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Chapter Thirteen

M aya

“He needs competition.” Tony’s words echo through my empty gym. He’s arrived in person for the evening visit, disrupting our usual training routine. “Real fighters, not just easy sparring matches against your regulars who are too scared to go hard against the gym owner’s pet.” He pauses as he looks me up and down in a way that makes me feel dirty. “Or sparring with you, a girl .”

It’s amazing how much disdain and disrespect he crammed into that last word. He all but said, “Not good enough to fight, but good enough to fuck.”

Victor maintains his careful pose of submission, but I catch the slight tension in his shoulders. We’ve had over two weeks of controlled training, building his strength while hiding his true capabilities. Now Tony wants to change the game.

“My fighters are plenty tough,” I argue, though I know it’s useless. When Tony wants something, he gets it.

“Not as tough or skilled, or… bloodthirsty as Rico’s crew over at Empire.” Tony’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “They’re hosting some unofficial matches this weekend. Perfect chance to see what our investment can really do.”

The mention of Empire Gym makes my stomach clench. Rico Martinez runs the biggest underground fighting operation in Vegas outside of Tony’s control. His gym is technically legitimate, but everyone knows about the real money that flows through his backrooms.

“He’s not ready,” I say, trying to sound concerned rather than protective. “He’s still building back his strength after—”

“After what?” Tony’s eyes narrow. “Something you want to tell me about where he came from?”

I force my features to stay neutral. “After being inactive for so long. You want him at his best for the tournament, right?”

Tony circles Victor slowly, studying him like a prized horse. “He fights in three days. Marco will drive you both to Empire. No excuses.” He pauses, then adds with cold amusement, “Unless you’d prefer I send him alone?”

“He needs proper clothes first.” The words come out before I can stop them. “Look at him—he’s in clothes I dredged out of the lost and found. You want Rico’s fighters asking questions about why my new prospect looks like he raided a donation bin?”

Tony studies the ragged clothes we’ve cobbled together. Even standing perfectly still, Victor’s massive frame makes the fabric strain at every seam.

“Fine.” Tony gestures to Marco, who’s been lurking by the door. “Tomorrow morning. Marco drives you both to get what he needs. One hour. Then straight back here.” His gaze hardens. “Any deviation from the route, any unexpected stops, any calls… well, you know how I feel about complications.”

After they leave, I wait until I’m sure we’re alone before approaching Victor. “I’m sorry. I’d hoped to have more time before—”

“Before testing me against real fighters?” His Latin comes through the translation device with surprising calm. “It was inevitable.”

“Rico’s guys are different from my fighters. They’re not just training for sport. They—”

“Fight for money and pride.” He meets my eyes with that unnervingly direct gaze. “Like gladiators, but without the honor of the arena.”

Sometimes I forget just how much he understands, how quickly he absorbs everything around him. “We’ll need to be careful. Show enough skill to satisfy Tony, but not enough to—”

“To know what I’m truly capable of?” That ghost of a smile touches his lips. “I have some experience hiding my true capabilities, Domina. ”

The title sends its familiar shiver down my spine, but instead of the usual magic of reminding me of our unspoken attraction, it holds even more power. Making pictures flash through my mind of his bronzed skin under my fingertips, his tongue in my mouth, his tender grip plucking my nipples. The string between us is so taut it’s threatening to break.

“Get some rest,” I say, needing distance from his too-perceptive gaze. “Tomorrow will be… challenging.”

Watching him climb the stairs, I’m struck by a sudden question. “Victor,” I call, making him pause. “Where you come from… what makes a great fighter?”

He turns, something lighting in his eyes beyond mere physical interest. “Not what the Romans believed,” he says thoughtfully. “They valued spectacle and blood. But my father was from Greece. He taught that true victory comes from mastery of the self, not destruction of others.”

“So, you didn’t kill in the arena?”

The slight shake of his head confirms it. “A choice that cost me much. But as my father said, ‘Some prices are worth paying to keep one’s soul intact.’” The moment stretches between us. This unexpected glimpse into his core values is more intimate than any physical touch.

Watching him climb the stairs to our apartment, I try not to think about all the ways this could go wrong. Rico’s fighters are brutal—underground specialists who don’t care about rules or safety. One wrong move could expose Victor’s unusual fighting style or raise questions about his training. If Tony discovers Victor’s true origins, he’d reach out to big pharma in a heartbeat.

And now we have to navigate a shopping trip with Marco watching our every move. At least it gets us out of the gym, gives Victor a chance to see more of this world he’s been thrown into.

Taking a deep breath, I head upstairs. In three days, we’ll face Rico’s fighters. But first, we have to get through tomorrow’s trip without raising suspicions. Every moment in public is a risk—one wrong word or ancient gesture could unravel everything. Yet part of me can’t help looking forward to seeing Victor’s face when he experiences the modern world in daylight for the first time.