Tame Me: A Mafia Romance (The Rossi Crime Family Book 5)

by Cassandra Hallman

  “I thought you said you fight?” She gives both Mac and I a puzzled look.

  I grin. “I do. I just failed to mention it's to the fucking death. If you lose, you're dead.”

  Her beautiful face pales, and the book in her hands slips to the floor. She's looking at me like she's terrified, and I can feel Mac’s eyes boring into my face. He's probably wondering why the fuck she’s here, not that he's going to ask. He knows better than that.

  “You can't do that. What if something happens to you? What if you die?” Her bottom lip trembles, and her fear only turns me on more. I want her to want me...to need me as sick and twisted as it is. Tonight, I want her afraid so she knows how she makes me feel.

  “Calm down, babe. Roman always wins…obviously.” Mac grins at her. I don't miss the pet name he uses either. It makes me want to punch him in the fucking face, which is ridiculous. He's one of my closest friends and she's not supposed to mean shit to me. Punching him in the face will definitely make it known she’s so much more than I lead her onto to be.

  “I…I need to go to the bathroom,” she exclaims in a panicked tone. Jumping from the couch with a hand to her stomach, she looks around. Her sudden change in mood startles me. I grab onto the desk to stop myself from going after her. Mac points in the direction of the door across the hall, and she races from the room, a tearful look in her eyes.

  Fuck. I screwed up. I hurt her. Again.

  “I know it’s none of my business, but did you not take your pills yet?”

  I grind my teeth, stopping myself from lashing out at him. If it's not Ivan, it’s someone else. My addiction is mine alone. Whatever vice I use to win my fights is mine too. I don't owe anyone an explanation.

  “Of course I didn't take it yet. I need to come down and get a good night of sleep before the fight. I’ll take some an hour before. Why the fuck does it matter?”

  My blood starts to boil. I don't even think about what I'm doing when I stand up and shove from my desk, my fist clenched, my knuckles itching to slam into the side of Mac’s face.

  “What the fuck, man?” Mac asks, a confused expression on his face. “Were you really thinking about punching me?”

  My nostrils flare. The need to break, to destroy, pounds against my temple.

  I'm out of control. Like a plane nose diving toward the ground, the only ending I'm prepared for is tragedy. “I'm sorry. I'm just…I don't know…” I release my clenched fist and let out a long sigh.

  “Doesn't have anything to do with that chick, does it?” The mention of Sophie triggers my anger all over again. I don’t want to admit it’s Sophie and a combination of other things getting to me.

  “No,” I bite out, and of course Sophie appears, walking back into the room, her eyes bloodshot. The blue of her irises is brighter, and she looks like she's been crying. I really fucking hope those tears aren't for me. If they are, I’ll give her a real reason to cry.

  “I want to go back to the house,” she announces, and a bubble of laughter escapes my lips.

  “Yeah, sorry, sweetheart. That's not happening. My brother put you in my care, and you aren't going anywhere I'm not. Sit your fucking ass down and wait ’til it’s time to leave.” The words rumble out of my chest, and Sophie starts to shake as if she's scared.

  Then I catch the anger in her eyes, and I know that’s the real reason she’s trembling. I don't care if she sees me as an asshole, or if she's with angry me. In the end, it's all for the better—better if she hates me, thinks the worst of me.

  “We’ll be back before it’s time to leave,” Mac announces as he and Dev leave the room. Sophie reaches for the book off the floor as I pull the pill bottle from my pocket. I unscrew the cap and pop one into my mouth, swallowing it down.

  My eyes collide with Sophie’s, and I can’t help but speak the words on my tongue.

  “Do you still feel safe with me?” I smirk, but that smirk is short-lived.

  “It doesn’t matter what you do, Roman. I know you’re good underneath all the bad you portray, and through it all, that’s what I’ll continue to see—the man who rescued me from that cell and saw me—really saw me—when no one else did.”

  And just like that, she’s gutted me, ripped me wide open.

  She’s still going to care...still going to think she’s safe in my arms.

