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I watch the men move fluidly on the floor with the footwork of lithe dancers, except these men are no ballerinas and the audience in attendance are not prim and proper ladies and gents. No, this crowd consists of mafia members from all cultures, mafiosos, bikers, local gangs, and damaged souls looking to be entertained by blood and brutality. And for the right price I’m all too happy to provide the savagery they feed on.
My name is Neviah Mazzi but to these people I’m known as Silver—the chief of New York’s biggestunderground fighting ring. A woman in a man’s world who is treated with respect. The cops have tried shutting me down but like the fighters entertaining my bloodthirsty crowd, I know my footwork. Pivot, block, feinting, and offense. Always offense. I’m never backed into a corner and I always keep a steady head.
My ring is in no man’s land, a truce territory within the old brewery that is now owned by me. It was once Alessandro DeLucci’s but when I promised him a small cut of my first year’s earnings and a spot for his son Johnny- my best friend- on the fighter’s list, he gave the dilapidated place to me. After filling the pockets of politicians and serving blackmail to others, it is now known as Barbarity Ring.
I hired interior and exterior designers who did outstanding renovations to keep the place looking respectable on the outside, with it’s clean parking, trimmed bushes and decorative sign declaring it to be a gym. And in a way, I guess it is but once you get inside you find yourself standing amongst wide industrial halls that lead you to different places.
If you turn right, you’ll come to the bar which serves an array of different drinks and the restrooms are just beyond that. If you continue down the hall you come to the elevators which take you to the basement or the VIP area on the second floor. To get through, you’ll need to be checked by my enforcers first.
If you go in the opposite direction of the bar, you’ll meet another set of bouncers who check each person before entering the ring itself.
The arena.
This is where most people go to view the fights.
The room is large and has all of the old piping and air ducts exposed, feeding the industrial look. In its day, the factory line was in this room so it’s the biggest in the building but I had walls removed to make it even larger, now it can seat up to two hundred people which is why we only allow those on a guest list; the elite.
The general seating surrounds the octagon cage for an up-close-and-personal viewing of mayhem.
The VIP area is for our most important elite guests- those who have generously donated to the cause. This is where you’ll find me most nights.
“Aye, Silver!” Camila Blanca, my white haired, right hand gal says as she sits next to me while keeping her eyes on the fight below us. Her given name may be Camila but because her father happens to be the Boss of the southern mafia known as the Blanca Cartel, she’s known as Jefa. Ironic, huh? She goes by the Spanish word for lady boss but she’s my right hand. We’ve been best friends for years now and despite her nickname she’s not looking forward to the role she’ll have to take when her father steps down, or gets killed. When that happens, because it inevitably will, she’ll truly be the boss. For now, she’s content in her position with me and her father gave his approval for her illegal business venture without asking for a cut. As long as we use the guards he appointed to Jefa and keep him in the loop at all times, she had his blessing to partner with me.
I look over to one of my guards and motion for two drinks to be brought to us before replying to Jefa. I’ve been going through some stressful months and it doesn’t look like it’s going to get better.
“How are the bets looking for this evening?” I ask her as I pass her a tumbler filled with our special drinks, rose and lemon, a pink gin. The only alcohol I enjoy. I watch her bring up the numbers on her encrypted iPad as I sip my drink.
Jefa is my bookie and even though she is just eighteen, the girl is quick with her numbers and has a wicked memory.
“Looking good, girl. Maximus has the most bets for him including the Renzetti brothers. If he wins tonight the profits will be enough to get me that new Range Rover I’ve been eyeing,” I scoff because this bitch can get it anytime she wants but she doesn’t want to use her daddy’s money. I can respect that but if I had a pop with that much cash flow I’d be unrepentant in my spending, though no amount of money could ever make me forget where I came from.
