Fight For Me (Dark Renzetti Series Book 2)

by V Domino

  I guess it’s just me.

  Twitch chuckles around the gauze, making me spin around with my cheeks flaming.

  Marone! Dammit!

  I walk over to Johnny who’s getting the kit restocked for my fight. Stopping next to him I take deep breaths trying not to turn back and push Jefa’s hands off Twitch.

  He’s not mine. Yet. Fuck my life.

  “Tieni la testa dritta, ragazza.” Get your head straight, girl. “You hear me? You’re about to go up against Mila fucking Popov. A bitch who is looking to take your throne,” Johnny says as he checks over my taped hands, inspecting the work I’ve done.

  I know he’s right. Twitch is a big boy and he’s been taking care of himself for years, I don’t need to make a fool of myself worrying about him.

  I inhale and exhale, clearing my head of Twitch. It’s time to protect my title, my reputation, my motherfucking throne.

  “Remember, this bitch had your mom’s car trashed and planned to have you eliminated from the fight tonight by killing you. I’ve seen her walking around out there looking like she’s queen of the castle. Is she? Is she the queen?”

  “No. I am,” I say as Johnny rubs my arms, kneading the muscles to get the blood flowing.

  “I can’t hear you. Is she the queen?”

  “No! I’m the motherfucking queen of this castle!”

  “Louder!” He yells in my face, looking like he truly is pissed off and since he’s my best friend, I guarantee he is. Those cowards went to his gym to hurt me. Mila didn’t personally step foot in Renzetti territory but she might as well have. She sent in a connection, someone with ties.

  Tonight, she’ll die for it.

  “I’m the queen of Barbarity!” I scream in his face, spittle flying and not a single fuck given.

  I’m too pumped to care about propriety. Johnny flips my hood up over my head as the fight master calls Mila and I out. It’s not a boxing robe or anything of that nature, It’s a simple black cut off hoodie with the name Barbarity on it but it was a gift from my mother on the day I opened Barbarity’s doors and I wear it to every fight.

  Johnny and I stand behind my guards in the shadows, waiting for Mila to step into the ring.

  All my life, I’ve fought for what I have now. Everything I’ve accomplished in life was done by determination and force of will. I will never have respect for someone who doesn’t work for what they have. Don’t get me wrong, if you’re born with money, good for you, but you still need to learn the wealth of earning your own dollar.

  Hell, the Tanner’s are a rich clan within their own mafia world yet they run businesses. The family’s children work with their hands and minds to make money and build on their empire. Learning the value of earning your own dollar is one of the best lessons a parent can teach their children.

  But if you’re someone who has absolutely no understanding of money value? Get the fuck out of my face.

  That’s how Mila is; sucking on mommy’s tits with her hand in daddy’s wallet.

  No respect, just a greedy selfish little broad playing mafia.

  I see the preppy little skank step into my ring wearing her trademark spandex booty shorts and sports bra. She looks like she’s about to go play high school volleyball instead of fighting the chief of underground fighting—but of course, she thinks I’m dead. She thinks my mother’s trunk is holding my cold corpse.

  It’s that thought that has me pushing and stepping around my guards, walking with determined steps to the cage. I don’t wait for the fight master to finish speaking as I jump into the ring and rip the mic from his hands. Mila trips over herself, trying not to show her shock at my appearance and failing miserably.

  Stepping closer to her, I hold the microphone close like I’m about to tell a scary story around the campfire.

  “I hope no one is afraid of ghosts.”

  The crowd cheers as my ominous words float over them all. Mila stares at me grinding her teeth and from the corner of my eye I see her weasel of a father try to make his way out of the arena.

  “Oh, Mr. Popov, you’re going to want to stay for this. You see ladies and gents, the Popovs, as brilliant as they are, thought they’d get themselves an easy win by having me eliminated today—and by eliminated I do mean killed.”

  The crowd gasps and boos but everyone in the VIP section is standing stock still, waiting for a bomb to go off. Metaphorically, of course.

