Page 23

She should be afraid—terrified or disgusted by this place, to say the least. But Scarlett wasn’t. If anything, she seemed rather…intrigued.

It was wild down here, the air thick with sweat, blood, and the electric charge of the crowd. A ring of bodies pressed close, their jeers and cheers bouncing off the high walls as they roared in anticipation. Above, the dim flickering lights cast long, eerie shadows across the blood-stained floor as the suffocating scent of iron filled the space.

I held her by the hand, leading the way through the dense crowd with my men before and behind us, making sure no one came close to touching her. We headed toward an elevated structure at the east side of the building, a private lounge that overlooked the chaos below like a throne above a battlefield.

Surrounded by tinted glass and dark metal railings, the lounge provided the perfect view of the bloodshed without the risk of being caught in it. What better vantage point for my printsessa to observe the game than this?

Once inside, our eyes narrowed, adjusting to the bright light that illuminated the opulent space. Plush leather seats adorned the room, a stark contrast to the grimy violence beneath. The scent of expensive whiskey and Cuban cigars wafted through the air as soft classical music played in the background.

A large desk dominated the center of the room, behind which Vincent Moretti sat in his leather armchair, a thread of smoke swirling around him. His men, armed to the teeth, stood sentinel at strategic points in the room, their watchful eyes pinned on me and my associates.

Vincent Moretti, the man who owned this underground empire, was a former fighter turned kingpin. The old man, in his late fifties, still had a build like a war machine—broad shoulders, thick neck, a face mapped with deep scars, and a bear’s broad stance. His sharp blue eyes held a glint of amusement and danger, always assessing—watching like a hawk.

He sat behind his desk, dressed in a black suit with the top buttons undone, his aura exuding confidence and power without needing to flaunt it. Vincent locked eyes with me, and a deadly smirk flashed across his face as he drew one last puff of smoke. He plucked the cigar from his lips, tapped off the ash, and then casually flicked the smoldering stub into the glass of whiskey perched on his mahogany table.

Vincent combed his fingers through his gray hair, a symbol of his old age. “Ha! Danny Boy,” he greeted me, rising to his feet, arms across apart.

“Hello, Vince,” I replied, watching him walk over to me, his shoes clicking against the floor.

He chuckled and embraced me, his palm tapping my back in a welcome gesture. “Been a while since we saw you around these parts, son.”

“Yeah, I’ve been busy,” I replied, tucking a hand in my pocket.

His gaze shifted to the hot woman beside me—Scarlett. “Busy, indeed.” He laughed lightly. “And you are, honey?” he asked her, eyes boring into hers with a soft expression.

With a straight face and an unwavering gaze, she replied, her voice firm and confident, “Scarlett.”

Vince paused for a moment, his head subtly cocking to the side. “You’re the O’Sullivan girl,” he said, his voice laced with skepticism.

“I am,” she answered, her gaze still locked to him, unafraid.

Usually, people trembled in Vincent’s presence, unable to look him in the eyes, intimidated by his infamous stare—rumored to inflict the fear of God in anyone. Only a few people could stand his gaze; I was one of them, and clearly, so was Scarlett.

Vince’s eyes narrowed, boring deeper into her soul, but she wouldn’t look away. No. She held his gaze, staring right back at him.

A moment later, Vincent burst out laughing, his voice deep and husky. “I like this one. She has fire in her eyes,” he said, returning his gaze to me. “You’re one lucky son of a bitch, Danny Boy.”

I stole a glance at Scarlett, my lips curled into a self-satisfied grin. Never had I been so proud of anyone in my whole life. Vince wasn’t the kind of man who was easily impressed; he wasn’t the kind who liked too many people. The fact that he approved of her only further buttressed what I already knew, that she was different.

Vince headed toward the floor-to-ceiling window that offered a breathtaking view of the violence beneath. “I take it you’re not here for a social visit,” he said, glancing at me over his shoulder.

“No, I’m not,” I said, taking a step closer. “I need to blow off some steam.”

“Hmm.” The deep, gravelly sound came from his throat. “You want your woman to see you for who you really are.” A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Tell you what,” he began, a hand in his pocket as he turned around to face me again. “Let’s make this even more interesting, shall we? You, Danny Boy, will face off against Tiny Jack.”

Ilya turned to me immediately, his eyes warning against accepting this arrangement.

