a fight in years.

Meeting Jimmy’s gaze, I saw his sober understanding that I’d had to kill the man. Everyone saw that the other guy cheated. They were all witnesses to how rigged this fight was with that Marchese man pulling a knife on me.

Jimmy nodded once, and I acknowledged that we had an understanding.

It had to happen.

I did all that I could do.

He’d tried to warn me, and I’d shown him—and the Marcheses— that I wouldn’t be taken down that easily. A fleeting fear hit me that next time, they’d try harder. They were the kind of people who’d try until they succeeded.

“This way,” Ben’s ring workers ushered me out of the ring, and I followed their direction. A shower might revive me, but fuck, I was whipped. Stumbling a bit, I walked out of the main focal point of the room as other men pulled the dead fighter to the side. It still felt so surreal that I had killed him like that, with my bare hands. I’d always known the limits of my strength, and I had maintained a level understanding that I would only kill for the sake of defense.

I had, but here, under these circumstances, it didn’t seem right.

I’d never killed someone in the ring. I’d only been paired against easy or almost equally skilled fighters and it would’ve been cruel to kill them.

Tonight, it was kill or be killed, and I didn’t have time for that. I had to live. I had to survive.

For Emma.

The workers pushed open a pair of dinged and rusty double doors. As soon as they stepped through, entering another room where victors were given a chance to clean up, I lowered my head and heaved out a deep breath.

Killing didn’t come easily to me. Physically, I could endure it. But mentally, I was taken to a low, dark spot. I didn’t regret killing that fighter. I had to in order to survive, but it weighed on me, a pounding force that crushed the questionable conscience I had.

The men ushering me into the room eased off to the side. They sidestepped too suddenly for it to be a natural move.

I tensed, my adrenaline spiking as I assessed what had changed.

They’d shifted to the side unexpectedly, reacting in surprise to the pair of masked men approaching from inside the room. One shoved a ring worker over when he didn’t get out of the way fast enough. The second rushed closer.

They were coming for me.

I lifted my hands, posed to defend myself even though I still had to catch my breath from the fight I endured.

As soon as the other masked man lifted a taser and aimed it at me, it was all over.

I fell, letting the image of Emma be the last thing on my mind as the force of electricity stunned me.