Chapter 3: The Thirty-Seventh Victim
The car was exactly what I expected: a sleek, black town car with heavily tinted windows. The driver didn’t say a single word as we navigated toward the industrial waterfront.
We pulled up to an unmarked brick warehouse. The driver opened my door, pointing toward a heavy steel entrance down a flight of concrete stairs.
I pushed the door open, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
The space beyond the door was absolutely massive. Someone had converted the entire warehouse floor into a professional underground fight club. A regulation-size boxing ring sat in the dead center, illuminated by blinding overhead stadium lights.
And the room was completely packed.
At least two hundred people crowded around the ring. These weren’t street thugs; they were wealthy, powerful people dressed in tailored suits and expensive cocktail dresses. Waitresses circulated with silver trays of champagne.
I spotted Dante Moretti immediately.
He was standing near the ring apron, surrounded by a dozen dangerous-looking men. He was dressed more casually tonight in dark denim and a black button-down, but he commanded the room with effortless authority. He looked up, his dark eyes locking onto me across the sea of people.
The crowd naturally parted as he walked toward me.
“Claire,” Dante murmured, stopping a few feet away. His eyes dragged over my athletic shorts and wrapped hands. “I am honestly surprised you actually showed up.”
“I said I would,” I replied, keeping my chin high.
“Last chance to change your mind,” Dante offered, gesturing toward the exit. “We can still go have that dinner instead.”
“I am not changing my mind.”
“Stubborn,” Dante noted, a faint trace of admiration bleeding into his voice. “Leonardo is warming up in the back. You have fifteen minutes. There is a locker room down the hall.”
“I am ready right now,” I told him.
Dante stepped closer, lowering his voice so only I could hear. “Three rounds. Three minutes each. The first one who cannot continue loses. I have a private doctor on standby for when he breaks your jaw.”
“Tell the doctor he can take the night off,” I shot back.
Ten minutes later, I climbed through the heavy ropes and stepped onto the firm canvas. The crowd buzzed with a mixture of shock and heavy amusement. People were actively waving cash, placing bets on how many seconds I would survive.
Dante stepped up to the ring apron with a microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Dante’s voice boomed over the speakers, silencing the warehouse. “Thank you for joining us for some unexpected entertainment tonight. In the red corner, we have Leonardo! Undefeated in thirty-seven professional underground matches.”
The crowd erupted in massive cheers as the giant climbed over the ropes.
“And in the blue corner,” Dante continued, a smirk playing on his lips. “We have our very brave, very foolish waitress, Claire Dalton!”
Cruel laughter rippled through the expensive crowd.
The referee called us to the center of the ring. Leonardo grinned down at me, his massive gloves resting on his hips.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Leonardo taunted, showing his teeth. “I will make sure you go to sleep real quick.”
“Are you ready to take a nap?” I asked smoothly.
The referee stepped back. “Box!”
The bell rang.
Leonardo charged at me exactly like Marcus had predicted. He was fast, aggressively looking to take my head off and end the joke in ten seconds. He threw a massive, sweeping right hook.
I wasn’t there.
I slipped hard to the left, feeling the air rush past my face as his heavy glove missed me by a fraction of an inch. He followed up with a brutal left hook, putting his entire two-hundred-and-forty-pound weight behind it. I ducked underneath the punch and circled out to the right.
The crowd let out a collective gasp. They had fully expected me to be unconscious on the floor.
Leonardo’s arrogant grin faded. He reset his stance, coming forward with a more measured approach. Jab, jab, right cross. I parried his heavy jabs, slipped the cross, and fired a lightning-fast counter-jab straight up the middle. My glove snapped his head back with a sharp crack.
The noise in the warehouse fundamentally shifted. The laughter died completely.
For the rest of the first round, I refused to engage in a brawl. I utilized my footwork, staying just on the outside of his massive reach. I made him miss over and over again. By the time the bell rang, Leonardo was breathing heavily, his broad chest heaving as he stomped back to his corner.
I glanced at ringside. Dante was standing now, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He wasn’t smiling anymore. He was watching me with pure, intense fascination.
The bell for round two rang.
Leonardo came out visibly frustrated. His corner had likely screamed at him for getting outboxed by a waitress. He started pressing forward with raw, reckless aggression.
He threw a lazy, looping jab, his weight leaning entirely too far forward on his front foot.
I saw my opening.
I slipped the jab to the outside, stepped into the pocket, and drove a vicious left hook directly into his liver. I put every single ounce of my body weight into the punch.
The impact sounded like a baseball bat hitting wet meat.
The air violently exploded out of Leonardo’s lungs. He let out a strangled gasp, his hands instinctively dropping to protect his damaged ribs.
That was when I went upstairs.
Right cross. Left hook. Right cross. Three punches, thrown with perfect, mechanical precision, landing flush on his unprotected jaw.
Leonardo’s eyes rolled back in his head. His massive legs simply folded underneath him. He crashed onto the canvas face-first, shaking the entire ring.
The referee jumped in, waving his arms frantically.
“Stop! Stop the fight!”
The warehouse went deathly silent. Nobody moved. Nobody cheered. Two hundred powerful, wealthy criminals stared in absolute disbelief at the giant lying unconscious on the mat, and the waitress standing over him breathing completely normally.
I looked down at Dante. His dark eyes were wide, burning with something that looked dangerously close to obsession.