  Chapter Six

  Sophie

  I’ve been a nervous wreck since discovering just what kind of fight this is. How could Roman put his life in danger like this—and for money, power? When he knows how important he is to me? How safe I feel in his arms?

  The tension in the room is so thick, I can barely breathe. Cigarette smoke clings to the air, making me cough with each inhale. The odor of mildew and sweat swirls around me, tickling my nostrils. There has to be at least a thousand people crammed into the basement of this abandoned warehouse.

  My gaze swings back over the raised fighting ring in the center of the room. Oh god. My stomach twists into knots. Mac and Devin are flanking me, both pushing against me while the crowd around us makes an attempt to get closer to the front.

  Roman is already in the ring, and I watch him cautiously, afraid of what’s to come. He’s swapped out his jeans and t-shirt for nothing but black shorts and shoes. He’s not even wearing boxing gloves, which terrifies me more. Mac simply wrapped some white tape around his knuckles and gave him a slap on the back before sending him on his way.

  Who puts themselves in direct danger like this?

  Roman’s opponent warms up in the other corner of the ring. He’s huge, about the same height and weight as Roman, and that makes the dread spiraling out of control worse. I try hard to swallow it down, to tell myself I don’t care about him, but ever since meeting him, everything seems to have gotten easier for me.

  I close my eyes for a moment and try to focus on my breathing. Roman and his friends assured me he won’t lose, that Roman is the best, but I still can’t control the horror of losing him.

  The announcer yells something about bets and the fight starting in one minute, and my eyes pop open again. Dread reaches fever pitch in my stomach.

  I can’t watch this. I cover my eyes with one of my hands.

  I can’t watch Roman get himself hurt, or worse, killed. I never thought in my life I would wish a man dead, but I hunger for nothing more in this moment. All I want is for Roman to kill the other guy just so I know he’s safe. I’m aware this is a selfish thought, but I can’t help it. I want—no, I need Roman to be okay. I need him to make it out of this alive; otherwise, I might as well be dead too.

  A bell rings off in the distance, and the crowd erupts in cheers as Roman meets his opponent in the center of the ring. Both have their hands held up, their fists clenched, protecting their faces. Neither one of them is standing still, but rather jumping around each other on the balls of their feet. It’s almost like they’re taunting each other.

  Now that I see them in close proximity to each other, I find that the other guy is a few inches taller and his arms are longer, only adding to the uneasy feeling consuming every fiber of my being. I’m going to lose him...I’m going to lose him because of some dumb fight, and then what? What happens if my father comes for me?

  I’m momentarily distracted from my thoughts when they both start throwing punches left and right. They each duck and scrabble around each other. They are moving, twisting, and turning so fast, my eyes can barely keep track of where each of them are.

  It’s like a well-choreographed dance of strength. I hold my breath every time the other guy’s fist whizzes past Roman’s face, and I cringe, peeking through my fingers. Roman isn’t quick enough and takes a hit right under his jaw. His head snaps back, and before he can move out of the way or protect his face, the other guy follows up with another hit, landing his fist right into Roman’s eye.

  My heart stops.

  I can’t lose him.

  I can’t.

  I’m about to start screaming at the top of my lungs, about to tel
l the announcer to end the fight, when Roman moves to the side and maneuvers away from his opponent. I suck in a small breath. Nervous energy fills my pores, and I find myself bouncing on the balls of my feet.

  “Relax, babe. Everything is going to be okay,” Mac says, trying to reassure me, but he doesn’t understand how nerve-racking this is for me. My teeth grind together and my muscles tense, fear coating my insides. The crowd erupts around us, making it hard for me to hear myself think or see Roman.

  When the crowd winds down, I’m able to watch as Roman gets a few good jabs in and three hefty hits to the guy’s face. Blood oozes from a small cut under Roman’s right eye and his jaw is already starting to swell.

  My gaze moves to his opponent, who is looking far worse. A twisting in my gut tells me something bad is about to happen. I brace myself for it when I watch with fear as Roman staggers back after taking another hit to the jaw. His body sags against the ropes only a few feet away from us. He’s so close, I could reach out and touch him if I really wanted to.

