Chapter 7: Blood and Blackmail
My blood turned to absolute ice.
I had seen Dante fight on the old surveillance tapes. He was a lethal, highly trained weapon. If his uncle was even half as capable, I was in serious, life-threatening trouble.
“You are afraid,” Salvatore observed, sliding his hands into the red leather gloves. “Good. Fear keeps you sharp.”
“I am not afraid of an old man,” I bluffed, slipping my own gloves on.
“Then you are incredibly stupid. Let’s find out,” Salvatore chuckled.
His men quickly cleared a large circle in the center of the warehouse. There was no referee this time. There were no bells, no rounds, and absolutely no rules beyond basic survival.
We met in the center of the makeshift ring.
Salvatore didn’t rush me. He moved with a terrifying, methodical grace. There was no wasted movement, no unnecessary aggression—just cold, calculated pressure.
He threw a lightning-fast jab. I slipped it, but barely. He was incredibly fast for his age.
He immediately followed up with a flawless combination: Jab, jab, right cross, left hook. It was textbook boxing, executed with lethal precision. I managed to block most of the strikes, but the heavy left hook crashed into my shoulder.
Pain exploded down my arm like a lightning bolt. He was insanely strong.
I circled out, trying to find an angle, but Salvatore expertly cut off the ring. He had clearly done this a thousand times. This wasn’t just a rich mobster playing tough; this was a man whose entire life was built on physical violence.
“You are good,” Salvatore noted, not even breathing heavily. “But you are entirely out of your depth.”
He stepped in, feinted high with a jab, and drove a crushing right hand directly into my ribs.
I heard the horrifying crack before I felt the agonizing pain.
All the air rushed out of my lungs in a violent gasp. I backpedaled, desperately trying to recover, but he offered no mercy. He walked me down, unleashing a barrage of combinations.
“This is the lesson, Miss Dalton,” Salvatore sneered, throwing a stiff uppercut that snapped my head back. “You do not belong in this world. The sooner you accept that and walk away from my nephew, the better for your health.”
Blood trickled from my nose, tasting like copper and defeat.
But as the sharp pain radiated from my fractured ribs, a sudden, blinding rage flooded my system. Rage at being used as a pawn. Rage at this arrogant monster thinking he could break me.
My father’s voice echoed clearly in my ringing ears: When you are hurt, Claire, when everything in your body tells you to quit, that is when champions are forged.
I stopped moving backward. I planted my feet firmly on the concrete.
Salvatore’s eyes widened slightly in surprise as I suddenly pressed forward. I threw a desperate, wild combination with every single ounce of strength I had left.
Left hook to the body. Right hand upstairs. Left hook to the jaw.
The body shot landed perfectly on his liver. The right hand caught him flush on the cheekbone.
Salvatore stumbled backward, completely stunned. His armed guards shifted nervously, raising their weapons slightly.
I didn’t give him a single second to recover. I walked him down exactly the way he had stalked me. I unleashed punches in heavy bunches, mixing my levels and speeds. Another brutal body shot landed. Another right hand cracked against his temple.
Salvatore’s flawless guard finally dropped. His breathing turned ragged.
I planted my lead foot and fired one final, devastating left hook directly to his jawline.
Salvatore Moretti crashed to the concrete floor.
The warehouse went dead silent. The mob boss stayed on one knee for a long moment before slowly rising to his feet. Blood trickled down his chin, and his left eye was already swelling shut.
Suddenly, he started laughing.
“Incredible,” Salvatore coughed, pulling his gloves off with his teeth. “Absolutely incredible. I haven’t been hit like that in a decade. No wonder Dante is so obsessed with you.”
I kept my gloves raised, not trusting his sudden shift in demeanor.
“Relax, Miss Dalton,” Salvatore waved a dismissive hand. “The fight is over. You won fair and square. You may leave.”
I dropped my hands, my ribs screaming in agonizing protest. “We’re done?”
“We are done,” Salvatore nodded, wiping the blood from his mouth with a silk handkerchief. “But before you go, I need to tell you a little secret about my beloved nephew.”
My stomach tightened into a knot. “What secret?”
Salvatore stepped closer, his smile turning cruel and triumphant.
“Dante did not take over his father’s criminal empire because he wanted power,” Salvatore revealed softly. “He took it over because I gave him a choice: bow to me, or watch his mother die slowly and painfully.”
The entire world tilted on its axis.
“His mother is dead,” I whispered.
“Angela Moretti is very much alive,” Salvatore laughed coldly. “She is living in a highly secure, private facility upstate under my direct protection. As long as Dante behaves, as long as he obeys my every command, she stays comfortable.”
“You are blackmailing your own nephew,” I gasped in horror.
“I am ensuring utter loyalty,” Salvatore corrected. “So, when you think about falling in love with Dante, remember this: every single choice he makes is dictated by his mother’s safety. How do you know his feelings for you are real? How do you know he isn’t just using you as a convenient distraction from his chains?”
The words hit me harder than any physical punch he had thrown.
“You’re lying,” I choked out.
“Am I?” Salvatore smirked, turning his back on me. “Ask him yourself, Claire. Ask him why he has never mentioned his mother. You have earned my respect today, but respect is a dangerous thing. It means I will be watching you closely.”
