Page 10 of Made for Reign (Made for the Mountain Man #2)

Ben Mitchell. Gio’s latest obsession and most promising investment.

The heavyweight moved down from Montana six months ago and signed with Vega Promotions, much to the delight of everyone in Cooper Heights who follows boxing.

Tonight’s fight against Reyes could send him straight to a title shot if he wins.

It’s huge for Ben, and even bigger for Gio’s reputation as a promoter.

“That sounds nice,” I lie, already dreading the spectacle of being paraded around as Gio’s trophy fiancée.

A soft knock interrupts us, and Maria appears in the doorway with a silver tea service.

“Perfect timing,” I murmur, grateful for the interruption.

“Just set it on the side table, Maria,” Gio says with the kind of easy authority that makes it clear he considers himself master of this house already.

Before Maria can respond, Lucille glides into the room, her face lighting up the moment she sees Gio.

“Giovanni!” she exclaims, moving toward him with the kind of enthusiasm she rarely shows me. “What a lovely surprise.”

“Lucille.” He takes her hand and brings it to his lips in a gesture that’s both old-fashioned and slightly theatrical. “You look radiant as always.”

Lucille practically glows under his attention, and I have to resist the urge to roll my eyes.

“I was just telling Audrey that I wanted to get to the arena early tonight,” Gio explains, still holding Lucille’s hand. “I’d like to introduce her to Ben Mitchell before the fight. Give her a chance to meet the man who’s going to make Vega Promotions a household name.”

“Oh, what an excellent idea!” Lucille claps her hands together like he’s just suggested something brilliant instead of a simple introduction. “Audrey, isn’t that wonderful?”

“Wonderful,” I echo flatly.

Lucille either doesn’t notice my lack of enthusiasm or chooses to ignore it. “We should get you upstairs to change then. You’ll want to look perfect for such an important evening.”

“That’s a great idea,” Gio agrees, his dark eyes scanning me from head to toe in a way that makes my skin prickle with discomfort. “Wear the red dress I sent over. The one from Milan.”

It’s not a suggestion. It’s a command, delivered with that same easy authority he used with Maria. The red dress in question is currently hanging in my closet with the tags still on. It’s skintight and screams “look at what belongs to me” rather than anything I’d choose for myself.

“Of course,” I say, because what else can I say?

Lucille is already moving toward the door, clearly expecting me to follow. “We’ll be down in thirty minutes,” she tells Gio. “Will that give you enough time to finish your calls?”

“Perfect.” He settles into one of the leather chairs like he owns it, already reaching for his phone again. “Take your time, ladies. I want my girl looking absolutely stunning tonight.”

The possessiveness in his voice makes something cold settle in my stomach.

Lucille ushers me out of the library and toward the main staircase, I catch a glimpse of Gio through the partially open door. He’s already back on his phone, speaking in rapid Italian to whoever’s on the other end.

“You’re so lucky, darling,” Lucille says as we climb the stairs. “Giovanni is such a thoughtful man. Always thinking of ways to include you in his world.”

Include me. As if I have any choice in the matter.

“Yes,” I murmur. “So thoughtful.”

The irony burns like acid in my throat. But as we reach the second floor and I catch sight of myself in the hallway mirror, I wonder how much longer I can keep this up.

In my bedroom, she goes straight to my walk-in closet while I sit heavily on the edge of my bed. The engagement ring catches the light, sending rainbow fractures across the white comforter. Three carats of perfect clarity that feels like a shackle around my finger.

“This one,” Lucille says, emerging with a sleek red dress. “It’s sophisticated but not too conservative. Gio has excellent taste. Perfect for tonight.”

I take the dress without comment and disappear into my bathroom to change. When I emerge, Lucille is sitting in the velvet chair by my vanity, watching me with calculating eyes.

“You know,” she says casually, “you don’t have to come home tonight.”

I freeze in the middle of zipping the dress. “What?”

“Gio has that beautiful penthouse downtown. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to have you stay over.” She picks up my jewelry box, selecting a pair of diamond earrings. “You are engaged, after all.”

“Lucille!”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, I’m not a prude, Audrey.” She stands and approaches me with the earrings. “It’s only natural for an engaged couple to want to spend alone time together.”

The way she says it makes my skin crawl. As if she’s discussing the weather instead of essentially pimping out her own stepdaughter.

“I’m not ready for that,” I say firmly, taking the earrings from her hands.

“When will you be ready? You’re getting married in three months.” She smooths a hand over my hair. “It’s time to start acting like his wife.”

I want to scream that I’ll never be ready. That the thought of Gio’s hands on me makes me want to crawl out of my own skin. That I gave my virginity to a stranger in San Diego because even a one-night stand felt more real than this engagement ever will.

Instead, I put on the earrings and check my reflection in the mirror.

“I’ll think about it,” I lie.

Twenty minutes later, I descend the stairs to find Gio waiting in the foyer, his attention on his phone. When he looks up, his eyes darken as they travel slowly from my face down the length of my body and back up again.

“Perfect,” he says, tucking his phone away. “You’ll be the most beautiful woman there.”

He offers his arm, and I take it, feeling the solid muscle beneath the expensive fabric of his suit. As we walk to the waiting SUV, I notice there are now four security personnel surrounding us.

“Is all this security necessary?” I ask as one of them opens the car door.

Gio helps me into the backseat before sliding in beside me.

“Unfortunately, yes. There have been some threats recently.”

“Threats?” I turn to face him. “What kind of threats?”

His expression darkens. “Nothing for you to worry about. Just some disgruntled fighters and their managers unhappy with contract negotiations.” He moves closer, his thigh pressing against mine in the spacious backseat. “You’re safe with me, Audrey.”