Everyone in the room, except for Scarlett, knew who Tiny Jack was. The man was everything but tiny. He was huge—twice my size—and a merciless brute who had never lost a fight. Tiny Jack was the undefeated champion of this underground fight club. The man had a reputation for breaking bones like they were twigs and leaving his opponents unrecognizable by the time he was done.

It was said that he didn’t just fight to win; he fought to destroy. More than one man had been carried out of the ring on a stretcher, some never fighting again, some never walking. This was the man Vincent Moretti wanted me to fight. Vince was a businessman; he’d done the math, and he knew that putting me up against his finest fighter would make him more tonight. The stakes would be high, and the fight would be an epic showdown for his audience and business associates.

Ilya leaned forward, his voice a hushed whisper in my ear. “This is a bad idea.”

“What do you say, Danny? Are you in?” Vince asked, anticipating a positive response.

He got one.

Ilya should have known that I would never back down from a fight. I came here to blow off some steam, irrespective of my opponent, and that was exactly what I was going to do.

“I’m in,” I replied, staring at Vince.

A smirk tugged at a corner of his lips. “Fantastic.”

***

The necessary arrangements had been made, and soon the fight would begin. I stood shirtless outside the ring, the blood-stained floor sticky beneath my bare feet. My eyes darted upward, where Scarlett stood beside Vince at the edge of the private lounge’s balcony.

Her gaze locked on mine, and although she didn’t say anything, I saw it in her eyes. Not fear. Not anxiety. Not revulsion. Something else, something darker. Deeper. She was captivated, her eyes roaming my body—mesmerized. And that fueled me.

My wife was watching, so there was no room for failure. I didn’t care how tall and huge Tiny Jack was, didn’t care that he had never been defeated; today was the day he’d go down for the first time.

The arena buzzed with electricity, and the crowd pressed in—a sea of sweaty bodies, their jeers and cheers rising to a fever pitch.

The ring announcer, a blonde lady in a skimpy red skirt and a white crop top, stepped forward, a microphone in hand. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she began, her voice echoing through the arena. “This next fight will leave you blown away. Are you ready?!”

The crowd roared, their voices loud and laced with anticipation.

“Our first fighter is a man whose reputation precedes him. You know his name, and even in your sleep, you know not to mess with him,” she continued, her voice rising with each sentence.

The crowd thundered.

“He’s the man who fights like the devil himself, the one who leaves bodies broken and bloodied in his wake. Some call him a savage; others call him unstoppable—however, tonight, we get to see him for what he truly is…a monster. Give it up for Daniel Tarasov!”

The crowd erupted into a deafening roar as I ducked beneath the ropes and stepped into the ring, my movements fluid, slow, and deliberate. I rolled my neck and then my shoulders, my muscles rippling beneath the harsh overhead lights. I raised my head and met Scarlett’s gaze, a deadly smirk tugging at the corner of my lips.

The announcer let the noise settle before lifting the mic. “And now, the man who needs no introduction: the undefeated king of this ring….”

The crowd went wild, roaring and whistling.

She continued, her tone laced with enthusiasm, “He’s the man who’s never lost a fight, the man who has ended careers, shattered bones, and sent more fighters crawling out of here than any of us can count. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the unstoppable, the undefeated, Tiny Jack!” she screamed his name.

The crowd exploded, stomping and chanting his praises, their voices threatening to bring the walls down.

Tiny Jack stepped into the ring like a mountain in motion, his face a map of scars, his massive frame casting a shadow over me.

I stole a glance at Scarlett, and that’s when I saw it: a glint of fear and worry simmering in her eyes. Tiny Jack’s imposing physique must have shocked her to the bone. She clearly wasn’t expecting someone with such a casual name to be so huge and intimidating.

“You have my respect, Mr. Tarasov,” Tiny Jack said to me, his voice deep and raucous. “But in here, I’m the king, and I won’t go easy on you,” he bragged, boasting in his might and size.

A faint smirk lined a corner of my lips, but I didn’t respond. I watched him closely, studying his every move as he cracked his thick neck and flexed his fists. Tiny Jack was bigger and stronger than me, and as advantageous as that was, it still had its downside—he was slower.

I, on the other hand, was fast like lightning; that was my upper hand, the advantage that I had over him. I’d always been fascinated by the story of David and Goliath, how a regular man brought a giant to his knees with one stone and a slingshot.

The bell rang.

