I shove the door open, a light breeze sending Giovani’s papers floating within the interior, but what do I care about Giovani’s cheat sheets.
“I’ll be back in a few hours…and then, Giovani Bianchi. We are going to talk about this,” I say, and slam the door, the vehicle shaking from the force.
It doesn’t take me long to walk away from the building Bones lives in, though I do have to ignore the shoulders and people bumping into me as I pass. I’m too tightly wound at the moment that I feel my control slipping and the anger winning, but if I can make it to Alessi’s Club I’ll be able to burn this out.
I hail a taxi on the corner of the third block, far enough away that Bones and any security he might have set up for his building wouldn’t pick up my movements. The cabbie takes my directions and the hundred-dollar bill I though at him, and hauls ass to the opposite side of town, famiglia area, and I hop out the moment the car stops in front of the unassuming gym.
On the outside one sees the gym for the front that it is, but if you know the right people, Alessi’s is a club to let out your internal beast on another, with high stakes. It’s one of my favorite hang outs for the underground fights, and good alcohol.
When I walk through the door, I spot Max, the one who runs the day to day interactions for me. He takes one look at me, and like the good boxing coach he used to be, he can spot the rage and need for my fist to hit flesh, and nods towards to back.
I nod back and head to the locker room, and find my locker, and quickly undress from the clothes from the club. I pull on the black sweats, and the white sleeveless undershirt.
The back of the building looks on the up and up to the untrained eye, but if you go through the door marked employees only you fall into the dark seedy world of underground fighting. Back there Max has hired trusted family members to tend bar for the onlookers and bookies, and seating that allows the highest paying patrons the best view.
I find Max’s brother, Frank, and he nods his acknowledgement.
“I want the biggest you have for tonight Frank.” I tell him, and he looks me up and down. I am tall, which is not always the advantage people would think when it comes to fighting, and while I physically have the look of being in shape, I do work out every day, people always take a look at my hair and think that it makes me less inclined to knock the fuck out of someone.
It doesn’t.
I stare at him, and finally he nods. I remind myself to talk to Max about this, because while he’s giving me what I want, he should know better than to second guess me. This is my business, one of them, and I do not accept second guessing form anyone other than the people I have put in charge of the operations.
“Fights scheduled in about ten minutes, does that work for you, Boss, or do I need to move it up?”
He earned some points back for that. I do think about it quickly, but shake my head, “Keep it as its slotted, the patrons are notorious for throwing fits if they miss the best fights,” I say, and he nods.
I take a seat at the bar and order a water. I wont have alchol until I’ve won, no need to mess with my reaction times until I know the feeling of blood on my nukles. I know I’ll come away with marks too, I always do. But the pain serves as a reminder the next time I think to let my rage over take me.
Dolling out pain isn’t the only reason I am here.
This is like church for me, where I repent for being unable to control myself when temptation arises. Nothing better to remind me why I shouldn’t just haul back and hit the leader of our group like bruised ribs and a shiner. This is why Alonzo would never bless any sort of relationship outside of a working one between someone like me and his baby girl.
Even though I’m sure she could take it. Even though I am sure that she would see me bruised and battered and would find something redeeming in me, not just the fact that I hurt people occasionally.
That’s not my only job in the family. I run business, make sure people are protected who have paid their dues, and keep our own businesses running better than good. We’re making more money with they business I have invested in that the family has made in years prior to me taking over. All in a year.
But I doubt Alonzo would approve of that. Sometimes the Boss is too into being white that he forgets that we are both light and dark as people.
I know he loves Priest though, he’s loved her, the idea of her for so long, he won’t be able to see anything other than light when looking at her, even though she’s capable of it all, just like the rest of us.
The ten minutes passes quickly, and as it does I take note of the people in the space, as a good guard does. Most of the faces are familiar, but I do take note of a few new faces among the crowed, like the leggie brunette on the arm of Mr. Tourillo, whose wife had recently died in questionable circumstances, and the red head guy, nearly my height and but not nearly as in good a shape on the arm of the Mr. Gregorio’s daughter, Lucy or Lily or something like that. She got it because Mr. Gregorio was a very good patron, and had added her to the list when he’d discovered she had a thing for MMA.
This isn’t MMA. This isn’t artful techniques and tap outs. This is street fighting, raw, and until a person is unconscious. There is no tap outs.
But I was surprised to see a boy on her arm. I could have sworn that she usually brought girl friends here to scope out the victors of the fights. She has a think for fucking men she knows are capable of hurting her, nearly killing her, if they decided.
Who was I to judge, everyone has a kink right?
I note it all, and I’ll ask Max for the names to pull the background checks he runs on every person in this room before they are ever able to step foot into this room.
When Frank steps up beside me I put my water on the bar, and stand up, releasing some of the fabricated calm I had woven around myself while sitting at the bar.
I’d already texted my bet to Kyrian, our house bookie, and put a hefty chunk of change down on me. I want everyone who looks at me while sitting at that bar to bet against me.
Just more money in my pocket.
Frank walks me to the fighting ring, though it’s not a clearly defined area. Instead it’s a loose square that people avoid naturally. Franks already walked my opponent to his side before getting me, and I have to say, he looks mean.
But he doesn’t know that I am meaner.
He’s half a foot shorter on me, so he’ll have the advantage if he tries to avoid me, but he’s stalky, so he’s not going to have speed. He bounces around on his feet like they show in television shows, but anyone who’s fought for real knows that is just wasted energy and a scare tactic.
One that doesn’t do shit to scare me.
I stand there and just look at him, and a hush starts to fall around the crowd. They can tell this is going to be different than what they are used to seeing.
“For those who don’t know, on the right is Thomas, three time winner in this ring. On the left is his challenger, Alex. If you haven’t already placed your bets with your bookies, you’ve missed out,” Frank says in a loud voice so no one can claim they didn’t hear. Then he looks at us.
“Fight,” is all I need to hear before I release the shitty paper mâché damn I’d managed to erect. The moment the wall came down, all I could hear was that single word echoing in the abyss of my mind.
Fight.Fight.Fight.