  “Now, now everyone, let’s all calm down. As you can see, it’s not so easy to get rid of me. It’ll take much more than a family of cowards to end me,” I say with a sneer to Mila.

  “Pizdobol!” Fucking liar! “We wouldn’t-” My punch knocks Mila to the fence. She tries to come at me again but I kick her in the stomach, making the crowd whistle and cheer.

  “You will shut your worthless mouth, Princess. I’m not finished speaking to my guests. If you get up one more time you’ll lose your chance to beat me. Speak one more time and there won’t be a fight, I’ll just blow your brains out in front of daddy, yeah?” My words, which are spoken into the microphone, cause everyone to go silent.

  That’s right. I’m threatening a Bratva princess but technically, we’re in the ring and no rules apply when you’re in the cage.

  Mila must realize this because she starts to scoot towards the cage entrance.

  “Ah, ah, ah. You’re not going anywhere. Jefa, bring out the traitor.”

  Everyone including Mila, turns towards the back hall, where the fighters enter the arena from. Jefa comes walking out with two enforcers behind her; between them, Carlos. Bleeding from wounds that haven’t healed, the would-be-assassin hangs his head in utter defeat. As he should.

  I speak as the enforcers drag Carlos into the cage and drop him at my feet, “This broken man you see before you is Carlos Benavides. A nephew and a traitor.” Looking over to Mila, I ask, “Why don’t you tell everyone why Carlos here is a fucking turncoat bastard?”

  When Mila hesitates, I grab the back of her neck and shove the mic to her lips. “Fucking tell them,” I snarl in her ear.

  “Poshol nahuj.” Fuck you. She says it with steel but her eyes betray her. She’s putting on a front once again, pretending to be something she’s not.

  I smirk before bringing my knee up to her stomach, the same spot I kicked her moments ago. This cunt tried to have me murdered. She had my mother’s car trashed and destroyed so that I could hurt. She went after a memory, a sentimental piece of my past. She spit on my mother’s grave with the choices she made today. I have no sympathy. Her fake demeanor is all an act; to get the audience on her side.

  To make everyone think I’m the bad guy.

  I shove her against the fence just as I see Diego charging toward the cage. He looks ready to destroy Carlos but Jefa stops him before he can come any closer. This is her territory so he must listen to her or risk making her look weak in front of every mafia man in here. I can’t hear what’s being said but it doesn’t matter. Movement at the arena entrance draws my attention just as I begin speaking.

  “Since Princess won’t tell you what went down today, I will.” I watch Twitch walk down the aisle toward the cage, stopping next to Diego and saying something to him that causes him to go ridged before coming over to the cage like he's going to get in and kill Carlos.

  “Sorry Diego, but your nephew went behind your back and got in bed with the Popov boss today. He claims innocence but once he was detained we made a little phone call to Mr. Popov and the two buddies got to laughing at my demise.”

  “Perdóname, Patrón, por favor,” Forgive me boss, please, Carlos whimpers. “They made me do it.”

  “Silencio! Be quiet! You do not deserve to speak and toss blame. You will die for this.” Diego nods for his men to take Carlos. To where? I don’t care, I know Diego will make him pay for his crimes. Right now my sights are set on Mila.

  “Tonight, princess, you and I are going to give these goodfellas a show. We're going to fight
the usual rounds but we're going to go at it bare-fucking-knuckles. No ref, no rules.”

  I toss the mic to the fight master as he walks out of the gate, closing it behind him. The crowd is cheering, whistling, stomping and chanting all around us. Motivating my pulse to speed up.

  I pull my hoodie off before throwing it over the fence towards Johnny and square up to this broad. She truly wasn't expecting to fight me like this but I give her credit for not pussing out. She rips her gloves off and tosses them over the fence as well before getting into her southpaw position.

  There's no fist bump between us because there is no mutual respect. I find this woman to be a disgrace to not only fighters but to the mafia world, especially with the stunt she pulled today. She should have been stand-up and faced me in the ring like a real fighter does.