Tiny Jack, as expected, charged first, swinging a powerful right hook aimed at my jaw. He moved exactly as I’d predicted, proving my theory. Men like him, huge and mighty, often fought without thinking.

With a swift motion, I sidestepped with lethal grace, my body a rapid blur as I retaliated, driving my fist into his ribcage—once, twice—a sickening crack splitting the air.

He groaned, staggering forward, a hand over the affected area.

The crowd grew more raucous, cheering and jeering.

Tiny Jack regained his balance and faced me, his jaw tightening, rage dancing in his eyes, chest heaving rapidly. He was angry. Good. This meant that he was bound to do dumb shit now that his ego had been bruised. He’d want to make me pay, and with that mindset, he’d let his emotions control him, playing right into my trap.

He came at me with brute force, swinging wildly. But I was quick—too quick, in fact—ducking, dodging, and weaving his advances. I’d watched him fight countless times, and the one thing he lacked aside from strategic thinking was cardio. Tiny Jack was the kind to get tired easily, and that was because he fought with everything he had.

Over the years, I’d mastered the art of patience, conserving my strength in a fight, knowing when to attack and when not to. Now wasn’t the time to attack. No. Now was the time to mess around and make him throw as many punches as he could. The plan was simple: Make him exhaust all of his strength.

Tiny Jack was huge, meaning one strike was enough to disorient and throw me off balance. All he needed to do was hit me once, and he’d have the upper hand, but I wasn’t going to let that happen. Not while Scarlett was watching.

Oblivious to my plan, Tiny Jack continued to come at me, swinging powerful blows and kicks, all of which I dodged with seamless ease. His failure to land a single punch was starting to infuriate him. I could tell by the look of frustration in his eyes and the way he desperately slung his fists around.

He wasn’t thinking; all he wanted to do was win. His reputation as an “undefeated champion” meant more to him than anything else. Tiny Jack was determined to retain that title at any cost. Sadly for me, that desperation was going to be his downfall.

By the time I had him worn out and a bit exhausted from all that unnecessary dancing, I saw a window to strike and jumped on the opportunity. My muscles coiled like a beast, ready to pounce.

Tiny Jack, unaware of the danger in front of him, swung a punch as usual. As I ducked away from his swing, I struck a brutal uppercut that snapped his head back, blood spraying from his mouth, accompanied by a lost tooth.

A loud gasp of shock and astonishment rose from the crowd as Tiny Jack staggered backward under the weight of my blow.

I didn’t stop. No. I seized the moment, driving my knee into his gut, my strike stealing his breath. Tiny Jack barely had time to double over before I struck again, delivering a savage elbow to the side of his head.

My opponent crashed with a loud thud, his body sprawling to the floor. I lunged at him, eyes dark with sinister intentions as I grabbed him by the neck, fingers digging into his thick skin. With a strategic move, I dragged him up only to send him crashing down again—this time with a strike to his throat. Both hands flew to his neck, and he choked as he dropped to the floor.

The crowd roared, some chanting his name, others chanting mine.

He wheezed, struggling to stand. Big mistake.

I prowled forward, my foot connecting to his jawbone with a kick so powerful it turned his neck to the other side, a sickening crack filling the air. Again, a tooth flew from his mouth, blood spraying on the floor. He gasped, unfocused, bleeding from his mouth and nose.

With unimaginable strength, Tiny Jack sprang back to his feet, taking me off guard. He landed his first punch, a powerful blow to my head that sent me crashing to the floor. My mind was blank for a moment, and my vision was a little hazy. The blow had me disorganized, and the ringing in my ear seemed to muffle the sound around me.

I shook my head, fingers rubbing my eyes in an attempt to get a grip on myself. And then I felt it, the prickle at the back of my neck. With lightning speed, I rolled away, his heavy foot stomping on the very spot I lay on seconds ago.

Back on my feet, I swiped a palm over my eyes, and the moment my vision cleared, I saw his fist flying toward my face. Swiftly, I stepped to the side, trapping his hand in mine, and before he could make another move, I snapped it like a twig, dislocating his elbow. The sound of his bone cracking echoed through the ring, accompanied by his loud cry.

I caught a glimpse of Scarlett’s reaction through the chaos. Her green eyes locked on mine, and in their depths was something that made my blood boil even hotter.

