C3

Taryn Vescari

Forcing myself to tear my gaze away from the massive frame of the rival caporegime, I went back to delivering drinks across the crowded room. It was harder to locate the soldiers who’d placed the orders since every enforcer in the basement had pushed up against the chain-link enclosure.

I was down to my last two glasses when the crowd surged forward again. I moved with the momentum, barely keeping my metal tray balanced. I was right by the front of the cage now, where Sergio Costanzo had just stepped up to the microphone.

"Last call to place your bets," Sergio barked.

I knew once the blood spilled, it would be impossible to trace the men who ordered these bourbons. I sighed, wondering if I should cut my losses and dump the tray before the fight started.

Glancing over my shoulder, I checked the fighters in the ring. That’s when I caught his face under the overhead light for the first time.

Vittorio Moretti’s eyes locked straight onto mine, and the world dropped out from under my feet. The air left my lungs in a sharp gasp. He was terrifyingly magnetic in a way I couldn't wrap my mind around. His dark, cold eyes pulled me in, gripping me with an intensity that refused to let go.

My heart hammered against my ribs, making my blood run hot. The sheer power radiating off him made my core pulse with a sudden, dirty ache. I wanted to drag my hands over the hard slabs of his chest, to feel his rough skin against mine. It made no sense. He was a Moretti boss, a lethal outsider, but the raw tension snapping between us was like a loaded gun pressed to my chest.

"To your corners!" Sergio yelled.

Vittorio finally broke the connection, turning toward Rocco Falcone. The moment his eyes left mine, I stumbled backward like a tether had snapped, my heel catching on someone’s leather shoe. I twisted too fast, losing my grip on the tray. The heavy glasses smashed onto the floor, spraying liquor over the silk dress of a woman standing near the front row.

She let out a piercing screech, her face twisting in rage. "You clumsy bitch! This dress costs more than your life in the Vescari District!"

"I'm sorry," I said quickly, dropping down to grab the shattered glass. "It was an accident."

A shadow fell over me, and a heavy hand grabbed my hair, yanking my head back. A scowling Moretti enforcer glared down at me. "You just ruined my woman's outfit, gutter trash."

Before I could answer, his heavy boot slammed right into my ribs. The breath exploded out of me as I hit the concrete, curling inward to protect my face as another kick landed against my spine.

Suddenly, a sickening crack echoed above me, followed by a wet thud. The kicks stopped.

I forced my eyes open and rolled onto my side. The enforcer who had kicked me was on his knees, his jaw broken at a gross angle. Vittorio stood towering over him, his fingers slick with the man's blood.

"You lay another hand on her," Vittorio growled, his deep voice vibrating through the concrete floor, "and I’ll strip the skin off your bones myself."

I panted against the floor, my side screaming in pain as I stared at the Dark Don. Why would a rival syndicate leader step in for a nobody like me? Nobody in the Vescari District ever took a hit for me.

"I'm sorry, Don Moretti!" the kneeling man wheezed, trembling as he clutched his face. "I didn't know!"

"Apologize to her," Vittorio snapped, his voice dropping an octave.

"I'm sorry!" the enforcer gasped out, looking at me with pure terror in his eyes.

The crowd had backed away, forming a wide ring around us. Every Made man in the room was staring in dead silence.

Vittorio turned his dark gaze down to me, his heavy eyes sweeping over my trembling body. I forced myself up, reaching out to catch his wrist before he could walk back to the cage. The moment my fingers touched his warm, calloused skin, a jolt of heat shot straight up my arm and settled deep between my thighs. I yanked my hand back like I'd touched a live wire.

He stopped, looking over his shoulder at me. "What?"

The intense, possessive look in his eyes left me completely speechbound for a second. "Why did you do that?" I managed to ask, my voice shaky. "I didn't ask for your help."

A dark, dangerous smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. "He was about to break your ribs, little girl. A thank you usually comes next."

"I can take care of myself," I shot back, tightening my jaw despite the throbbing pain in my side.

Vittorio let out a low, rough laugh. "Sure you can, sweetheart. But I don't like other men breaking things that catch my eye."

"I'm not yours to claim," I spat softly.

"We'll see about that," he murmured, his eyes lingering on my mouth before he turned and stepped back into the steel ring. "Let's finish this."

Over in the opposite corner, Rocco Falcone was staring at me, his mouth slightly open in pure disbelief. He couldn't wrap his head around why the Don of the Moretti family had just protected the girl he used to bully in high school. When Rocco caught me looking, he scowled and turned back to his trainer.

I crouched down to sweep up the remaining glass, but the enforcer who had kicked me was already scrambling to pick up the pieces with his bare hands, placing them on my metal tray alongside the crumpled hundred-dollar bills I'd dropped.

"Here," he muttered, trembling as he handed the tray to me. "Please... just tell him we're good."

I took the tray, my mind spinning. "We're good."

He nearly collapsed with relief, quickly grabbing his girlfriend and disappearing into the crowd. I stood there, my heart racing fast. If Don Salvatore Falcone found out I had any connection to Vittorio Moretti, he’d have me executed for treason against the syndicate. My family debt bound me to the Falcone crew. I had no freedom, no protection, and no right to associate with rival families.

