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Valentino Lupetto approached us with a drink in one hand. He wore a suit because Valentino wore a suit everywhere. I'd seen him step into the practice ring and only remove his jacket. The man could probably get stabbed and worry about blood on the fucking lapels before the wound.

His attention moved to Rosalind. "The new Mrs. Blackwood."

The Alpha took her hand and bent over it. His lips touched her knuckles.

A growl rolled out of my chest.

Valentino straightened, laughing. A slightly taller copy of him approached. Casanova wasn't dressed for the ring yet. Sweatpants, T-shirt, hands already wrapped. He was nearly my height and carried enough muscle to make humans move out of his way without understanding why.

Rosalind tilted her head. "This is the fighter?"

Casanova offered his hand. "Pleasure."

Rosalind reached out, missed his hand, and landed on his forearm. Her fingers squeezed. Then moved higher.

I growled. Again.

Rosalind ignored me. "You're enormous."

"You should probably take your hands off me if you want there to be an actual fight."

"I'm not exactly going to see the fight." Rosalind's fingers squeezed Casanova's biceps. "I'm getting the visuals now."

"You're done visualizing," I growled

Casanova's shoulders shook as he laughed.

Rosalind finally released him, then turned back to me with a grin. "Yours are bigger."

She tilted her head back, offering her mouth. Who was I to disappoint my wife. I claimed her lips, savoring the ripe berry sweetness.

"Who's he fighting?" Rosalind asked after I reluctantly released her mouth.

"Mateo Silva," Valentino answered. "Out of Miami. Twenty-seven wins. Four losses. Eighteen knockouts."

"Better record than Casanova," I said.

Valentino swirled the liquor in his glass. "Silva's favored heavily tonight."

Around us, humans crowded the betting stations. Numbers were called. Odds changing. Money moving. Lots of fucking money.

Casanova rolled one shoulder. "Silva has a hell of a right hook."

He did. I'd seen footage. "His left knee is fucked. Old ACL reconstruction. He favors it when he pivots clockwise. Not enough for most people to notice."

"But you noticed." Rosalind's voice was appraising. It looked like her eyes were focused on me, like she could actually see me.

"I notice bodies," was all I managed, because I wanted to answer her with another claiming kiss.

Casanova pointed at me. "Which is why sparring with this asshole isn't fun."

"You enjoy it."

"I enjoy hitting you."

"Same thing."

"So Casanova is the underdog?" Rosalind asked.