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He does as I say, his jaw shaking as he obeys.
Grabbing the small but deadly blade, I carve the tip off his tongue. It feels like cutting through a rough bit of well done steak, blood gushing out of his mouth and down his chin.
Holding out the tiny bit of flesh, I dangle it above his open mouth.
“Last time, I promise. Swallow”
Luca wanted a message delivered. I think this will do the job. The fear is palpable in the room.
Clamping his mouth down, he swallows the end of his tongue, spluttering blood all over my jacket as he does.
“You can fucking pay for the dry cleaning on this,” I say in disgust as I throw my blood covered jacket on the damp floor.
“Now, that will be the last time you speak of Luca’s business to the Falcones. Do I make myself clear? If we so much as hear a whisper you have even stepped foot in their territory, you’ll have a bullet wedged right between your eyes.”
He frantically nods in response, his hand covering his mouth that was pouring with blood.
By the time I get home, the sun is rising over Central Park. My bloodied clothes, discarded in a bag to deal with later, I have an ice-cold shower, trying to get the image of Sienna riding my hand out of my head.
It didn’t fucking work.
The rest of the week, I train with Grayson. I have to keep my hands busy, to stop myself from contacting Sienna. God, I want her.
I want to possess her, claim her, and make her mine.
I want to protect her and care for her.
That’s what stops me from making contact.
She doesn’t need to be wrapped up in my shit. Being involved with me would be dangerous. Having a woman in this lifestyle is a weakness. One I can’t afford.
And that makes me fucking angry. Who is this woman and why does she have such a hold over me?
The memory of her pinned up against the wall by her ex stirred something deep inside me, something completely foreign. Then witnessing her smash him straight in the balls made me proud. There is definitely a fire that burns inside of her, pure perfection wrapped in a neat Goddess-like form.
I’m going cold turkey. If that’s what people use to get off drugs, surely it works for a woman you haven’t even fucked.
Which is why I spend the entire week exhausting every muscle at the Kings Gym. Every combination I nail provides a distraction from my thoughts.
Kings is mine and Grayson’s training gym. We set it up when Luca first assigned him as my trainer. He was fresh out of the Marines, and I was just plucked off the streets after Luca managed to wangle a deal to keep my ass out of jail.
Grayson’s been kicking my ass into shape ever since. He takes no shit and is the only opponent I’ve ever struggled to knock down on their ass in the ring.
We may have started off on dodgy footing when I was a foster kid fighting on the streets. Discipline wasn’t my thing. Let alone from a bloke no bigger than I was and only five years older. Now, six years later, I couldn’t be without the grumpy asshole. He and Luca are the closest thing to brothers I have.
There are only two months until my unification title fight. Already holding three belts, the WBC is the one I’ve got my sights on. Only a six foot four inch Russian machine stands in my way. He is an inch shorter and leaner than me, so he has quicker punches and is lighter on his footing for defense. I have pure power and skill. Boxing is 90% a mental fight. Once I get in the zone, there is no one that can stand in my way. I’m undefeated for a reason.
This fight holds more than the unification. It is the key to my freedom. A life away from the mafia. A chance to solely focus on boxing and live out the rest of my life without always looking over my shoulder. Grayson knows what’s at stake and fuck is he killing me for it.
Tossing my gym bag on the bench press, I head over to the office. As much as I should knock, I won’t; it’s our office, not just his. I’m going to take a punt on the fact there wouldn’t be fucking someone in there on a Monday morning, but Grayson, the ultimate playboy, doesn’t listen to society’s restraints on sex.
Barging through the door, I call out, “Knock knock mother-fucker.”
Fuck, I love winding the big guy up.
Grayson shoots me a glare taking his attention from his phone. We have those leather swivel office chairs, but neither of us can actually fit in the fucking things. Grayson is just an inch smaller than me, set with the same heavy, muscled frame. Still keeps an ashy blonde buzz cut. I guess old habits die hard from the Marines. Not that I’d know. He never fucking talks about it. I’ve tried to dig over the years, but he just shuts down and avoids the questions. I take that as he doesn’t want to talk about it. I know something happened, but it’s just passed by with us and Luca. The same as Grayson knows my ties to the Mafia. Hell, he is also friends with Luca, so it’s hardly a secret.
Maybe that’s why we’re like brothers. We understand each other's pain, but don’t dredge it up. We don’t need to be fucking therapists, just punchbags.