  The other guy continues to pound his huge fists into Roman’s face, and I bite my lip to stop the scream threatening to escape my throat. The slapping of knuckles against flesh fills my ears. Roman doesn’t even hold his hands up to protect himself anymore. It’s like he’s lost his strength—or worse…he’s giving up.

  I glance over to Mac, then Devin. Neither of them look the least bit concerned. What the heck is wrong with everybody? Do they take pleasure in seeing their friend hurt? What would happen if he did die? I look back up at Roman. Blood is smeared across his face. His opponent is like a shark that got a taste of blood. He just keeps striking, again and again, gaining the upper-hand with each hit.

  All my life, I’ve watched people get beaten down, hurt. Looking at the man in the ring and knowing he could amount to so much more makes something inside me snap. I can’t let him kill himself. Not today. Not right in front of me.

  Without thinking, I place my foot on the edge of the ring, grab hold of the first row of ropes, and pull myself up. Mac and Devin are yelling behind me, and someone grabs me by the waist, attempting to pull me backwards. I wiggle out of their strong hold and scurry into the ring. With superhuman strength, I hold onto the rope with one hand and push the guy off Roman with the other. My heart races, the sounds inside this basement have become deafening. I’m terrified, but I also feel this overwhelming need to protect—to save Roman.

  More hands grab at me from behind, trying to pull me down and out of the ring, but I hold on just long enough to shove the asshole as hard as I can. I grit my teeth and put every ounce of strength into the push. But I soon realize my strength isn’t enough because instead of staggering backwards like I had hoped. I end up tilting his body enough to move the trajectory of his next punch away from Roman’s face.

  Pain erupts across the side of my face and my body sways, falling back into the crowd behind me.

  For a few seconds, everything goes dark. Silence settles around me. But then someone’s hands are grabbing onto me, holding me up, forcing me onto my legs. Prying my eyes back open, I immediately search for Roman through the crowd. When I look up at him, our eyes meet. For a fraction of a second, I see the man who was in the cell the day he took me. Then, it’s gone. His eyes become so wild and feral, I don’t recognize them as Romans. He looks more animal than human. There’s an uncontainable fury lurking just below the surface. The sight of him has ice crystals forming in my blood.

  Roman turns to his opponent, and with a flash of fury and unforeseen strength, he starts to rain down punches on him. The other guy doesn't even have room to retaliate. Roman is like a machine, delivering one precise jab after the other, hitting him right where it counts. With each punch, he gains strength, his teeth bared, eyes as dark as the midnight sky.

  Seconds tick by. Roman throws a right hook that sends the guy’s form sprawling to the floor. His eyeballs roll to the back of his head, his torso almost lifeless. Roman kneels on top of the man, a knee on his chest, and continues to punch him. Strike after strike, until his hands are covered in blood and the man’s face no longer looks like a face. My stomach churns, bile rising into my throat.

  I just watched the one man I feel can protect me kill someone in cold blood—for fun—sport. When Roman stands and lifts one of his blood-covered fists into the air, all hell breaks loose around me. The noise level reaches a new high as they announce Roman as the winner. My head starts to throb. I lift my hand to my swollen cheek and hiss as my fingers make contact.

  I pray Roman isn’t mad at me for trying to save him, but the thought of losing him over something so stupid overwhelmed me. With a hand wrapped around my arm, Mac starts to lead me toward the locker rooms. I want to fight and break free of his hold and find Roman, but I don’t dare, not after what I’ve done.

  “I don’t know what the hell you were thinking,” Mac huffs, forcing me to sit on the wooden bench in the locker room.

  Worry creases his forehead as he inspects my cheek, prodding at the flesh.

  “He’s going to be so fucking mad at you, it’s not even funny. You made a scene, love—a scene at a very well-known underground fight club. I mean, you’re lucky all you got was a bruised cheek and a tiny scratch.”

  I blink, gulping around the knot of fear forming in my throat when a roar of anger fills the room. Mac stands protectively over me as if he’s worried Roman may hurt me. For a second, I am as well. He appears around the corner, his huge body racing toward me.