  I inhale deeply through my nose, imagining the scent of fear that is surly emanating from her. I visualize my mother's smile when I bought her the white Mercedes and the way she took care of it even when she was tired and fighting her own bodily battles.

  I exhale before smiling.

  Some people call their inner demons darkness, I call them my other suit and I just put it on.

  I kick Mila's leg, knocking it off the floor for a split second, but that second is long enough to give me an opening to step closer. She throws a punch, but I block it easily. Since it's bare knuckles, it hurts like a motherfucker when it lands on my forearm. She continues throwing different punches while trying to guard her face but she doesn't keep her chin down. I duck sideways, feeling her fist skim the side of my face before I swing as hard as I can in an uppercut and hit her directly under her pointy chin. Her head flys back and takes her body with it.

  Before she can recover, I have her up against the fence, landing punch after punch on her face and body even as she tries to land shots of her own.

  “Fish it for the right!” Johnny yells out, giving me directions, though I don't need them.

  The rage in me is taking me forward without a single hesitation. Blocking out the pain lancing through my fists, I do as Johnny said. Right hook to her temple knocking her down. I want to mount her so badly but I want her snake-of-a-father to see what his unwise actions caused.

  “Get back up, Mila,” I tell her calmly but when she stays down trying to shake herself out of the fogginess a temple hit gives, I scream in her face, “Get the fuck back up!” I kick her on her side and she laughs.

  “Fuck you Silver.” She rolls onto her back and stands, leaving herself open and vulnerable the whole time but I want to drag this beating out so I don’t take advantage of it.

  Once she's on her feet I charge her again using my six hit combo. Jab with the right, hook with the left and right kick to the thigh which brought me out to her side, letting me land two punches and an uppercut again. Each and every hit lands as planned. Bare knuckles is not something this girl is used to so she's been dazed since the first punch.

  Weak.

  I'm done with this fight. I want to release my anger. I wrap my hand behind her neck, which she mirrors so obviously she doesn't realize or know the position I just put her in. Using my right forearm quickly I push her arm off my neck, opening her back to me. I wrap my right arm around her waist before she even realizes what I'm doing and then lift her and slam her down sideways.

  A Clinch Takedown is one of the most common takedowns and normally I wouldn't use it because it's so known but Mila fell into position easily.

  I climb on top of her and begin raining on her. She’s fighting back but it's futile, she doesn’t have the same motivation I do. Every punch I give she takes to her face and body. Even though she's bucking and trying to knock me off, I continue hitting.

  A past conversation I had with my mother. Suddenly comes to my mind.

  “You bottle up too much, Neviah. Sometimes it's good to let those tears flow instead of your anger.”

  At the time she was talking about my heart's heaviness. You see, I had just given my virginity to a senior in my high school. I thought he was going to be my husband one day, a stupid boy I thought loved me. Typical right? Well instead of crying about the fact that he literally left me after taking what can never be returned, I grabbed my dead father's 9mm handgun and unloaded the clip into the asshole's prized Corvette.

  My mother's advice was to allow myself to cry instead of letting my pain build up and it's that memory that has me screaming in Mila's bloody face. She's no longer moving but I hear her ragged breathing. My mother wouldn't have wanted me to kill this girl. Ruslan Popov won't survive the night though. I get off of Mila but grab her hair and sit her up, facing her father who is being held by enforcers.

  “You did this!” I yell above the voices of the crowd. “You sentenced your daughter to a lifetime of disfigurement and shame! You won't live long enough to see the shunning your princess will forever receive but let me tell you!” The audience is silent as I give my prophecy. “No powerful man will have her. No man of standing will taint their name with this stain you put upon her. She'll never bear you grandchildren so no one will carry on your pathetic legacy.”

  I roughly shove his unconscious daughter while he shakes and tries breaking free of the holds on him.

  “Because of you, your daughter will live in a world where the Popov name is spit upon and laughed about. You Ruslan Popov, are a coward and your grave will be a lesson we teach our children for generations to come!”

  Looking over at my guards I tell them, “Get these disgraceful people off of my property.”