I look toward the new group coming into my VIP section. Ah, the famous Renzetti brothers. They all give me a head nod as they make their way toward their area. They’re the princes of the most powerful Cosa Nostra famiglia and sons to Andino ‘Hangman’ Renzetti. The brothers are scary as hell with an aura of viciousness that seems to be under a control that can snap easily—especially the oldest brother. I don’t know all of their given names but their street names are spread with reverential fear. The oldest is known as The Cruel. From the rumors I’ve heard, that guy lives up to his name just like his father.
When I was a kid running around in mud puddles, Hangman Renzetti was on a killing spree. Ending the lives of anyone who was known to be a traitor. My father was among those killed and left as an example to others. I remember the day his head arrived in an unmarked package on our doorstep, but what Hangman didn’t know was that in the Mazzi household we loathed my father.
The man had a penchant for beating my mother whenever he felt like it. When he got pissed off at work, he’d save all of his aggression until he got home and let it out on me or my mother. And since my mother always protected me, she usually ended up being the bloody pulp.
You see, being the coward that he was, he couldn’t do shit to the Caporegime when he was sent off to do shit work since he was nothing but a foot soldier for the Renzetti crime family. All he was, was a replaceable bitch. One day his capo, Alessandro DeLucci, dropped by the house for a surprise visit and found my mother a broken and bloody mess while I cried by her side putting bandaids all over her. I was only seven and already I had murderous hate towards the man who called himself my father.
DeLucci called in the Famiglia’s personal doctor and made sure she was taken care of. I didn’t see my father ever again after that, well not until his head showed up in a box with a red ribbon tied around it. My mother and I celebrated that night and we never spent a moment mourning the asshole. From that day forward the Renzetti boss paid us compensation until just this year when I asked for permission to run the fighting ring in his territory. Like the Blanca’s, I was given the okay as long as DeLucci had guards in place as well, and since the Blanca and Renzetti families were partners, everything worked out well.
“Good,” is all I say while the crowd roars and chants.
One of the fighters, Joseph, is from the Byrne Irish mob and he’s a crowd favorite so the chant going around is an Irish Ballad. Joseph Tanner is the oldest brother in the Tanner clan and his family runs a cleanup company. The men run the mafia cleanup crew while the women run the legit part. It’s one of the ways they launder money. They even take care of the Renzetti household so I’m pretty certain the brothers are here to watch their childhood friend fight in my ring.
I flip my long silver hair over my shoulder as I look over the bets that have been locked in, smiling at the profits I know we’ll have by the end of the night. Fighting is inhumane to some and an outlet to others. For me, it’s entertainment and a profit. I love the environment of it and relish the rush of adrenaline the crowd causes. It’s heinous and ruthless but this is my vibe. The deepest and darkest parts of me delight in the ferocity of it all—it thrives in it even. But nothing compares to actually being in the ring. Facing off with an opponent who is looking for any and all weakness you may have.
There is nothing like it.
As if hearing my thoughts, Jefa asks with a salivating look, “When will you fight again? I’ve been dying to see you dominate.”
She smiles like the sadistic woman she is. Like me, Jefa looks like this sweet and innocent young girl. We have the same build and height but where her hair is white mine is silver, while she is covered in tattoos I have multiple piercings. Our faces and voices say soft while our actions and souls scream savagery.
Fidgeting with my tight pencil skirt, I look over at her and tell her what I haven’t wanted to talk about for a while.
“Between the two of us, you’ll be the one fighting the most. My mother has cancer again so I’m not getting in the cage until she’s better. She doesn’t want anyone taking care of her and she runs off every home nurse I hire so I need to be in good health to care for her while she fights this cancer. I’m only here now because she’s in the hospital overnight for her next round of chemo treatments.” I take a long pull on my drink to fight the burning in my eyes.
My mother is the toughest woman I know. She survived my abusive father for years, raised me on her own, and never remarried after setting fire to my father’s severed head.Yes, that’s right. My mother burned the bastard’s head. He beat her for years and threatened my life on the daily so don’t look so shocked by her actions.
