Page 3 of Ruthless Lord

Charlie

S tefano leads me along the quiet streets past trash-strewn lots and boarded-over townhouses. “Neighborhood’s seen better days,” I comment, keeping close to him.

“Give it time. Some clever realtor will give this place a trendy name and it’ll gentrify.”

I frown at him, surprised to hear such a massive guy talking about gentrification. “If you had to name it, what would you use?”

He seems to consider. “Shittington. No, Bloodbath South. Bloody South? Bloody Shit?” He touches a finger to his chin in thought. “Doesn’t have the right ring.”

I shake my head in awe. “Your mind truly is incredible.”

“Thanks. Don’t usually get complimented on my smarts.”

“What do you get complimented on?”

“My looks.” He grins at me, dashing and confident. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” I mutter, shaking my head. “You know, I’ve never seen you around the ring before. Was tonight your first fight?”

“First at that place,” he says dismissively, waving a hand. “I bounce around between the spots.”

“Really? Don’t you have to get vouched for to get into the warehouse?”

“That wasn’t much of an issue. I’m on a win streak.”

“Oh, impressive. How many now?”

“Fifteen.”

That gets my attention.

“Seriously? Fifteen unbeaten in the pit fights?”

“Might be sixteen. Don’t know.”

I study him, suddenly curious. Most of the fighters at my grandfather’s venue have impeccable credentials.

Most are former MMA guys, though some come up through the underground rings and clubs scattered throughout North America.

If this guy is local, that means he’s either well connected or very, very good at what he does.

I’d guess both, based on what I saw back there. If he’s not kidding about that long of an unbeaten streak, then he might be the best fighter to have ever come through this region in a long time.

Stefano slows outside of a rundown-looking dive bar about two blocks from the warehouse. I know it instantly and try not to groan. It’s called Paddington’s, like that stupid bear, and all the fighters from the warehouse end up drinking here after hours.

There’s no doubt in my mind at least ten people inside will recognize me.

“Something wrong?” he asks, lingering near the door. He’s holding it open like a perfect gentleman, despite the blood still caked under his fingernails.

“Just, uh, is there anywhere else we can go?”

“Don’t like this place?”

“Not my taste, honestly.”

He lets the door close. “Let me guess. You’re more of a fancy cocktail kind of girl?”

“If you’re asking honestly, I’d prefer a hotel bar to this place.”

“Sounds about right.” He’s studying me again and I don’t like it. I raise my chin, glaring at him.

“What do you think you know about me?”

“I heard what you said back there. You told me you know people. And there’s the way you act all prim and proper, even though you’ve got a sharp mouth.

You look at people like they’re ants. Even dressed like you’re straight off a late-night shift at a grocery store or some shit.

My guess is you’re a rich girl playing poor and getting her rocks off on slumming it with the rest of us. How am I doing?”

My mouth hangs open. He’s smirking now, totally at ease. There’s no sneering, no anger, but he’s not pulling punches.

And he’s totally right.

Which pisses me off even more.

“I’m not slumming it , asshole. I like the warehouse.” Which isn’t exactly true, but he doesn’t need to know that.

He comes close to me. I back up, but he lightly puts a hand on my arm to keep me from running into a street sign.

“What do you like about it?” he asks, voice soft and quiet. “You into the fights?”

“Sometimes,” I admit. There have been a few good ones over the years.

“Yeah? What else?”

“The crowd.” My voice softens to an awed whisper. “Toward the end, when it’s clear who’s coming out on top. The elation that ripples along everyone. And the anger from the people who made the wrong bets.”

“You like that?” What a simple phrase, but something dark and delicious drips from it. Like he’s implying something about me.

“I like the excitement.” Because it beats everything else about my otherwise boring, proper life.

“I like it too.” His touch turns to a grip. His fingers wrap around my arm, right above my elbow. There’s nothing aggressive about it, and if the Big Boss had tried to touch me this way, I would’ve yanked back and told him off.

But I don’t mind Stefano touching me.

Which is definitely a problem.

“Let’s go somewhere else.” I stare into his eyes. I’m not drunk, but I wish I was. Then I could blame this on the alcohol. Instead, I’m stone sober. This is just my stupid brain malfunctioning again.

“I don’t live far. We can go back to my place.”

The proposition hangs in the air and we both know what it means. There’s no threat, but plenty of promise. I get the feeling I can turn Stefano down and he won’t care either way. His fingers are touching my arm, but he’s not forcing me into anything.

I can turn and walk. That’s the smart thing to do. Get an Uber and go straight home. Tell Albert about what happened tonight.

Only I know this will never happen again.

I might never see Stefano after this. I’ll have to avoid the warehouse for a while, at least until things settle and Big Boss is handled. Even when I do go back, I have the sense Stefano doesn’t stick around anywhere for long.

It has to be tonight.

There are a thousand reasons why this is stupid. My family would literally kill me if they knew I was doing this, for one. But worse, they’d probably kill Stefano, too.

He has no idea how much trouble he’s in right now.

And I don’t care. I doubt he would either. That’s the sickest part of all this.

I reach up and lightly move his hand from my arm. He seems disappointed, but doesn’t try to push.

I surprise both of us when I step forward, reach up, and brush my thumb down his temple.

“Still have some blood on you,” I murmur, wiping it away.

“Looks like I owe you now too.”

“I’m a lifesaver.” I shiver as my fingers graze the stubble on his cheek. He’s so much bigger than me—twice my size, maybe more—and he could break me in half. I watched him squeeze a monster nearly to death. Imagine what he could do with me. “How far is your place?”

