Page 220 of Blackwood

Her voice drops, deadly intimate. “My father.” Then she explodes, pointing toward the tunnel as the bass hits. “The one. The only. Roman Russo!”

The crowd detonates.

I freeze. “Shit. She brought fucking Russo to this?”

Rez’s head jerks toward her. The crowd is standing. Phones everywhere.

And there he is, tall, tan, sleeves rolled up, eyes like polished obsidian. Roman walks in like he owns the damn world. Kisses Bella on the cheek and gives the crowd a single nod before turning toward Rez.

DING.

Roman strikes first, vicious and clean. A body shot that thunders through The Pit, followed by a backhand elbow that splits Rez’s lip open within the first ten seconds.

Rez doesn’t flinch. He wipes the blood away with the back of his hand and grins like he’s been waiting for this exact brand of punishment. Then he unloads. Fast jabs. Low kicks. Feral speed and no hesitation.

By round two, The Pit’s a madhouse. Donors shouting, bills flying, the air thick with sweat and blood. Rez is on a tear now. Fast, relentless, and unpredictable. He feints left, then lands a brutal hook to Roman’s ribs that echoes through The Pit. Roman grunts, forced back a step. Probably the first time anyone’s ever pushed him like that.

Rez doesn’t let up. He’s all motion and fury, fighting like the world owes him a debt he intends to collect tonight. He drivesRoman into the corner, shoulders and fists colliding in a blur of muscle and rage.

Bella’s voice cuts through the noise. “Come on, Roman!” she yells, hands cupped around her mouth, eyes bright. Like this is her moment. Her war. Her family name bleeding across the mat.

Then the final round hits. Roman circles, shoulders rolling, breath steady. Rez wipes the blood from his mouth and spits it onto the mat, grinning like a man who refuses to die quietly.

Roman lands first, a brutal cross that cracks against Rez’s temple. Rez staggers, blinks through the daze, then roars and drives forward anyway, throwing wild, furious punches that barely miss. The crowd’s screaming, half for him, half for the king.

He clips Roman’s jaw hard, but it only wakes the devil. Roman’s eyes go dark. He steps in, slams a knee to Rez’s ribs, followed by an elbow to the face that snaps his head back. Rez tries to swing again, but his footing’s gone.

Roman seizes the opening. One clean, devastating right hook. Years of violence and control exploding in a single strike. The crack echoes through The Pit like a gunshot. Rez drops hard.

The crowd roars. Bella launches into the ring like she’s been waiting her whole life to do it. She throws her arms around Roman, lifts his hand high, like she’s presenting the crowned King of Italy to his adoring court.

Knox laughs through the mic. “Okay it looks like that’s Team Bella, three. Rez, zero. Rez, love ya man… but I hope your cousin can bring it in the main event.”

I stand. Roll my neck and crack my knuckles.

“Oh, I’ll fucking bring it, Bestie.”

The crowd’s still losing it’s mind over Roman’s win when Knox’s voice slices through the chaos, electric and grinning.

“Alright, Pit fans, don’t sit your pretty asses down just yet, because it’s time for the main event!” The lights strobe. The bassdrops. “You’ve seen blood, you’ve seen fire, but you haven’t seenhim.”

The arena plunges into darkness. Then the lights flare red.The Pit glows like the mouth of hell.

“Fighting tonight for Team Rez. The undefeated, unhinged, undisputed Hollow King himself…Lex Barinov!”

The roar’s deafening. I roll my shoulders and walk into the ring. The red lights washing over everything, hot and heavy, like I’m walking straight into fire. My blood is already simmering.

She walks toward me slow and sweet like nothing about this is war. “Now, baby,” she says, “I know tonight we’re technically on opposite sides, but I just wanted to wish you good luck.” She starts to walk away.

Fuck that. I grip her waist and pull her in, slamming my mouth onto hers in a kiss so deep, so filthy, half the damn crowd forgets to breathe. I don’t care. Let them watch.

“Okay you two,” Knox yells through the mic. “Get a fucking room. Bella… you’re up, babe.”

She pulls back, smug as hell, lips red and swollen, “Good luck, baby.” Then she turns and struts to center of the ring like it’s her fucking throne.

The red lights fade. A single spotlight hits her, golden and bright. The Queen reclaiming her stage. “Alright everyone,” she says, voice smooth as silk, “I saved my absolute best, sexiest, and favorite fighter for last.”

The gold spotlight on her flickers twice, then fades to electric blue—cool, seductive, pulsing to the beat of the bass. The Pit transforms, washed in sapphire light that ripples over the crowd like water.