Page 100 of Tempting My Mafia Monster

Ghosts

Irelaxed into the familiar flood of warmth as I injected half the dose of Raw Mercy into my arm. I’d been using a lower dose before the fights, as the doctor had suggested, but I hated how much my body still craved it. The world would fade away, and the hyper-focus and feral rage were comforting. That sick bastard had made me an addict on top of everything else.

I dropped the needle on the floor and taped my knuckles. The door to the tiny back room opened, and a bald-headed man stood there, his lips moving. I shifted the headphones away from my ear.

“Tocca a te. Un minuto.”

I gave a curt nod, and he left. The basic Italian I’d picked up since arriving in Verona four days ago let me decipher that I was up next, and I had one minute. I scooted off the wooden table I’d been sitting on and rolled my arms, cracking my shoulders.

My body vibrated with the poison. This was the night. I could feel it. They would be here.

I came to Italy with only one plan: to get the Del Brenta’s attention. The problem was that the only language I knew how to speak in a foreign country was violence. That meant betraying the only lesson Da had taught me. I wasn’t killing for survival anymore. I was killing to be seen. But sacrifices had to be made to achieve revenge. Da would understand that.

I’d found my way into the Italian underground scene, thanks to Nolan’s knowledge of where to go and which assholes to bribe. I flew into Rome, won a fight there, and then heard that the Buccini family lived in Verona. So far, I’d had two fights in this city and won them both, making sure I’d made a spectacle of their deaths so the name Monster would reach the people it needed to.

Yanking the headphones off me and throwing them into my bag, I stormed out of the room and towards the arena. Tonight’s fight was in the basement of a nightclub the mafia owned, and the music was booming. The aggressive beats forced my rage to spike, flooding my brain with horrific memories. I channelled them, twisting them into a brutality that needed to be unleashed as I climbed into the ring and faced my opponent.

He jumped me before the speaker had even introduced us, and the room erupted in shouting and electricity. I flung him off my back and over my shoulder, slamming him into the mat. My fist followed with three brutal jabs to his face. He groaned and rolled away from me. I took a moment to scan the stands.

Even though they’d recognise me, I had no idea what they looked like because of my memory loss. Yet I knew they’d stand out in the crowd. The fighter was back on his feet, wobbling towards me, trying to land a punch in my side. My palm slammed into his forehead, keeping him at arm’s length and making the swing miss. I shoved him away, barely paying him any attention.

I stilled, taking a punch to my side as I spotted a large group of men standing at the back of the stands, hidden in the shadows. They were all dressed smartly in black shirts and trousers, hands in their pockets, glaring with intimidating auras.

A smirk tugged at my lips. Finally.

I focused back on the fight and ended the poor fucker’s life as quickly and as painlessly as I could. Wrapping my arm around his neck and pressing my hand against his head, I squeezed and twisted until I felt the break. I let his body fall to the mat and stared at the Italian mafia in the back. They didn’t move or react. They just stared right back.

I ran my tongue across my lower lip, then jumped out of the ring and headed backstage. Heaving, I drenched my head with a bottle of water, then grabbed a fresh top from my bag. I pulled it on, slung the bag over my shoulder, and walked straight up to the man in charge of tonight’s fights.

“Bravo,” he chuckled, reaching out to grab my shoulder. I dodged and stepped back. “Three in a row for the Irishman. Your winnings.”

He threw a few thousand euros at me, and I shoved the wads of cash into my bag. I moved around him and headed for the exit.

“Will you be back tomorrow, amigo?”

“Hopefully not,” I muttered under my breath and pulled the headphones back over my ears. The moment I shoved open the back door onto the cobbled street, I could sense them. I kept my gaze ahead, striding down the street and pretending to be oblivious to the blacked-out cars following at a slow pace and the two suited men on the other side of the road.

I led them straight back to the dive where I was staying, walking around the corner of the cheap hotel into an alleyway and dumping my bag at my feet. I leaned against the wall, let the headphones hang around my neck, lit a cigarette and waited.

Within seconds, gigantic figures appeared on my right at the end of the alleyway, blocking any escape. I took another drag, glanced down at my trainers, then looked to my left as a car pulled up. The doors opened, and four men climbed out, guns at the ready in their holsters, their faces serious.

I stayed put, watching them come closer as I blew smoke toward the sky.

“You don’t seem surprised to see us,” the man with sharp blue eyes said as they stopped in front of me. “But we’re surprised to see you.”

“I’ve spent three nights killin’ men in your clubs. I’m only surprised it’s taken you this long to come,” I replied, flicking ash onto the ground.

The tall man beside him, with dark brown eyes and a lethal aura, scowled at me. “You’re supposed to be dead. My brother killed you. We all saw it.”

“I’m a cat with nine lives.”

“We all know you’re a dog. Where’s your owner?” the blue-eyed man with bulging biceps growled.

I threw my cigarette at his feet. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t be here.”

Their eyes twitched as they sized me up. “Bullshit. You’re McKenna’s man. Everyone knows you’re his ultimate weapon.”

“Some weapons backfire.”