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He must’ve taken some good shit tonight, he should not be conscious. I grab his waist and lift him up. And slam him into the floor. The impact is fucking beautiful and brutal. His skull plops against the concrete with a sound that silences the crowd for a beat. His body twitches, limbs spasming violently, blood already pooling fast beneath his head. But the stubborn fucker still manages to roll onto his stomach, pushing up on shaky arms like he’s got anything left.

Before he can get a knee under him, I lock my legs around his waist, crushing his ribs between my thighs. My arm snakes under his chin, and I yank back with everything I’ve got. His back slams into my chest as his throat caves under my forearm. His hands are bloody and shaking, slap at my arm, but it’s fucking useless. He’s got nothing left, so I squeeze harder.

His body convulses, wet gurgle sounds spew from his mouth, while blood bubbles from his lips. His eyes bulge before there’s nothing but terror before the last fight drains out of him, but I hold until the twitching stops. When I let go, his body drops face-first. He’s motionless. The ref rushes in, grabbing my arm, lifting it high. I stand, barely winded.

The crowd loses their minds, screaming for more blood, but my eyes are on the mess at my feet. A crumpled pile of shattered bone, broken pride, and blood soaking the ground beneath him. He thought he was a fighter, but he’s just another body to bury. I’m already walking out when two of my guys slip into the cage before dragging him away.

I’m out, heading for my room to clean off the blood that isn’t mine. Kota’s right behind me, his eyes glued to his phone, scrolling through the numbers. “Big haul tonight,” he mutters.

Yeah, no shit. I felt every damn dollar of it cracking through my knuckles.

He cuts himself his normal percentage while I scrub off the remnants of the fight. My opponent was a fucking bleeder and drenched me. The water runs red, swirling down the drain until it disappears.

Once I clear most of the prick’s blood off me, I throw on a fresh pair of sweats and a hoodie.

We’re heading to the car, and Kota’s unusually quiet. Not his usual running commentary, not his usual shitty smirk. Then, just as Kota unlocks the car, he finally speaks.

“You need to tell Alonzo to ease up on Olivia,” he says, dragging a hand down his beard. “I don’t know what you had him do, but hitting a woman? Man, that shit doesn’t fly with me.”

My hand pauses over the door handle. “What the hell did you just say?”

Instead of getting in, I look over the car, my eyes narrowing in on him. He didn’t say what I think he said.

Kota’s eyes are hard when he looks at me. He raises his hands like he’s bracing for the blowback. “I’m saying he hit her,” he shakes his head, heaving a sigh. “I don’t care what orders you gave, Alessio, but if Alonzo’s laying hands on her, that’s a fucking problem.”

Fucking Alonzo.

I told him Olivia doesn’t get special treatment, but I never said he could touch her. The burn from the fight, the violence I thought I left in the cage is back with a fucking vengeance. My knuckles throb, but they’re already itching for more.

“I’m gonna break his fucking neck.” And I mean every. Damn.Word.

I yank the car door open and drop into the seat, slamming the door harder than necessary. Alonzo crossed a line. And now I’ve got to make sure he understands how to keep his grimy fucking hands to himself.

25

Alessio

Kota’s driving like an old woman, and I can’t take it anymore. My patience is shot to shit.

“Pull over, Grandma,” I bark.

He shoots me a look like I’ve lost my damn mind but doesn’t argue. He eases the car onto the shoulder, and before the tires even stop rolling, I’m climbing out of the car and sliding into the driver’s seat.

The second I take the wheel, I floor it. I’m pushing ninety-eight and accelerating. The speed limit doesn’t mean shit to me, but somehow, it still doesn’t feel fast enough.

My grip tightens, knuckles white as I take the turn hard, nearly riding on two damn wheels. Not only do I need to check on her, but now I have to kill one of my trusted men.

My jaw clenches so tight I can practically hear my teeth grinding. She’s a pain in my ass, a mouthy little problem I didn’t sign up for. But somehow, I ended up stuck with her anyway. So now, she’s mine to protect and I’m a man of my fucking word. I meant what I told Antonio. Nobody, and I mean nobody, touches her. Not Alonzo. Not anyone.

I want to rip his fucking hands off, one slimy fucking finger at a time.

Kota fills me in on what he saw on the car ride home, casually dropping that he suggests sending Alonzo to Chicago to search Olivia’s place. It’s an effort to save his sorry ass. Though, I don’t know why he’s bothering when he witnessed the shit himself.

But he has a point. Searching her place is something I should’ve handled myself before leaving. But I was too pussy-drunk the second she was underneath me. That’s on me.

I want to hear Olivia’s side of the story first, but sending Alonzo away buys me a few days to cool off, so I don’t snap his neck the second his lanky ass is in front of me.

Make no mistake, he’s going to pay for this little stunt. Once for disobeying my orders. And again, for putting his hands on something that isn’t his.