Page 5 of Shadows of Steel

He doesn’t just exist here.

He owns the room, and everyone in it knows it.

I don’t trust him.

But then again, I don’t trust anyone.

Loyalty is a currency too easily spent, and faith in others is a debt rarely repaid. If he ever uncovered the truth of who I really am—that I bear the Moretti name, a name his kind regards as a rival at best and an enemy at worst, he wouldn’t hesitate. He would kill me for the deception. And I have no doubt he would savour every moment of my suffering.

“Finally decided to show up, princess?” he calls out, his deep voice carrying a sharp edge of amusement.

I roll my eyes, crossing the floor toward him. “Princess? Really? That’s what we’re going with today?”

He shrugs, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk. “It fits. You’ve got that whole untouchable vibe going on. Like you think nothing and no one can get to you.”

“Untouchable, huh? Sounds like someone’s intimidated.” I reply, my tone dry but laced with challenge.

His chuckle is low, rough, and unsettling, vibrating through the space. “Intimidated? Hardly. But everyone falls sooner or later, princess. So, what’s it going to be today? More drills, or are you finally ready to step into the ring and prove you’re not all talk?”

I smirk, cold and sharp, stepping closer to the mats. “Fine. Show me what you’ve got, or prepare to lose.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, but says nothing as I move past him toward the ring.

I slide under the ropes with ease, rolling my shoulders to loosen the tension and shaking out my hands. Enzo follows, exuding the quiet intensity of someone who knows exactly what they’re capable of.

We move to opposite corners. I grab the wraps from the stand, winding the cloth tightly around my wrists and hands with methodical movements. The repetition is familiar, almost meditative. Across from me, Enzo mirrors the motion, his focus intense.

Once my hands are secure, I slide my gloves on, fastening the straps with a quick pull. Enzo flexes his fingers inside his own before stepping toward the centre of the ring.

We square off, circling each other, the tension between us thick as smoke. His eyes track my every movement, calculating, waiting.

“Don’t hold back, Ricci,” I say, my voice deceptively light but carrying a note of daring. “I can take it.”

His smirk hardens. “You might regret that.”

“Doubt it.” I raise my fists.

He moves first.

Fast.

Faster than I anticipated. His punches are sharp and testing, searching for a weakness. I dodge, counter. The first few exchanges are cautious, almost teasing, but the intensity builds with each strike. I block one of his hits and retaliate with a quick jab that grazes his ribs.

“What’s the matter, Ricci? Thought I’d be an easy win?” I ask.

His chuckle is dark. “You’ve got a mouth on you, I’ll give you that. Let’s see if your fists can keep up.”

I don’t back down, meeting him punch for punch, the sound of gloves colliding and the sharp rhythm of our movements filling the space. There’s something almost hypnotic in the way we move, brutal, unrelenting. I catch the flicker of surprise in his eyes when I push harder than he expected.

“You were hiding your talents,” he says between breaths, a faint smirk tugging at his lips even as his gaze narrows. “What else are you keeping from me?”

I step in close, my voice low. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

I throw a hook, narrowly missing his jaw as he counters with a swift jab that barely grazes me.

He pauses for a fraction of a second, his tone shifting slightly, almost cautious. “You push too hard. You’ll burn yourself out.”

I laugh softly, cold and biting, as I block his next strike. “Careful, Ricci. You’re starting to sound like you care.”