Twisted Hearts by Cora Reilly

Toni came over the same night. We had too much to discuss handling it over the phone.

“This is so bad boy of him,” Toni whispered, almost beside herself from excitement. I wasn’t even sure who of us was more excited. Toni never liked to fight herself, but watching the cage fights in the Arena, that was her thing. One day she’d follow in her father’s footsteps and manage the Arena, that was clear.

“That’s because he is a bad boy.” I’d only occasionally seen glimpses of his darker side, but it was there and probably scarier than I could even begin to grasp. It didn’t make me want him less though. To be honest, it thrilled me in the most disturbing way.

I glanced toward the open door of my room. Since the Arena incident, I wasn’t allowed to close my door when Toni was over. It was ridiculous. Mom and Dad wouldn’t budge on the subject, though. “Do you know anything about his tattoo?” I asked the question I’d meant to ask forever.

Toni bit her lip, giggling. “You mean the bull?”

I blinked. “A bull?”

Two red blotches appeared on Toni’s cheeks. “I overheard a few girls discussing Savio’s bed habits and they mentioned his bull tattoo. It’s right above his penis.”

Embarrassment crawled up my neck. I’d known Toni all my life, but hearing her talk this easily about Savio’s privates was still too much. “Why a bull?” And why right there?

Toni made a face. “What do you think? Savio’s the cockiest guy on this planet. Or to quote the girls I overheard in the Arena: he’s like a freaking animal in the bed. The best ride of my life!” Toni even imitated the high-pitched voice of the girl and added a Yeehaaw for good measure.

I let out an uncertain laugh. The idea of a girl talking about riding Savio made me furious, and at the same time, had me worried. Everyone knew Savio’s track record with girls. How was I ever going to compare to them?

Toni shoved my shoulder. “Stop looking so glum. Savio Falcone agreed to fight in the cage for your hand. Isn’t that what you’ve been hoping for?”

It was. Even if I’d wished he’d made up his mind sooner to spare Mick and me the drama, I had to admit that I was excited about the fight. It was the first time I was allowed to see an actual cage fight by a Falcone. Dad could hardly refuse to let me see the fight that determined my future.

“Will you get engaged right away?”

I shrugged. I wasn’t sure how things would be handled with Savio. Mick and my engagement would have taken place in a couple of months, probably in a big feast. “I don’t know. Before yesterday, Savio never once talked about marriage with me.”

“I can’t imagine Savio as a husband. Do you really think he can be faithful? He changes girls as often as his underwear.”

“He’d better be. I won’t tolerate infidelity.”

Toni looked doubtful. “I’m sure once you’re married, he’ll behave… but I don’t think he’ll give up his man-whoring ways before he gets it from you.”

“He won’t get anything before we’re married,” I muttered.

Toni gave me a look. She’d never understood our traditions.

I tugged at my curls. Why was I so nervous? It wasn’t me who had to fight, and I wasn’t worried about the outcome of the fight either. Savio would win. Mick stood absolutely no chance against him, even if Savio had fought in the cage against a strong opponent only yesterday.

A knock sounded and Mom poked her head in, taking in my outfit. I had insisted to choose what I wore today. I knew I’d be the center of attention, even if it wasn’t a public fight in the Arena. Only other Camorrista and the involved families were allowed to attend.

I’d chosen a dress because even on a day like this, jeans wouldn’t fly with Mom or Dad, but it was the least modest I owned, hugging my waist and chest, but ending in a flowing skirt that reached my knees. I’d even straightened my natural curls, only to turn them into more controlled, shiny curls with my curling iron.

“You look beautiful, love,” Mom said as she walked in and hugged me. “Two men fighting over you, it’s something else…”

I laughed dryly. “Yeah.”

If word got out, and word would get out at some point, the stares in school would increase tenfold.

“Just promise me to keep an open mind for either outcome.”

Mom didn’t know anything about fighting, or Savio. There was only one realistic outcome. I nodded anyway.

“We need to go,” Dad called.

Mom kissed my cheek. “Have fun.”

“You’re not coming?”

She touched her belly with an apologetic smile. “You know how queasy I get with blood, and the hormones only make it worse.”

“Gemma! We’re going to be late!” Diego shouted.

I kissed Mom’s cheek, grabbed my purse and rushed downstairs where Dad, Diego, and Nonna were waiting for me. Surprise shot through me.

“Don’t look so shocked, bambina,” Nonna said with a rough laugh. She’d been smoking in secret ever since Grandpa’s death and it was unmistakable.

“Are you sure you can handle it?” I asked.

“Your nonna is made of steel,” Dad said, touching her shoulder.

Diego and Dad sat in the front, while Nonna and I shared the backseat. She took my hand during the drive. I knew she probably favored Mick because his family was more traditional, but I was glad for her support.

Roger’s Arena was more crowded than I’d thought it’d be. Dozens of eyes followed me as my family and I headed for one of the booths close to the fighting cage.

Toni hurried our way, smiling. She pulled me into a tight embrace. “You look like you want to run,” she whispered before she released me.

Part of me wanted to run away, but the other, bigger part longed to see Savio’s fight.

“Do you have to work?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Dad hired two new waitresses, so I can watch the fight with you.” She turned to my family. “Hello, Mrs. Bazzoli, Daniele, Diego.” Her eyes halted on my brother and for once, he didn’t look like she was a fly he wanted to swat away. Toni was eye-catching with her long straight brown hair and those huge brown eyes, not to mention her tall, willowy model figure.

We all slipped into the booth.

Remo stepped out of the changing room and silence fell over the bar. “The fight begins in five minutes.” He didn’t say more, didn’t explain, only briefly nodded toward my father then toward Mick’s family who sat on the other side of the Arena.