"Round one!" Sergio shouted into the mic.

The crowd roared, forgetting about the incident at the bar as Rocco and Vittorio met in the center of the ring. I retreated to the back counter, dumping the broken glass into the bin.

"What the hell was that?" Matteo Bellini asked, his eyes wide as he wiped down the counter. "You know who that is, right?"

"Vittorio Moretti," I said, leaning against the wood as my side throebbed with a dull ache.

"He's a monster, Taryn," Matteo warned softly. "I've seen him put six bullets into a man's chest without his heartbeat even speeding up."

"He takes down men twice his size in these fights," Dario added, sliding a clean towel across the bar. "There's a reason nobody in the underground touches him."

"So Rocco is going to get slaughtered?" I couldn't completely hide the dark satisfaction in my voice.

"Count on it," Dario said. "Don Salvatore thinks his son is out managing legitimate storefronts tonight. If the Don knew Rocco was fighting Moretti in an unsanctioned underground pit, he'd lock the kid in a basement himself."

I watched through the gaps in the crowd as the fight erupted inside the steel cage. Rocco threw a wild, heavy right hook that caught Vittorio squarely across the jaw. Vittorio's head snapped back, a smear of dark blood running from his lip.

A sharp gasp escaped my throat before I could stop it. My hands gripped the wooden edge of the bar so tight my knuckles turned white.

Rocco pressed the attack, driving a sharp elbow into Vittorio's ribs, following up with a brutal strike to his temple. Vittorio grunted, forced back against the steel chain-link as the Falcone loyalists in the room erupted into deafening cheers.

My chest constricted, a sudden, irrational panic clawing at my throat. I hated the Morettis. I was supposed to root for my own crew. But watching Vittorio take those hits made a raw, desperate fear spike straight through my pulse.

Without thinking, I stepped away from the bar, pushing through the wall of men to get closer to the cage.

Rocco pulled back his fist to drive another punch into Vittorio's bleeding face, smirking as he cornered the Dark Don. "Not so tough outside your palazzo, are you, Moretti?"

Vittorio didn't answer. Instead, his dark eyes shifted past Rocco's shoulder, locking onto me standing at the edge of the ring. The moment his gaze hit mine, the blood on his lip seemed to ignite something vicious inside him.

Vittorio ducked under Rocco's punch, caught Rocco by the throat with one massive hand, and slammed him so violently against the iron post that the entire metal structure groaned under the force.

Rocco choked, his eyes going wide as his feet left the ground.

Vittorio leaned in close, his face dripping with blood, his voice carrying clearly over the dead-silent room. "You hit like a bitch, Falcone."

With a sickening crunch, Vittorio drove his bare fist straight into Rocco's chest, breaking his sternum in a single stroke. Rocco went limp, spitting up blood as Vittorio let go of his throat, letting the Falcone heir collapse into a heap on the blood-soaked canvas.

The room remained dead quiet for three seconds before Sergio stumbled over to the mic. "Winner... by knockout... Don Vittorio Moretti!"

Vittorio didn't raise his hands. He didn't even look at the screaming crowd or the bookies sliding stacks of cash through the fence. He stepped straight through the cage door, his dark eyes locked onto me as he wiped the smear of blood from his jaw.

He walked straight past his own lieutenants, stopping less than an inch from where I stood frozen. The heat coming off his broad chest hit me in a suffocating wave, smelling of sweat, leather, and raw dominance.

"You were worried about me, little girl," Vittorio murmured, his deep voice sliding over my skin like warm silk.

"I wasn't," I lied, my voice betraying me with a soft tremble as his massive body blocked out the rest of the room.

Vittorio reached out, his blood-stained thumb catching my lower lip, pulling it down until my breath hitched against his hand. His dark eyes burned into mine, filled with an possessive, dangerous heat that made my core ache.

"Liar," he whispered, stepping so close his heavy chest pressed against my breasts. "Your heart is hammering against your ribs. Next time I fight, you'll be sitting in my box at the Moretti Palazzo, wearing my ring."

Before I could speak, a heavy leather envelope was shoved into my hands from behind. I turned to see Nico Sforza, Vittorio's chief consigliere, standing right behind us.

"Don Salvatore Falcone just called the house line upstairs," Nico reported quietly to Vittorio, ignoring me completely. "He knows Rocco is down here. His enforcers just crossed the district line—they’ll be raiding the lounge in five minutes."

Vittorio didn't even flinch. His eyes stayed locked on my face as his thumb pressed deeper into my lip. "Open the envelope, Taryn."

My hands shook as I pulled open the heavy paper flap and slid out the document inside. At the top of the paper, stamped in red ink, was the Falcone family seal.

It was my original debt contract—the document holding me to three more years of forced service to Don Salvatore. And across the bottom line, signed in fresh black ink, was Don Salvatore’s official release signature, right next to a transfer deed naming Vittorio Moretti as my new legal handler.

"What is this?" I gasped, my head snapping up to look at him.

"Don Salvatore owed me two million on a shipment he lost last month," Vittorio said softly, his possessive grip tightening on my hip, pulling me flush against his hard body. "He couldn't pay in cash. So I took your debt instead. You don't belong to the Falcones anymore, little girl. You belong to me."