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But for now, with her mind in limbo, I wasn’t going to pile on more reasons for her to decide against us. It’d just make it more difficult to win her over again.

I would, though.

There was no alternative.

With Dahlia taking up most of my effort and focus, I had little patience left for therat. Nothing had happened since I’d plead guilty. I’d thought getting out would spur him into action, but all was quiet. Luc’s assumption was the rat knew he was in over his head and crawled away to hide in a sewer.

But I wasn’t buying it. Quiet was dangerous. Quiet meant planning.

And when it went down, I’d be prepared. I’d set a lot of rat traps, now I just had to wait for him to get caught.

Dahlia deserved patience, and I’d give her as much as she needed. Rat hunting needed patience, even if I wasn’t fucking happy about it.

Frankie, however, got jack shit.

I knew before he opened his cut lip what was coming. Promises. Lies. Negotiations.

“Just give me the chance to explain,” he blubbered. “My wife, she’s real sick—”

“That why you were caught,again, with your tiny dick in some chick?”

“Not to mention, your wife left you a few months ago,” Luc muttered from the doorway.

“Try again,” I said. Pulling my fist back, I shook my head. “Or not.”

Holding up his hands, he shook his head. “I couldn’t get a fighter in any of the other circuits,” he wheezed. “I’ll give you a bigger cut. My guy’s good.”

“Your guy is fucking garbage who’s filled with garbage.”

He tried to widen his eyes, but they were already too swollen. “What?”

“You’ve got a shrunken balled doper. Dealer, too. His skills are subpar, which made some people wonder why he was winning so many fights. Since he’s also dumb as a fucking rock, it wasn’t hard to find out what was going on.”

Luc chuckled from the corner. “He sold you outfast. Of course, that might be because he’s coming after you to, and I quote, ‘squeeze his head until it cracks like an egg’ and some other graphic threats.” He shook his head. “Word of advice,Tony… If you’re going to use your fighter’s name to get laid, pick a girl who he doesn’t want to fuck. Imagine his fury when he cozied up to the woman he’s been eyeing, and she was under the impression she’d had to fuck you first. Not just did he not want your sloppy seconds, a night with you made her swear off sex.”

Although there was barely any color left in Frankie’s face by that point, the rest of it drained. He looked as gray and cracked as the wall behind him. “You guys didn’t tell him where to find me, did you? That guy is a monster more insane than you.” He quickly raised his hands. “No offense, I mean—”

“We didn’t tell him. Why’d you try to fuck me over, Frankie?”

“I told you, my wife—”

I punched him again, this time aiming for his kidney. When he doubled over, I lifted him and pinned him to the wall with a hand around his throat. “Try again.”

“I owe money!” he gargled through the pressure. “A lot of fuckin’ money! I thought if I kept to the smaller fights on the edge of the circuit, it’d be fine.”

“Who do you—”

Luc’s laugh cut through my question. “Holy shit, this stupid fucker owes you money.”

Frankie went tight before slumping at Luc’s words.

“What?” I asked.

Holding up his phone, Luc shook it. “I texted Joe a pic of Frankie. Apparently, Frankie goes by Andrew March when he’s placing bets.” His phone dinged, and when he looked down, he shook his head. “And according to Gabe, he’s been betting against his own fighter. Did you learn nothing from Pete Rose?”

“I’ve been taking out loans with you?” Frankie shook his head. “I thought you just owned the building and oversaw some things?”

“Ah,” I smirked, shaking my head, “the Amato business is a varied one.”