  His gray eyes are black. His chest heaves up and down. A mixture of blood and sweat glides down his muscled chest. I want to run to him and wrap my arms around him, but at the same time, I want to run for the door.

  “What the fuck were you thinking?” he screams, his entire body shaking with rage as he steps into my bubble. Fear tickles the forefront of my mind, but it’s not really fear I’m feeling right in this moment. It’s anger. Angry he would bring me to an event like this and make me watch him kill a man. Angry he would risk his life for a little bit of money, which surely, he doesn’t need.

  Instead of giving him what he wants, I shove up onto my feet and pull back my hand, slapping him straight across his bloodied cheek. A sting of pain lances across my palm, but the sting is a dull ache compared to the other emotions swirling inside me.

  Hurt, and anger, being the biggest two.

  “What were you thinking? You don’t get to come in here and ask me what I was thinking. I was worried about you. I asked you to take me home, not bring me to this stupid fight, and you brought me anyway. Tonight is all on you, Roman.” I’m surprised by my outburst, but I’m not backing down not.

  I cross my arms over my chest to make myself look bigger, not that there’s any point. There’s no way I am going to intimidate this man, but I also refuse to be intimidated. Roman rubs over where I slapped him, and I almost smile with gratification.

  “Mac, leave us,” he orders. Mac’s gaze moves from me back to Roman.

  “I don’t think…” Mac doesn’t even get to finish before Roman steps into his face, pushing his chest against his.

  “I didn’t fucking ask. I told you to leave. You aren’t her fucking gatekeeper—that’s me. Get the fuck out.” Roman’s body shakes.

  Mac gives me an apologetic look before moving around Roman and slipping out the door, leaving me all alone with him. The air grows thick with tension, nearly taking my breath. Silence drones on as Roman stares at me.

  “I want to throttle you. Shake the fucking shit right out of you,” he grits out.

  “And I want to do the same to you,” I growl, feeling a slice of his anger slam into me. He walks right up to me, his gaze on my bruised cheek.

  “You realize you could’ve been killed. Anyone who gets in that ring knows what the hell they’re getting into. One punch is nothing compared to how bad it could’ve been.”

  I do know this, but the thought of possibly losing him, of him just lying there dying…I couldn’t let it happen.

 
; “I know it could’ve been worse, but at least it got you moving. I wasn’t going to stand there like the rest of these idiots and watch you kill yourself.”

  Whirling around, he slams his fists into the metal lockers behind him. The sound rings out, and I rush forward, grabbing him by the arm to stop him from hurting himself.

  “No,” he roars, an animal trapped in a man’s body. Turning back around, he raises his bloody knuckles into the air as if he might hit me. “Get away from me...I can’t...I can’t fucking deal with you right now.”

  He sounds as defeated as I feel. Tears sting my eyes, my anger fading to sadness. There’s no way for me to explain how important he is to me. The only thing I can think to do is kiss him. Charging forward, I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him close, reaching up on my tiptoes. The copper ting of blood and the odor of sweat overwhelms my senses, but the heat of his body meshing with mine is the only thing that matters as our lips crash together.

  I hoped he would realize how much I want him…how much I need him. I thought he would wrap his arms around me and pull me closer. Instead, he pushes me away. The rejection hits me right in the stomach, hurting more than the punch I took earlier.

  His long fingers dig into my shoulders as he keeps me at an arm’s length.

  “What the fuck do you think this is?” His eyes are wild, his tone dark. “I should have never let you stay with me! I should have just had my brother send you back to wherever the fuck it is you came from! You don’t belong here, in my world…and you definitely don’t belong with me.”

  A million punches would have been less painful. I step back, shrugging out of his hold. The hurt I feel inside my chest right now is so strong, it hurts to breathe, it hurts to think about the future, tomorrow, or any day going forward. It feels like I’m shattering, like I’m a plate he just picked up and threw on the floor to watch it break.

  How could he say something like that? He knows how scared I am to go back, for my father to find me. He knows what was done to me. He saw the marks and bruises on my skin, and still, he said those things.