His eyes brighten with excitement. His lips press into a suppressed smile. “Ten minutes.”

“You really live around here?”

“Beats Center City. Less traffic.”

I honestly can’t tell if he’s serious, but he doesn’t wait for me to figure it out. I have to hurry to keep up again as he strides away without checking to see if I’m following.

The area ten minutes north of here isn’t that much better, but there are more cars and lights at least and the houses aren’t boarded over.

We’re deep in South Philly, in territory I don’t recognize.

I try to remember who controls these streets, but I’ve only ever half paid attention to my grandfather’s lessons.

I’m pretty sure they’re Italian, and it’s not until we’re approaching a nice, updated corner house that I remember their name.

The Marino Famiglia.

Stefano heads up the stoop. He punches in a code and holds the door for me, eyebrows raised like he thinks I’m going to chicken out. Beyond is a very nice place, a glimpse of hardwood floors and modern furniture, but not much else.

I’m in deeper than I thought. If this guy is who I think he is, there’s no way in hell I should ever step foot inside that house.

Bad enough I followed a street fighter home.

Worse that he’s part of the Marino organization.

Technically a rival family.

“Do you have any wine?” I ask, slipping past him. My hand brushes against his rock-hard stomach and another thrill runs down my spine.

“Plenty,” he says, closing the door and snapping on the lights.

His house is surprisingly nice. I expected a bachelor pad with sports memorabilia on the counter and crumbs on a cheap old carpet.

Instead, there’s a beautiful leather couch against one wall, mid-century style chairs at a gorgeous repurposed wooden table, and tasteful art over light gray walls.

The place reeks of taste and money without being extravagant.

“I moved in here a couple years back,” Stefano says as he heads into the kitchen. “Redid most of it myself. The floors were a real nightmare.”

“They’re gorgeous,” I say and really mean it. “All original?”

“Hand-sanded and stained.” He takes a bottle of white from the refrigerator, twists off the top, and fills two glasses. “You’d be surprised how much work these old Philly homes are.”

“Not a surprise. They were built so long ago.” I take a long sip. Then I take another. He’s looking at me, completely at ease, while I’m a nervous wreck. “Can I admit something to you?”

“I think we’re past asking.”

I nearly laugh. God, I hope not. “I’ve never, you know, gone home with a guy from the warehouse before.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Good. I don’t either.” He takes a drink, still watching me, before slowly coming around the kitchen counter. “Alright, now it’s my turn to ask you something.”

“What’s that?” I face him, heart racing as he approaches, coming right at me. What a big, monstrous, beautiful man. There’s still a splatter of blood in his hair from where he wiped his hand.

“When this is over—” He lightly takes my hand and guides my glass to my lips. I take a little sip, thrilling over the strange gesture. “Are you going to brag to your country club friends about how you fucked a handsome stranger from the wrong side of the tracks?”

My eyes widen. My heart does a little stutter dance and my mouth immediately waters. “Who said I’m fucking you?” I whisper. This time, I reach out and push his glass up toward his lips.

He seems to like that as he drinks. “The way you’re looking at me.”

“We haven’t gotten that far yet.”

“And we never have to if you decide you want to leave.” He gestures toward the door. “It’ll never be locked.”

“Good to know, but I mean, I hope that’s a metaphor. This isn’t a great area.”

His laugh is low and soft. The sound rolls down the little hairs on the back of my neck. “You like being funny, don’t you?”

“Better than being boring.”

“It’s how you keep all this inside.” He puts a hand on my chest. Holy shit, it’s a simple gesture, not even on my breasts but near my heart, but it makes my breath come fast.

“That’s a really weird and presumptive thing to say.”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” His hand moves up my neck toward my cheek. I let him touch me. I move a little closer, wanting him to touch me more, thrilling at the danger and the promise.

We’re dangling, suspended, still in the maybe-maybe-not. I’m not sure I want this and he’s not sure if I’m going to run screaming. I know he’ll fuck me senseless if I let him. And I know I’ll love it if I do.

Only I’m as terrified as I am excited.

I want to stay in this moment. It’s this exact feeling I’m always searching for.

A break from the normal. A deep scar in the skin of my life.

These moments are so rare and they don’t come around that often, and I’m afraid that once it’s over, I’ll be finished.

No more excitement for me. Back to family, expectations, and a future already written down in memos and codified in contracts.

Stefano’s on the outside of all that. He’s dangerous and beautiful. This is a man who hurts people, apparently for fun.

He saved my life when he really didn’t have to get involved.

Now I’m in his beautiful apartment, afraid of where this is headed, but wanting it more than I’ve ever wanted in my life.

“Tell you what,” I whisper, barely audible over my own hammering heart. “Let’s make a deal. If you answer a question completely honestly, I’ll let you do what you really want to do.”

He licks his lips. “What do I want to do, baby?”

I’ve never been called baby before. I always thought I’d hate it, but not coming from Stefano.

From him it’s like a promise. Like he’ll take care of me. Give me things. Make me feel .

“You want to kiss me.”

He nods slowly. “Yes, I do. Ask your question.”

I take a long drink of wine. My glass is almost empty. “Why do you fight at the warehouse? It doesn’t look like you need the money and I’ve never heard of you before. So why did you compete tonight?”

His lips stretch into a vicious smile. It’s the kind of look that could tear me in half if I weren’t already gutted. He leans in close, invading all my personal space, crushing any chance of escape.

“You really want to know?” His thumb brushes my cheek. “I get in that ring, break my knuckles, and bleed, all for fun .”

I drag in a breath as his hand slips into my hair, takes a tight grip, and he crushes his mouth to mine.