Mick was the first who came out of the changing room. I’d never seen him in anything but street clothes. Now he wore only fighting shorts and flip-flops. Maybe he was worried about touching the floor with his bare feet. He wasn’t very tanned, his Italian heritage definitely less prominent than with me, and tall and lanky with only the hint of lean muscle. A small scar marred his left arm and the Camorra tattoo flashed on his other. His eyes found me.

I didn’t look away. I owed him that much, but I couldn’t bring myself to give him more than a small smile. Everyone was watching. I could feel the force of their gazes on my skin, making it itch.

Then everything faded into the background because the door to the changing room opened again.

Savio prowled out of it. He oozed confidence and lethal determination. My eyes took him in, every inch of his body. One look at him and everyone knew there could be only one winner tonight: Savio Falcone.

He was tanned, tall, but not in a lanky way. Savio was well-proportioned male-perfection. He was pure muscle. Not in the bulky way of some bodybuilders whose muscles made them immobile. Savio’s muscle were of the agile, functional kind, meant to make him strong and fast, lethal and attractive.

Scars littered his chest and arms, marks of a struggle for power, and the absolute will to defend it. They adorned his body like battle trophies, which he proudly presented to the world. Only two scars were covered up by the inked artwork his brother had created: the cuts on his wrists.

My gaze lingered on the tips of horns peeking out of his waistband, marking the very edge of his delicious V. I felt the unreasonable urge to tug his shorts lower to see more of that infamous bull.

Savio climbed into the cage without deigning me with a single look, but then before he faced Mick, his dark eyes hit me.

He was sure of his victory, sure of his prize: me.

He was willing to fight for me, to bleed for me. For that fact alone, I already belonged to him.

Gemma’s lips were slightly parted as she stared back at me. Her lips were pouty without ever having seen a single hyaluronic needle. For a long time, I’d tried to not look at her too closely. She’d been too young—was still too young—and she was Diego’s sister, but her gorgeousness was impossible to miss now. Not to mention that this girl could kick ass. She didn’t cry when she suffered a hard hit. She only wanted to improve.

She was going to be mine. She already was.

I turned to Mick who stood with his arms crossed and a grim expression, trying to appear unaffected. Tilting my head, I scanned him. Crossing arms was a good way to hide anxiety-induced shaking. Remo closed the door of the cage with a clang and the slightest flinch passed Mick’s body.

He worked out with me and Diego on occasion, but he preferred the boxing bag to sparring. Problem was, the boxing bag never hit you back. You could only improve if you paid for a wrong move or lack of attention with a punch and the resulting pain.

I considered taunting him like I usually did with my opponents before a fight to rile them up, but eventually, I settled on a nod.

“Fight until surrender!” Remo announced, then. “Go!”

I raised my fists and Mick quickly did the same.

He was trying to put up a decent fight. I had to give it to him. I didn’t go as hard on him as I did with my other opponents. He didn’t get through my defenses and every time his punch or kick met my resistance, my own counterstrike landed painfully. Frustration flashed across his face followed by embarrassment when the crowd called for me to finish it. It being him.

“I kissed Gemma before you,” he hissed. For a moment, my blinding fury distracted me, but my forearms moved up in time to block his angry shove. What kind of fucking move was that supposed to be? Kindergarteners shoved each other. My back collided with the cage and I used the momentum to push my body off and do a high kick against his chest, done with playing nice. My foot smashed against his sternum.

The air whooshed out of him and he hit the ground like a brick, chest heaving, face turning red as he was trying to breathe.

I straddled him, gripped his throat and got into his face. “How about you tell the fucking truth now, Mick? Gemma would have never kissed you, unless you forced a kiss on her, so either you molested her, or you’re a liar. What is it?”

I loosened my hold on his throat so he could speak.

“I lied.”

“Fuck you,” I growled. “Now surrender.”

He hit the ground with his flat palm, and I released him then straightened. Standing over him, I shook my head, disgusted. He’d given up too quickly. He’d tried to play dirty, which I could have dealt with if he hadn’t dragged Gemma into it.

Mick stayed flat on his back, his eyes closed.

Applause rose in the Arena and Remo appeared beside me. He grabbed my arm, raising it above my head.

My eyes sought Gemma. She was standing just like the rest of the spectators. Her eyes were huge, her face flushed with excitement. I’d won many fights, but this was definitely the best victory yet. Everyone looking her way could see that this was the outcome she’d wished for. Our eyes met and she controlled her expression—too late.

One corner of my mouth twitched up. My girl.

Remo released my arm, bringing my attention back into the cage. Mick was sitting up slowly, obviously still struggling to breathe from my kick. I held out my hand for him to take so I could pull him up. He pushed my hand away. I took a step back, sneering. Did he really think this behavior was earning him any bonus points in front of fellow Camorrista?

Remo extended his hand and Mick took that one, then he turned back to me. His lower lip was burst. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I thought we were friends. Guess I was wrong.”

“You wanted the wrong girl, Mick. That’s all. Get over it and we can be friends.”

“You didn’t want her for so long that her family arranged a marriage with me. Gemma would be better off with me. You can’t keep it in your pants, Savio.”

“If you want to continue this argument, do it in the changing room,” Remo ordered.

Mick nodded and climbed out of the cage then hurried toward the changing rooms. Remo clapped my shoulder, but his eyes held warning. “You got what you wanted. I hope you’ll still want it in a few years because this is until death do us part.”

I answered his twisted grin with my own. “I’m a grown man, Remo. Gemma is and will be mine till the bitter end.”

“I’m not worried about her being yours. No one with half a brain will touch a Falcone woman. But she might want you to be hers too, remember that.”