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And that’s when I put all my weight behind it.

The punch slams into his jaw, but just as quickly as he’d calculated to take it, I can sense his brain deciding it’s had enough. Becausethathit actually hurt.

And he hits me.

Like,reallyhits me.

His knuckles slam into my cheekbone like a sledgehammer, and it rocks me harder than I’m expecting. The pain explodes, radiating through my skull like a seismic wave.

Fuck.

I’ve been hit plenty of times, but never like that.

My vision goes spotty—black with confused sparkles—and I land on the mat so hard that it rattles my teeth. I think at first I lose my hearing, but my heartbeat still throbs in my ears.

The crowd has just gone silent.

Instantly, I try to push up onto my palms, struggling to shake the dazed feeling, but it’s no use. I double over, clutching my head, and even though I’m going to hate myself for it…

I whimper.

“Vinny?” Remy’s startled voice is garbled in my ears—or maybe it’s just the sound system he’s speaking over. Lower, more staticy, I hear him add, “Someone fucking get Pauly.”

I don’t see Sy approach me, but I feel him. It’s a heaviness in the air. There’s also the sound of the slow drag of his feet against the mat, and then his halted breath as he leans down, whispering, “Lav? Hey, you okay?”

I open my mouth, but only a hitched breath emerges.

“Fuck,” he says, all low and full of dread. “Fuck, baby, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. It was like instinct took over and I couldn’t pull my punch. Are you?—”

The second his palm rests comfortingly on my back, I spring up, grabbing his wrist and twisting. It happens so quickly that his expression is still a comical freeze-frame of panicked guilt when I slam my elbow into his nose, sending him tumbling gracelessly onto the mat, ass-first.

It takes everyone a frankly insulting beat to realize my whole ‘poor injured bird’ routine was a ruse. It isn’t until Sy pushes up onto his elbows, a stream of blood trickling from his nostril, thatI’m met with a wave of shocked gasps, a roaring cheer directly on its heels.

“We have a victor!” Remy cries, and in my corner of the ring, Nick is laughing, bringing his hands together in a clap. He offers me an appreciative tip of his chin. “Good sell!” he yells.

Sy still looks stunned, even when I reach down to offer him a hand up. He eyes it dolefully, wiping a smear of blood across his upper lip. “Guess I should have factored in Nick teaching you to play dirty.” Still, he takes my hand, climbing to his feet.

Wincing, I inspect his nose, an inkling of guilt settling in my gut. “That wasn’t Nick’s training, actually,” I tell him, holding his irked gaze. “It was yours.”

It was over a year ago that we stood in this same ring, Sy teaching me to defend myself against the men of Forsyth.

At his confused expression, I remind him, “Go for the jugular? Be a viper?”

I can see the wheels turning in his head, calling up the memory of the words he’d said.

“Use the weapons you’ve honed, Lavinia. Just because you don’t like where they’ve come from doesn’t mean they aren’t useful.”

I spent a lot of years as a defenseless captive of horrible men, and he’s right. I don’t like where that came from.

But Sy taught me it could be useful.

“If I’m a Queen….” I say, bringing his knuckles to my lips. “If I’m obstinate and cocky and ruthless…” I brush a kiss to his knuckles—the same ones that I still feel throbbing in my cheek.

“It’s only because you taught me how to be.”

His face hardens, jaw tight as he regards me. “You just broke my undefeated streak, my trust,andmy nose. You made me look like an idiot in front of my family, the frat, my enemies—the whole goddamn city.” His eyes dip down when I swallow, because an apology is swelling in my chest.

The enjoyment of my win fades rapidly at the anger I see in his features.