As the SUV pulls away from the estate, Gio briefs me on tonight’s event. I listen and nod while the Wyoming landscape rushes past the tinted windows. Mountains rise in the distance, their peaks still snow-capped even in late spring. The sight of them brings an unexpected pang of longing.

I’ve always loved the mountains, the wildness they represent. Freedom. Possibility. Everything my carefully controlled life lacks.

The irony doesn’t escape me. I’m engaged to one of the most powerful men in professional fighting, yet I’ve never felt more powerless.

And then there’s Reign. The wild card I never expected. One weekend that somehow carved itself deeper into my heart than I could have ever imagined. One night that showed me what connection really feels like.

I know it’s ridiculous. You can’t fall for someone after a single night. That’s the stuff of fairy tales and romantic comedies, not real life. Real life is compromise and obligation and doing what needs to be done for your family.

The SUV slows as we approach Worthington Arena. As I look up at the building, my chest tightens with unexpected emotion.

Dad’s name is still there in bold letters across the facade: WORTHINGTON ARENA. Below it, a smaller sign reads “Home of Champions.” He would have been so proud to host a fight of this magnitude here. The arena he built from the ground up, his monument to the sport that made him everything he was.

The SUV pulls into the VIP entrance, where more security personnel wait. As Gio helps me from the car, camera flashes explode around us. I hadn’t expected media attention, but of course, there would be. This is the biggest fight Cooper Heights has seen in years.

“Smile,” Gio murmurs against my ear, his hand firmly planted on my lower back as we walk toward the entrance. “Let them see how happy we are.”

I force my lips into what I hope resembles happiness while reporters shout questions I can’t quite make out over the chaos.

Inside, the arena buzzes with pre-fight energy.

The main floor has been converted to accommodate the boxing ring, surrounded by rows of expensive seats filled with Wyoming’s elite.

Above us, the general admission sections are already packed with fight fans clutching beers and programs.

“Come,” Gio says, steering me toward a hallway marked “Authorized Personnel Only.” “I want you to meet Ben before he gets into fight mode.”

We walk through a maze of concrete corridors, past equipment rooms and storage areas.

The walls are lined with photographs of fighters who’ve competed here over the years, including several of my father during his championship days.

My steps slow as we pass one particular photo—Dad at twenty-five, arms raised in victory after winning his first heavyweight title.

I’m doing this for you, Daddy, I remind myself. I won’t let your legacy die.

Gio notices my pause and follows my gaze to the photograph. “Arthur was a hell of a fighter,” he says, his voice softer than usual. “Ben reminds me of him sometimes. That same hunger, that determination to be the best.”

“Really?” The comparison surprises me. Dad always said the best fighters had something to prove, something driving them beyond just wanting to win.

“Absolutely. You’ll see what I mean when you meet him.”

The locker room area is controlled chaos. Trainers, managers, and cornermen move with purpose while the sounds of gloves hitting heavy bags echo from behind closed doors. Gio stops outside a door marked “MITCHELL” and knocks twice.

“Come in,” a deep voice calls.

Gio opens the door and gestures for me to enter first. The locker room is larger than I expected, with benches along the walls and a massage table in the center. But what stops me cold is the man sitting on the bench, wrapping his hands with practiced precision.

Ben Mitchell is enormous. At least six-foot-four with shoulders that could span a doorway, he’s everything you’d expect from a heavyweight contender.

“Ben,” Gio calls. “I want you to meet someone.”

Ben stands, and I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.

He’s got the same rugged, mountain man look that seems to be standard issue for men from this part of the country—thick, dark beard, calloused hands, the kind of presence that fills a room.

But there’s something familiar about his features that I can’t quite place.

“This is my fiancée, Audrey Worthington,” Gio says, his hand sliding possessively around my waist.

Ben’s eyes widen slightly at my name, and he steps forward with an easy smile. “Miss Worthington. It’s an honor to meet you. Your father was a legend.”

“Thank you,” I manage, shaking his offered hand. His grip is firm but gentle, mindful of his size. “Gio speaks highly of your skills.”

“He better,” Ben says with a grin that transforms his intense features into something almost boyish. “I’m his ticket to the championship.”

Gio laughs, clapping Ben on the shoulder. “Confidence. I like it. Just back it up in the ring tonight.”

“Always do, boss.” Ben’s attention shifts to something behind us, and his expression brightens. “Hey, perfect timing. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

I turn, following his gaze. A tall figure stands with his back to us, examining the fight card posted on the wall.

Even from behind, something about him sends a jolt of recognition through my body.

The broad shoulders beneath a blue plaid shirt.

The way he stands, weight shifted slightly to one side.

The dark hair, shorter on the sides but longer on top.

My heart hammers against my ribs as Ben calls out to him.

“Hey! Come meet the boss.”

The man turns, and time slows to a crawl. The noise of the arena fades to a distant hum. My lungs forget how to function as his face comes into view, revealing the features that have haunted my dreams for two weeks.

Reign.

Only he looks different from the man I met in San Diego.

The clean-shaven executive in a tailored suit has been replaced by something wilder, more rugged.

A short beard now covers his jaw, making his blue eyes seem even more intense by contrast. The plaid shirt and worn jeans give him the appearance of a mountain man stepped straight out of the wilderness.

Our eyes lock, and I watch recognition flare in those blue depths before his expression smooths into careful neutrality.

The shock that must be written all over my face is nowhere to be found in his.

He’s controlled, composed, revealing nothing while I stand here literally speechless, my body humming with awareness like a tuning fork struck against stone.

“This is my brother, Jackson,” Ben says, completely unaware of the silent earthquake occurring between us, “but everyone calls him Reign.”