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My brother loved his fighting ring. He relished in the raw energy pulsing through the warehouse. It wasn’t much, but on Thursday nights, this place turned into a madhouse. Men from all walks of life showed up in droves. White-collar workers, hungry for a taste of chaos. Fraternity bros. Everybody rushed to these events, eager to lay down bets.
When losers tried to slink away from their debts, I stepped in. I reminded them that there are no free shows in Santino’s world. Every pleasure had its price, and I made sure it was paid.
“Great haul,” he said, handing me a stack of bills. “Your cut.”
I stuffed them in my wallet. “Thanks.”
“Can’t wait for next week. Malone versus Jackson. I picked up this kid at the gym. I think he’s going to shake things up.”
“Malone’s tough, though. Is he ready for that kind of heat?”
“That’s the beauty of it, Kill. He doesn’t have to be. He just has to fight. That’s what people pay to see.” He paused, leaning back in his chair, the leather creaking. “Besides, it’s good for business. New blood always draws a crowd. You should come.”
“I’m busy these days.” I played as much as I could with Jack, but it never felt like enough.
Santino smiled, folding his hands. “That’s right. How is Jack?”
“He’s fine. Sleeps through the night. Eats his greens. She raised him well.”
“When will we meet him?”
“Soon.”
Santino pouted, but I didn’t give a fuck. I had a little boy to consider. The last thing he needed was to be introduced to dozens of strangers. He needed time to adjust to his new life.
“What about your girl?”
“She’s getting her hair done in the North End and having coffee with a friend. I need to pick her up in an hour.”
The ring on her finger was a chain binding me to a lie. She could never really be mine, so I’d avoided her all week, giving her one-word replies to messages. The only way I’d survive this marriage was if I kept her at arm’s length.
Santino lifted an eyebrow. “You’ve become quite the family man. Never thought I’d see the day.”
Flames licked at my chest. “Why’s that a surprise?”
He frowned. “You’re not the type that settles down.”
“You should talk, you fucking hypocrite.”
Santino leaned back, the smirk fading. “I’ve got my way of handling things, but I never imagined you juggling a family and the job you have.”
“And why’s that? Because I kill for you? Because I don’t flinch at the sight of blood? That doesn’t mean I can’t be there for my son.”
He held up his hands. “I’m not saying you can’t. I’m pointing out the obvious. You’re a violent guy. Everybody knows that. Hell, that’s what I like about you.”
“There’s more to me than that.”
“Yeah, but it’s still surprising. Seeing you go from hitman to dad of the year.” Santino chuckled, as though the idea of me in a domestic life was the punchline to a joke.
The urge to flip his desk soared. “I’m capable of raising a child.”
Santino sighed, waving a hand. “Calm down. I get it. You’re serious about this. Just be careful. Mixing family and our line of work, it’s tricky.”
“Fuck off. I’ll handle it my way.”
I wasn’t some thug, and I didn’t need his backhanded support.
“Don’t forget who you are, Achille,” he shouted as I turned to leave. “Don’t let them soften you!”
