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The stranger looked back at me, and I could read past his mask. It’s hard to explain how, but he projected his disgust over Vasiliev’s comments, and his empathy for me. Maybe it was because fighters could recognize one another?
“You’ve had a great career,” Vasiliev said, wagging a single finger at me before planting that same finger on the side of his nose. “But tonight isn’t your night.”
“What?” LeBlanc exclaimed.
“You heard me.” Vasiliev’s voice dropped in warning. “It’s not your night.”
I narrowed my eyes and glared at this man, feeling the need to pound my fist into his soft face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Listen,” LeBlanc tried to step between us. “She’s had a great career. She’s on top of her game. No one’s going to believe it if she has an off night.”
“She has had a great career,” Vasiliev agreed, then his toothy smile sent a shiver of disgust down my spine. “You’re young. You’ll recover from havingonebad evening.”
He was wrong, of course. I was a woman in the underground MMA circuit. I would fight man, woman, or beast if the price was right. Half the people who showed up to my events were misogynists, hoping that they were finally going to see me get my comeuppance. They wanted to see me, a little woman, getting my ass beat for daring to step out of gender roles, and threatening their sad little egos.
If I lost, I would never be able to pull in this kind of crowd, or these kinds of bets, again. So I couldn’t lose.
Vasiliev took my silence for consent. He wasn’t a very bright man. He turned and left the room, the door closing with a definitive, final click.
LeBlanc wiped his face with his hand, and paced, screaming about mafias, mobs, and fixed bets. I couldn’t understand everything he was saying, but there was something about kneecaps, and sleeping with fishes, and other silly things. Must be an American thing.
I continued to warm up my joints, rotating my shoulders, knees, then ankles.
“Listen,” I almost jumped at the sound of someone else’s voice. The brown-haired man was still there, and his eyes looked intently at me. “If you need anything, absolutely anything at all, here’s my card.”
He brought out a black card, on it were gold, embossed text proudly showing his name - JERICHO VASILIEV - in both English and Cyrillic.
“Are you related to that guy?” I nodded to the locker door. “I hope it’s a distant relation.”
“Half-siblings.” He put his hands up in a placating manner and chuckled. “Other than some shared genetics, we’re nothing alike.”
That was an unlikely story. Wasn’t the mafia based on familial ties?
“I don’t have much time, so let me put all my cards on the table now.” He put his hands in his pockets, then became expressionless again. “I knew your father.”
“I don’t have a father.” I narrowed my eyes. No one knew who my father was. The only ones who would have that information were six feet under, leaving the secret for me to keep until I joined them in the grave.
“That’s right, you don’t.” He reached down with his index finger andboopedmy nose. I was so surprised by the gesture that I just blinked at him. “Except that his name was Leopold Bonifacio, and he was–”
I shushed him, covering his mouth with my gloved hands.
My father was a drunk, a lech, a man who only stepped into my life because cancer stole my mother when I was still a minor. But he was also an assassin. I knew that. And he paid for his sins with a bullet to the head.
“What do you want?” I hissed at him. Was he blackmailing me to throw the fight, just as the other Vasiliev wanted?
“Nothing.” He leaned in towards me, bringing his voice low. “I was there when he died five years ago. I swore I would take care of you like you were my own.”
He looked behind him, as if making sure his brother hadn’t returned.
“You know what your father did for a living, right?” He asked, quirking a brow. He said it as if he already knew the answer.
I narrowed my eyes. “He was in… business.”The business of killing people.
“Right.Business.“ He said with a little chuckle. “I’m in the same line of work. It took me a while to get to you because, well… I’ve been busy. But I’ve had eyes on you.”
He looked at LeBlanc who stood some distance away, observing but not interfering.
“I’m going to keep my promise. You understand?” His eyes were earnest, but quiet. “Your father was more my family than...” He glanced knowingly toward the door his brother had just exited. “You’re going to need me soon. I can feel it. Call me, and I’ll be at your side. Do you understand?”
