Page 23 of The Fractured

We were all thinking it as our eyes landed on the center of the room.

Surrounded by music, lights, large cargo crates that lined the outer walls, and an audience plied with alcohol from an in-basement bar, was a large glass cube on a raised area of the floor. Inside it were two men, beating the ever living shit out of each other.

“Bare knuckle it is then,” Seb muttered.

Roxy led us to the metal staircase on our right. At the top was a mezzanine, where men and women sat at small tables, observing the fight beneath them while they drank and snorted cocaine off tabletops. They were all unbothered by the brutality happening within the cube.

When we reached the back of the mezzanine, where a deep purple, velvet curtain sectioned off a VIP area, Roxy raised her hand, and we slowed to a stop, waiting for further instructions from her. My eyes, however, were on the two men guarding the curtain. Antonio’s kids wanted to make themselves known to their father, but they sure as hell were scared if they required this much protection. In the crowd below, I spotted several guys in black suits weaving through the throng. Their eyes were on the exit and every corner of the room.

“Wait here.” Roxy sauntered over to the guards and the curtain. Within seconds, she was in, disappearing behind the curtain. As our representative, she had to convince Antonio’s kids to let us fight here.

I hoped they declined as I looked at the fighters in that box again, and braced my arms on the mezzanine banister.

Seb joined my side and followed my line of sight. “That’s going to be hell…”

“Uh-huh.”

“Since when did Antonio start making you wear a wire?”

My head snapped in his direction. “What?”

Seb was frowning at the front of my shirt, and I glanced down quickly. The wire was partially hanging down.

“Fuck,” I hissed, trying to reapply the tape only for it to come loose again. I tugged it off instead, unplugging the mic and making sure no one but Seb witnessed when I shoved the wire and microphone into my pants.

Seb raised his eyebrows. “That’s one way to do it.”

“It’s not for Antonio,” I murmured.

Seb’s eyes popped when he realized who else it would be for. “What?”

I nodded, combing a hand through my hair as I went back to leaning against the banister. “I’ll explain later.”

“Fuck, man—”

The velvet curtain was pulled back again, and Roxy peered out to let us know it was time to meet the owners.

Seb and I were the last to step into the VIP area. Like the club upstairs, everything had a mirrored surface — the coffee table, the couch legs, the fucking ceiling.

Sitting directly across from us, on a dark green sofa and surrounded by bodyguards, were Antonio’s triplets.

Lucia Gimello was perched on the arm of the sofa in a black dress, twirling a thick and long lock of auburn hair around her finger as her brown eyes swept over us. Her eyes stopped on me, and she winked. She was the more aloof and carefree of the siblings. Her sister, on the other hand — completely identical but with a harder, more cunning expression — was standing to theside of the sofa. Her brow was set in an arch as she scrutinized us like prey. Her name was Beatrice. She liked to cut off fingers with a cigar cutter for fun, according to Vince’s stories. She wore a black tailored suit without a dress shirt beneath.

And then there was Gabriele. He looked exactly like Antonio, just younger, without the stark white hair, and oozing bucket loads of arrogance and pain-in-the-ass.

He was reclined in the middle of the sofa. There was a twisted smirk on his face as he tilted his head. Dark circles clung to his eyes, and a cigar hung from his lips. He too wore a black suit without a shirt beneath. When the suit caught the light, there was a faint purple shine to it.

My attention on the details of the suit was brief. Especially since Lucia casually flipped out a knife and was trailing a finger along the silver blade as she watched me, smiling.

Roxy introduced us by nickname as the triplets listened and considered. We didn’t have to talk. Only wait for them to decide if we were worthy of fighting in their club. It wasn’t until Roxy had introduced me as Romeo that Gabriele’s eyes narrowed slightly.

He combed a hand through the longer section of auburn hair on his head, brushing the cheekbone-length, oily strands back into place. The sides of his hair were buzz-cut short.

He then sat forward, nodding slowly as Roxy finished. The gold bracelet on his wrist and the matching rings on his fingers glinted in the light.

Gabriele may have hated his father but fuck they were similar with their taste of decoration and attire.

Continuing a conversation they had had before the rest of us walked in, Beatrice said with a thick Italian accent, “How do we know this isn’t our father’s way of planting spies? You all worked for him, no? Why not prove your loyalty to us and fight under our name instead?”