My expression darkened, fingers clenched into a dangerous fist, and with a final, thunderous strike, I delivered a powerful uppercut. My fist connected with Tiny Jack’s jawbone, the impact raising him into the air. Moments later, his now limp body crashed onto the floor with a heavy thud that seemed to shake the whole building. Out like a light.

For the next few seconds, the arena was silent as a graveyard, everyone marveling at what they’d just witnessed. I straightened, rolling my neck in a triumphant motion, my eyes darting toward Scarlett.

The referee rushed over to the motionless Jack, feeling for a pulse. Once done, he signaled that their champion had been knocked out, and then, the crowd erupted into a frenzy of screams—shouts. But I heard only one thing: the sound of Scarlett’s breath hitching.

I held her gaze, my chest rising and falling, fists still dripping with blood. The crowd chanted my name, singing my praises, but none of that mattered. That smile on her face was more than enough for me.

As I left the ring, my men and Vince’s surrounded me while the crowd roared, some reaching to touch me. Scarlett had come down from the private lounge, standing away from the crowd, her eyes tracing my movement as I walked toward her.

Her skin was flushed, and her chest heaved slowly, her lips slightly parted. She didn’t realize it, but she’d been holding her breath, afraid for my safety.

I halted in front of her, a smirk tugging at the corners of my lips.

She crossed her arms and raised her brows. “Tiny Jack, really? You agreed to fight him, of all people?”

I chuckled, fingers caressing her chin. “Were you worried about me?”

She let out a dismissive scoff. “That was reckless, not to mention dangerous.”

“So, you were worried about me,” I teased, looking right into her eyes.

Scarlett was silent, her eyes shining with a mix of pride and relief. I wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling her to myself, the noise and roaring of the crowd fading into the background.

“How was the show?” I asked, my voice mild and teasing. “You enjoyed watching me fight, didn’t you?”

Although she was quiet, her eyes and the faint grin on her lips betrayed her silence. She loved it: the rush of adrenaline, the thrill, the tension, the suspense, and everything that came with it.

Whether she admitted it or not, she was gradually starting to blend into my world, accepting her fate—her new reality.

“Impressive move back there,” Vince’s voice cut through the roaring of the crowd, his shoes clicking against the floor as he approached us.

I turned to face him, watching the grin on his lips, the flicker of pride in his eyes.

“You gave us quite the show.” He chuckled, halting in front of me with a hand on my shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I banked on you to win, and you didn’t disappoint.” He patted my shoulder. “You’ve made me thousands of dollars richer tonight.”

I let out a dismissive scoff. “Well, in that case, enjoy your money.” I turned to leave.

His grip on my shoulder tightened, and he leaned in. “Watch your back, Danny Boy, a lot of evil eyes out there.” His strong fingers massaged my muscles. “Trust no one. No one,” he whispered, his breath against my ear.

Vince patted my shoulder and stepped away. “See you around, Daniel,” he said, heading back up to his private lounge.

My eyes squinted ever so slightly, wondering what he meant by that. In this world of ours, trust was a strong word that we didn’t always throw around. Vincent was certain that I knew better than to trust anyone outside those who had proven their loyalty to me over time.

He wasn’t the kind of man to say things on a whim; Vincent’s words should not be taken for granted. The man was old in the game; he’d seen things and had more experience than me. If he said to watch my back, then that was exactly what I was going to do.

***

After we got back home, Scarlett did the unexpected for the first time, an action that would, in turn, change the dynamics of our relationship. She had the maids prepare me a warm bath, and while I took my clothes off, she stepped forward.

“Let me,” Scarlett said, her voice mild and gentle as her hand grazed my skin.

I met her gaze, my eyes squinting in bewilderment. Without a word, she helped shed my jacket, her manicured fingers undoing the buttons of my undershirt. Her movement was slow, deliberate, and poised until the shirt was off, revealing my bruised skin. Her eyes dropped to my torso, fingers slowly tracing the wounds I’d sustained during the fight. With each touch, I felt my pain dissipate into thin air. Her caresses were gentle, genuine, and soothing.

“Does it hurt?” she whispered, her eyes fixed on a blister, fingers massaging the area around it.

“I’ve had worse,” came my reply, savoring the feeling of her hand on my body. “I’ll live.”

She raised her head, her eyes locking to mine, her soft palms traversing my torso. Scarlett caressed my skin, easing my tense body and relaxing my muscles. Her hands slid down, fingers running along the ridges of my chiseled abs.

