Page 83 of The Madman and his broken Princess
She closed her eyes and let out a shuddering breath. “I’m not sure I can bear seeing you enter that cage again.”
“You can’t leave.”
“I won’t,” she said firmly, her eyes filled with determination. “Not because Remo wants to prove a point, but because I won’t leave you. I did that once, and I won’t ever do it again. I couldn’t be with you when my father tortured you, but I can support you today.”
I wanted to hold on to the rage that had consumed me in the months and years of Amelia’s absence, but it was becoming more difficult by the day. I loved this woman. She was the only person I’d loved since my mother had been ripped from me as a little boy. She would always be the only person I loved. I kissed her, and I didn’t pull back even as the door swung open, not even as steps approached us. But I looked up when they sounded too close and raised my head to meet Nino’s evaluating gaze. “Do you need medical assistance?”
“No.”
Nino shook his head. “You don’t have to pretend in front of me. I know you’re injured. I saw you battered and broken when we conquered the mansion. It’s not a weakness to sustain an injury. It’s how we handle it that determines our strength. And you’re being unreasonable.”
“You can’t do anything. I won’t cancel my second fight, and I won’t go out there bandaged. This won’t kill me.”
Nino shrugged. “As with my brother, only your own stubbornness can kill you.” He gave me a curt nod, then he left.
Shuffling in a farther part of the changing room reminded me we weren’t alone. I raised Amelia’s hand to my lips. “Now return to the booth. I’ll have to focus on my next fight.”
She opened her mouth as if to protest, but I pressed my index finger against it. “Hush, dove. Go now.”
When I left the changing room with a heavy heart, the crowd parted for me immediately. A cleaning team was busy wiping up the blood in the cage. There was no trace of the man who had died outside the cage. His body had been carried out, and once the floor in the cage was clean, the fights would continue as if nothing had occurred. And to these people, this was ordinary. Though I noted the stench of vomit and cleaner with relief. At least some people had been shocked by the display of violence. My own belly still churned when I thought of how Steel-gray’s bowels had spilled on the floor. I hadn’t thrown up. Not like young Amelia on the night of Nestore’s birthday. Memories from long ago popped up uninvited in my head: bowels covered the floor in the splendid ballroom, and my father looked down at the boy who’d been kind to me with cruel eyes.
I snapped back to the present day when I arrived at the booth. “Your husband knows how to put on a show. It never gets boring,” Remo said, his eyes lighting up with dark amusement.
“I guess he needs a pay raise then,” I said with a too-bright smile as I sank down on the bench.
Fabiano let out a choked laugh, then focused on his drink.
“He’s the Underboss of the richest state in Camorra territory. Money certainly isn’t an issue,” Nino drawled.
“She was joking,” Savio said, rolling his eyes.
“You know what your husband’s reward is for being so very entertaining?” Remo asked, his face hard.
My belly twisted.
“He gets to keep you, even if his loyalty to you trumps his loyalty to me. I’d say I could hardly give him a bigger reward.”
I swallowed thickly. “Nestore is absolutely loyal to you. He’d die for you.”
“And he’d try to kill me for you.” He leaned back, his gaze moving on to the cage where new fighters were facing each other. It seemed our conversation was over, and I decided to be even more careful around the Capo in the future. I wouldn’t tell Nestore about this. Maybe he knew, but I didn’t want to risk his safety.
When it was time for Nestore’s second fight, I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I just wanted to leave this booth, this bar, this city. I desired to get as far away from the Falcones as possible.
Nestore’s second fight took almost fifteen minutes, but not because the Steamroller stood any chance against him. He landed only two hits, one of them on Nestore’s injured side. His death was slow and agonizing. I focused on my drink in front of me, on the golden hue of my nail polish, on the markings in the dark wood of the table.
I heard a loud snap, like a thick bone breaking. When the pained gurgles finally subsided, I looked up. Nestore stood in the center of the cage, over the battered corpse of his opponent. He held something in his hand, and upon closer look, I recognized it as the man’s heart, a piece of the aorta dangling from the organ and dripping blood. The head of the man was twisted at an unnatural angle, but so were his arms and legs.
The stench of vomit hung heavily in the air. Savio let out a low whistle, but he, too, looked a little green even though he tried to play it down.
My own belly roiled violently, and only my talent to ignore what was happening around me and go to a quiet place in my head allowed me to keep my food down.
Remo stood and clapped loudly, and the crowd eventually joined in, but shock and revulsion definitely dominated the crowd’s reaction.
I brought my palms together in a half-hearted clapping motion.
Savio leaned across the table so I could hear him over the crowd. “If this doesn’t make you throw up or, better yet, run as fast as your legs can carry you, then you must be a very messed-up chick.”
I pursed my lips. “I don’t fear the darkness that lurks behind Nestore’s face.”
