Page 12 of Thawed Gladiator: Victor

Six weeks to get Victor in fighting shape. Six weeks to figure a way out of this mess that doesn’t end with everyone I care about in prison or dead. Six weeks to decide if I’m finally ready to stop enabling my father’s disasters, even if it means losing everything I’ve built.

Tony’s right about one thing, though—Victor’s fighting style is special. I worry that instead of that being a good thing, it might just get him killed.

Chapter Ten

Victor

The mechanical beastDominacalls a “truck” hurtles through the night at impossible speeds, its steady rumble doing nothing to calm my churning stomach. Strange lights flash past faster than I can process. Behind us, another vehicle follows at a careful distance—Tony’s men, making sure we don’t deviate from our assigned path.

Nothing about this makes sense. The vehicle we ride in defies understanding—a chariot with no horses, moving faster than the swiftest courier. The lights outside pulse with unnatural brightness, illuminating buildings taller than the greatest temples of Rome.Dominus’explanation about my ship being “blown off course” grows thinner with each passing moment.

Where in all the gods’ territories could we possibly be? No foreign land I’ve ever heard about has such wonders. Not Judea, not Gaul, not even the distant realms of Parthia or India that merchants spoke of in awed tones. The air itself tastes wrong—tinged with unfamiliar scents that burn my nostrils.

And the people… their clothing, their speech patterns, the casual way they interact with these mechanical marvels. If we truly were in some distant province of the Empire, wouldn’t there be some familiar touches? A statue of the Emperor, or household gods, perhaps, or at least architecture that follows Roman principles?

Something deeper is happening here, somethingDominus—and nowDomina—aren’t telling me. My instincts, honed through years in the arena, scream that I’m being deceived. Yet what purpose would such an elaborate deception serve? And if not deception, then what possible explanation remains?

I steal a glance atDomina’sprofile as she drives. Whatever the truth, I sense she carries it like a burden. There’s guilt behind her eyes when she looks at me, though she tries to hide it. Perhaps in time, she’ll trust me enough to reveal what she knows.

For now, I must observe, learn, and prepare. Father’s teachings on patience serve me well in this strange place where nothing is as it seems.

Domina’sknuckles are white as her hands grip the wheel that steers this truck. Even without the translation device, her worry is clear in every line of her body. The crime boss’s visit to the cabin changed everything. His cold eyes assessed me like alanistaexamining new stock, measuring my worth in coins not yet earned.

Many hours later,Dominasays, “Almost there,” her voice tight. The device in my ear renders her words into Latin, but I’m beginning to recognize certain phrases even without it. The way she glances in the mirror every few seconds tells me she’s as aware of our shadows as I am.

This Tony Esposito reminds me of certain patricians who frequented theludus—men who wrapped their cruelty in civilization’s veneer. His careful manners and clothing, more elegant thanDominus’, didn’t hide the predator’s calculation in his eyes. The wayDominatensed at his words spoke volumes about his reputation.

The truck slows, turning onto a quieter street. A two-story building looms ahead, its front windows dark but a light burning above. Is this her “gym”? Is it short for the Greek word gymnasium?

“Home sweet home,” she mutters, but there’s no sweetness in her tone. The vehicle following us continues past, but we both know they’ll circle back. We’re being given the illusion of privacy, nothing more.

The inside of the gym steals my breath. Strange machines of metal and cables fill the space, their purpose clearly tied to building strength, though their methods escape me. A raised platform in the center must be for sparring, though its ropes and padded floor differ from any training ground I’ve known. I’ve only fought on sand.

“The apartment’s upstairs,” she says, leading me toward a back staircase. “It’s small, but…” She trails off, that worried crease appearing between her brows again.

The stairs challenge my still-weak legs, but I refuse to show fatigue. Tony’s visit made it clear—I must regain my strength quickly. The stakes are higher than mere survival now. Mydominaanddominus’sfutures somehow depend on my ability to fight, though the details remain murky.

The living space aboveDomina’sgym is very different from the dwelling I’ve been living in. Everything gleams with impossible cleanliness. The main room combines cooking space and living area, all of it smaller than a wealthy Roman’s bathing room, yet containing more wonders than the finest villa.

“Bathroom’s through there.” She points to a door. “And that’s… that’s the bedroom.” Her cheeks flush slightly as she glances at the large bed visible through the doorway. “I’ll take the couch.”

“Impossible,Domina.” The word comes out sharper than appropriate, but the thought of taking her bed is unthinkable. “I will sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You need proper rest to heal—”

“You should keep your bed.” I straighten to my full height, ignoring protesting muscles. “A slave does not steal hisdomina’scomfort.”

Her face does something complicated—pain and frustration warring with something softer. “You’re not… this isn’t…” She stops, takes a breath. “The couch is too small for you. The floor would undo all your recovery progress.”

“Still, I cannot—”

“This isn’t a request.” Her voice carries the authority of someone used to being obeyed, but her eyes betray concern. “As your… as yourdomina, I’m ordering you to take the bed.”

The formal phrasing catches me off guard. She’s learning to use my own customs against me, but her obvious discomfort with claiming ownership suggests deeper complexities. Still, I cannot yield on this.

“Then I must respectfully disobey.” I drop to one knee, ignoring how the movement makes my muscles protest. “My comfort cannot come at the cost of yours. The floor will serve.”

“For god’s sake, get up.” Real distress colors her tone now. “Look, we’re both adults. The bed’s big enough to share if you’re so worried about me sleeping on the couch.”

---