I watched her breath hitch, her chest heaving with slow breaths as she stared into my eyes. “You should freshen up,” she whispered, her warm exhale soft against my skin.

My lips curled into a mischievous smile. “You say it like there’s a reward for me,” I teased.

“Maybe.” Her shoulders shrugged causally, eyes sparkling with a mysterious glint. She pulled away from me, her teeth seductively grazing her lower lip.

Energized, I withdrew, taking backward steps toward the bathroom. Once inside, my brows rose at the elegant setting—simple yet intimate. Lit candles adorned the space, their delicate flames casting a soft glow across the marble walls, giving the space a warm, inviting feel. The scent of lavender and vanilla filled the air, mingling with the subtle hint of sandalwood.

The large bathtub was filled with streaming water, rose petals floating over the surface. Golden fixtures gleamed under the dim little lights, adding to the ambience of the opulent space.

I squinted my eyes, wondering what exactly was going on. This was new, strange. I took my pants off, walked butt naked toward the bathtub, and stepped into it, the warm water rising to meet my skin in gentle waves. As the heat enveloped me, I let out a satisfactory sigh, feeling my muscles relax.

The door opened, and my eyes darted toward the entrance, where Scarlett stood, striking a rather seductive pose. She held my gaze, a smile brightening up her face as she strolled inside. Her movements were fluid and majestic—elegant, like a pageant queen on a runway.

Her see-through white dress clung to her body like a second skin, highlighting her curves and contours. She threw her hands into her red hair, fingers deftly styling it into a quick bun, a few loose strands framing her face.

My eyes narrowed, drinking in the sight of her nipples pointing from underneath the transparent fabric of her dress. Her red panties flashed at me, drawing my gaze like steel to a magnet as she sashayed her way toward me.

“Mind if I join you?” she asked, her voice soft and sweet—music to my ears.

My response was a lazy grin, eyes roaming her ridiculously attractive body.

Scarlett stood at the edge of the tub, her skin simmering in the candles’ warm glow, her expression fiery and enticing. With eyes still locked on mine, her fingers traced the delicate straps of her dress, her movement slow and teasing. The tantalizing glimpse of her breasts first came into view, catching my attention before the fabric slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet.

My brows rose, drinking in this breathtaking sight of her naked body, a flutter rising in my chest. The gentle curve of her breasts, the delicate shape of her hips, her smooth skin, and her alluring thighs had me entranced—hooked.

A soft smile played on her lips, and she stepped forward, dipping her toes into the water before sinking gracefully into the warm embrace of the bath. Once inside, she leaned in, closing the little distance between us, her lips sensually claiming mine.

I drew a deep breath, feeling the softness of her gentle swells against my rigid body. Her manicured hand framed my face, her tongue sliding into my mouth with a lingering motion that sent shivers down my spine. Her kiss was hot, passionate, and unhurried. She devoured my lips with a deliberate slowness, as if savoring every taste in my mouth. Her hands caressed my body, tenderly tracing the rugged ridges of my chiseled form.

She pulled her tongue from my mouth, an erotic gasp escaping her lips as she writhed her body against mine, her lap resting on mine. I kissed the nape of her neck, her head darting upward, her soft purrs filling the air. I reached out and grasped her boob, fondling and caressing her voluptuous curves.

Her hand traveled down my waist, fingers wrapping around my length before stroking it leisurely. My shaft grew so hard and veiny that it poked from underneath the water, just above the surface.

Heads turned, and tongues slid in and out of our mouths as we let the passion coursing through us take control. The deeper the kiss, the more the flame of ecstasy burned within us. I felt our connection deepening as our bodies writhed as one. The air was electric with desire, mingling with the sweet scent of lavender and vanilla.

Her gentle strokes relaxed me, easing off the stress of the day. Her kisses soothed my aches and healed my wounds.

She paused, taking a break from devouring my lips, her eyes boring into mine. Although we didn’t say anything, our silence said it all—things had changed now, and this was the start of something new.

I had no idea what got into her or why she looked at me with so much passion flickering in her gaze, but I liked it. I liked how she devoted the evening to helping me relax—how selfless of her.

She leaned in, her nose grazing against mine. Her soft breasts pressed against my chest as I traced the delicate curve of her lips with my thumb. Our position in the tub was intimate and sensual, skin against skin, our souls merging as one.

I could stay here all night, feeling her body on and enjoying her to the fullest, savoring every moment like it was our last.