Then everything faded into the background because the door to the changing room opened again.
Savio prowled out of it. He oozed confidence and lethal determination. My eyes took him in, every inch of his body. One look at him and everyone knew there could be only one winner tonight: Savio Falcone.
He was tanned, tall, but not in a lanky way. Savio was well-proportioned male-perfection. He was pure muscle. Not in the bulky way of some bodybuilders whose muscles made them immobile. Savio’s muscle were of the agile, functional kind, meant to make him strong and fast, lethal and attractive.
Scars littered his chest and arms, marks of a struggle for power, and the absolute will to defend it. They adorned his body like battle trophies, which he proudly presented to the world. Only two scars were covered up by the inked artwork his brother had created: the cuts on his wrists.
My gaze lingered on the tips of horns peeking out of his waistband, marking the very edge of his delicious V. I felt the unreasonable urge to tug his shorts lower to see more of that infamous bull.
Savio climbed into the cage without deigning me with a single look, but then before he faced Mick, his dark eyes hit me.
He was sure of his victory, sure of his prize: me.
He was willing to fight for me, to bleed for me. For that fact alone, I already belonged to him.
Gemma’s lips were slightly parted as she stared back at me. Her lips were pouty without ever having seen a single hyaluronic needle. For a long time, I’d tried to not look at her too closely. She’d been too young—was still too young—and she was Diego’s sister, but her gorgeousness was impossible to miss now. Not to mention that this girl could kick ass. She didn’t cry when she suffered a hard hit. She only wanted to improve.
She was going to be mine. She already was.
I turned to Mick who stood with his arms crossed and a grim expression, trying to appear unaffected. Tilting my head, I scanned him. Crossing arms was a good way to hide anxiety-induced shaking. Remo closed the door of the cage with a clang and the slightest flinch passed Mick’s body.
He worked out with me and Diego on occasion, but he preferred the boxing bag to sparring. Problem was, the boxing bag never hit you back. You could only improve if you paid for a wrong move or lack of attention with a punch and the resulting pain.
I considered taunting him like I usually did with my opponents before a fight to rile them up, but eventually, I settled on a nod.
“Fight until surrender!” Remo announced, then. “Go!”
I raised my fists and Mick quickly did the same.
He was trying to put up a decent fight. I had to give it to him. I didn’t go as hard on him as I did with my other opponents. He didn’t get through my defenses and every time his punch or kick met my resistance, my own counterstrike landed painfully. Frustration flashed across his face followed by embarrassment when the crowd called for me to finish it. It being him.
“I kissed Gemma before you,” he hissed. For a moment, my blinding fury distracted me, but my forearms moved up in time to block his angry shove. What kind of fucking move was that supposed to be? Kindergarteners shoved each other. My back collided with the cage and I used the momentum to push my body off and do a high kick against his chest, done with playing nice. My foot smashed against his sternum.
The air whooshed out of him and he hit the ground like a brick, chest heaving, face turning red as he was trying to breathe.
I straddled him, gripped his throat and got into his face. “How about you tell the fucking truth now, Mick? Gemma would have never kissed you, unless you forced a kiss on her, so either you molested her, or you’re a liar. What is it?”
I loosened my hold on his throat so he could speak.
“I lied.”
“Fuck you,” I growled. “Now surrender.”
He hit the ground with his flat palm, and I released him then straightened. Standing over him, I shook my head, disgusted. He’d given up too quickly. He’d tried to play dirty, which I could have dealt with if he hadn’t dragged Gemma into it.
Mick stayed flat on his back, his eyes closed.
Applause rose in the Arena and Remo appeared beside me. He grabbed my arm, raising it above my head.
My eyes sought Gemma. She was standing just like the rest of the spectators. Her eyes were huge, her face flushed with excitement. I’d won many fights, but this was definitely the best victory yet. Everyone looking her way could see that this was the outcome she’d wished for. Our eyes met and she controlled her expression—too late.
One corner of my mouth twitched up. My girl.
Remo released my arm, bringing my attention back into the cage. Mick was sitting up slowly, obviously still struggling to breathe from my kick. I held out my hand for him to take so I could pull him up. He pushed my hand away. I took a step back, sneering. Did he really think this behavior was earning him any bonus points in front of fellow Camorrista?
Remo extended his hand and Mick took that one, then he turned back to me. His lower lip was burst. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I thought we were friends. Guess I was wrong.”
“You wanted the wrong girl, Mick. That’s all. Get over it and we can be friends.”
“You didn’t want her for so long that her family arranged a marriage with me. Gemma would be better off with me.