  Popov’s voice rings out though. “You will die for this, Silver. You will wish you had died with your weak mother and worthless father!”

  I stand frozen. I can’t move even though I want to rip his head from his body and shove it down his throat. He spoke of my mother, called her weak! My brain finally starts firing on all pistons again but before I can do anything the Renzetti brothers are dragging Popov out of the arena.

  Shaking with rage, I kick the gate open and climb out of the octagon, accepting the water bottle and towel that's handed to me. Looking from the inked hand to its owner, my eyes collide with Twitch's crazed gaze. Physically he looks controlled but just like earlier at Johnny's gym, his eyes look frenzied. Ignoring the tumbling of my stomach and the achy throb in my pussy, I rub the towel on my face. When I pull it away, I see it's covered in Mila’s blood. Must be why Twitch is looking at me like that, he has a blood kink.

  Instead of climbing him like a tree and fucking the rage out of me, I push past him and walk towards the locker rooms, I need a shower immediately. Before I can enter the locker rooms though Gavriel the Cruel Renzetti stops me.

  “Nice fight out there, Sil, though I'm surprised you let her live.” His voice is deep and husky like the bedroom voice you hear in a wet dream. Normally I'd be tongue tied because everything about the Cruel is laced with sex appeal; a defined body that shows his strength, cut jawline and brooding dark eyes, but I'm not interested in this prince. Handsome as he is, I've come to realize that he's too clean looking to handle me. I like my men covered in ink with a wild look in their eyes. I like my men to look exactly like Twitch.

  Stop that train of thought, Neviah.

  “My mother.” I say with a shrug. I don't think he knows what I mean by that but he nods nonetheless. “I'll let La Famiglia decide her fate. I've done what I needed to do, she's your problem now. Dì al capo che ho detto grazie.” Tell the boss I said thank you. I move past him and he let's me but keeps his dark gaze on me until I'm behind the doors.

  I don't have any clothes or clean towels but I can't seem to find a fuck to give. I turn on the shower head and set the temp to as hot as I can take it. Stripping from my sweat and blood soaked clothes I step under the spray and sigh at the release in my muscles. I stand there for a while and try not to think about what that piece of shit Ruslan said. Who the fuck does he think he is? My mother was a tough woman, a woman who would put any mob wife to shame. She h
ad class and independence. When my father dicked around and lost his life, my mother didn’t ball up and wait to die, she stepped up and became mommy and daddy. Fuck Popov for trying to stain her name.

  I shake my head and groan at my tumbling thoughts. I turn around and rinse my hair out, pulling it from the braid I had it in and let the water cleanse it along with my anger.

  As the water cleans me of the blood and grime, I can feel every bruise and ache in my body and now that my adrenaline is no longer numbing my nerves, I feel the throbbing pain and swelling sharply. Dragging my hands over my face I notice my hands are still taped up. I begin to peel them but that same inked hand from earlier reaches for them. I freeze because I was not at all prepared for that and the only reason I didn't throw my elbow back is because I know who's hand this is.

  I look over my shoulder at Twitch and let my eyes travel from his chin to his hazel orbs. He's standing close enough that all I'd have to do is lean up slightly and capture his lips with mine but I don't. I don't know why but I want him to make the first move. I always have to do the work, all the men I've ever been with were a means to an end for me. I used them for what I wanted so foreplay was never part of my jam.

  With this guy right here, the dominance in him makes me want to be submissive.

  Twitch pulls my hand, forcing me to turn to him and I can't help but look down to see if he's still dressed. I don't know if I want him to be or not. What if he's another loser like the guy I gave my v-card to? What if I don't like what I feel with him? What if I'm just an itch he wants to scratch? These crazy thoughts fly through my head but I relax and let go of the breath I was holding when I see he's shirtless but still wearing his shorts. In his right hand he's holding scissors which he uses to cut through the tape. Instead of watching what he's doing to me I study his face. He hasn't looked at my body once but since there's a prominent bulge in front of his shorts, I know he watched me for a moment before making himself known.