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“No.” I sliced my arm through the air, not willing to let him explain himself. There was nothing he could say right now, nothing that he could do. “I get it, you’re the bad guys, you’ve told me enough times.” I heaved a breath. “But bringing a loaded gun into the house and leaving it where anyone can get it?”
His jaw clenched, the expression on his face turning completely blank. That was the Dante I hadn’t seen for a while, the one who took no prisoners. “It’s not the only gun in the house.” He lifted the leg of his pants, showing me the gun strapped to his ankle.
“Will that one fire agoddamn bulletif it drops to the floor too?” His face paled, but I wasn’t done yet. “Our son lives here, Dante. Our. Son. He could have been sleeping in here while I got ready. He could have…” A lump formed in my throat, so big that it was hard to breathe around. “It’s too much. That was the final straw.”
I wrapped my arms around my waist, waiting for him to say something…anything. But he didn’t. He was silent, not a single expression on his face.
“Get out,” I whispered.
And a second later, he walked out of the bedroom door, his feet lightly treading down the stairs. As soon as I heard the click of the front door and I knew he was gone, I collapsed into a pile on the floor, tears streaming down my cheeks, the thought of whatcouldhave happened consuming me entirely.
I hadn’t felt the danger since I’d been here, hadn’t had to witness any of it, but this made it all too real. This made my dad’s words feel all the more true.
CHAPTER 14
DANTE
I pummeled the punching bag in front of me. Left, right. Left, right. Sweat dripped down my face, my neck, then onto my chest. My breaths were hard to pull in, burning at my lungs. But I didn’t stop. I needed the pain. I neededsomethingto get the look of her face out of my brain.
Get out.
Get. Out.
Get out.
Fuck. I couldn’t stop hearing the hurt and anger in her voice, or the terror in her eyes as she stared at me like I was a total stranger.
“You’re up,” the manager of the club said, tapping me on the shoulder.
I growled, not wanting to say a word to him as I moved to the makeshift ring on the other side of the room that was surrounded with people watching the fight that was finishing up.
This was where I belonged, in the ring, fighting.
I hadn’t known where to go earlier today when she’d told me to get out. I could have gone to the mansion. I could have spoken to my family, told them how I’d fucked up by leaving the gun—that was loaded—in a drawer.
Fuck. Why did I leave it loaded with the safety off?
I was stupid. So fuckin’ stupid.
I’d forgotten it was there.
The night I’d come home covered in blood was a blur, and I’d…I’d left my gun in the drawer.
I’d made a mistake, one that I wasn’t sure I could come back from. So I was dealing with it the best way I knew how. My fight or flight had kicked in again, and instead of fleeing like I did when I let Lorenzo down, I decided to fight. In a ring. For money. Just like I had when I was a teenager, only this time it wasn’t my father that would benefit.
A winner was declared as they dragged the loser out of the ring, his face beaten to a pulp. He had no idea what he was going up against, but I did. I knew the man I was about to step into the ring with wouldn’t go down easily, but I didn’t want him to. I wanted him to give as good as he got. I wanted to hurt. I wanted to be punished.
“If you win, you stay in the ring and fight the next opponent,” the manager said with a slap on my back as he pushed me into the ring.
I knew the rules—knew I had to defeat everyone that would step into the ring after me. And I had no doubt that I would, they just needed to make sure that there were enough fighters to take me on.
I hadn’t even gotten into the middle of the ring when a blow to my face had me stumbling to the side. I saw stars, my head spinning as another punch came at my face, but I managed to duck and swerve away from it.
The guy was quick, but his accuracy was off, something that someone should have told him, but I was guessing because he was a big motherfucker with a tattooed bald head, no one had struck up the nerve to.
I growled as he landed another blow, this time in my side, and let the red mist descend. I had no idea what I was doing. I let my muscle memory and my instincts drive me, throwing punch after punch and kick after kick. I didn’t stop, not even when he was passed out on the floor, blood pooling from his mouth and ears.
And nobody stepped into the ring to put an end to the brutality I was raining down on him. The rules were simple, anyone who came into the ring was ready to fight, so I waited for the bell to ring, signaling the next fighter.
