King of the Cage: A Dark Irish Mafia Romance (Devil’s Own)

The Meatpacking District was full of hipsters and wannabe social climbers late on a Thursday evening. The lines outside certain clubs and bars were absolutely ridiculous. Luckily, I wasn’t going to any of them.

Tonight, I headed to The Blue Rabbit to watch an underground fight with Sol and our friend, Marco. Sol was in serious need of cheering up after last night’s rejection. Tonight’s fight was sure to do it, and there was no better company to manage it than Marco. He was the son of a high-ranking Moroni made man, but had exactly zero interest in the Mafia lifestyle. Instead, he had turned his dad’s money into a clothing line that frequently hit the best-dressed lists in glossy magazines. Tonight, he’d dressed both me and Sol, and we were looking absolutely fierce, if I did say so myself.

Marco tapped away at his phone like crazy.

“What’s up? Boy trouble again?” I asked.

“What can I say? They all love me, want to date me, want to take me home to Mama,” Marco teased and tossed his head like the supermodel he believed himself to be.

He was a total commitment-phobe, and I’d yet to meet any of the guys he went out with.

“What, all five of them? That’s going to make for an awkward dinner,” I quipped.

Marco snorted. “At least I have a love life.”

“Relationships are bullshit, sex is overrated, and romantic love is an illusion. One day, you’ll get that.” I grinned at him.

He snorted. “Romantic love? What other kinds of love are there?”

“Family, friends, and clothes. Nothing compares to the love I feel for these pants,” I deadpanned and ran my hand down my new leather pants. “Do you know how hard it is to find a pair of leather pants that fit just right and don’t cut you in half or make you too hot? It’s true love. It has to be. Nothing else will ever compare.” Flashing him a bright smile, I turned back toward the dark alley in front of us.

Marco groaned. “Basta with the pants. I can’t listen again about the pants.”

“I could talk about my crossbow. I love that, too, genuinely and deeply, with my entire heart.”

“Right, and you didn’t mope around all morning about Renato getting married yesterday and some guy blowing you off.”

I sighed and rolled my eyes. Why I had decided to tell Marco about last night, I had no idea, but it was clearly a major mistake.

Marco busted out a cackle. “The untouchable Giada Santori really did catch feelings.”

I tossed my waist-length dark hair. “Feelings? Yeah, right. More like I was impressed that someone of the opposite sex actually knows that the clitoris is a real anatomical feature and not a mythical creature.”

Marco snorted with laughter. “Facts. Straight men suck in bed, believe me, I’ve led enough into temptation to know that.”

I raised an eyebrow at him as we approached the entrance of The Blue Rabbit, a members-only gentleman’s club.

“If they fucked you, were they really straight?” I asked my friend.

“Well, they certainly weren’t after. There’s no going back,” Marco announced dramatically and flounced toward the entrance.

I kid you not, it was an actual flounce. Sol gave me a small smile and followed as I brought up the rear.

The bouncer at The Blue Rabbit watched us stonily. Marco fished his membership card out of his wallet. He might look like an extra from a Broadway show half the time, and dress in character the rest, but his family was connected. His father had bought him a lifetime membership to The Blue Rabbit when he’d turned twenty-one, back when he’d still been hoping that his only son might be into tits and ass.

The bouncer opened the rope for us, and we swept in. The gentleman’s club on the ground floor was packed. If you peered too closely at any one table, you were bound to see the cream of the New York crop drinking and rubbing shoulders, eyeing up the beautiful servers with interest and braying over the burlesque show.

But we weren’t here to be social. We were here for the fight. Nothing released stress like watching hot men trying to kill each other. I was hoping it might shake Sol from her melancholy.

Fight nights at The Blue Rabbit were infamously rowdy. They took place in the basement and cost a pretty penny to get into.

“Okay, enough talking. Let’s get drunk and watch hot men rub their bodies against each other.” Marco liked nothing better than a little homoerotic wrestling. Too bad that these fights were often fatal. It was literally survival of the fittest.

That was the way of it in our world. Actions spoke louder than words, and life and death were often on the line. The rules that applied to normal society didn’t apply here. I’d grown up in those dark, lawless places, under the surface of normality, outside the reach of the law.

Inside, we descended three more floors to reach the fighting arena. Names were written up on a chalkboard, and the betting game was hot, people crowding around the makeshift tables that had been set up. Those were the small-time bets, however. The bigger ones were shaken on and could make or break someone’s financial year.

“Should we bet on someone?” Marco stared up at the list of fighters doubtfully.

I shrugged. “Go ahead. I don’t know any of these guys.”

Sure, the odd name was familiar here or there, but none of them were De Sanctis men. I’d lived in America on and off over the years, most recently at Casa Nera, the family’s sprawling compound in New Jersey, and I’d yet to really learn the names and faces of the players in New York. It was probably because I didn’t usually leave the house that much. I was at my best behind a screen, looking at the world in the way I best understood it: through lines of code.

“I’m gonna put money on the Irish, then. They’re lucky, right?”

My mind drifted as Marco lined up to place his bet, and I scanned the floor. It was packed. The braying crowd of bloodthirsty observers was hungry for violence. You could feel it in the energy of the room. They didn’t want a mild-mannered fight with rules and referees. They wanted a brawl, and that’s why they were here.

“Shall we get a drink?” Sol gazed longingly at the bar.

“Sure,” I agreed.

Marco bounced back to our side. “Shit, I think Sepriano is here. I wonder what brings the good councilman to a shithole like this?”

My stomach dropped. After last night’s tussle, the last person I wanted to see was Enrico. I turned away from the direction Marco was looking. Hopefully he wouldn’t even notice me. Sol then peered in that direction.

“Don’t pay attention to it, or him. He’s an asshole, and I hear he got his actual ass handed to him last night. I only wish I’d seen it.” I rubbed Sol’s arm.

She nodded but was quiet.

At the far end of the room, the ring was almost ready. The fights would start any second.

“Let’s go and get a good seat. I want ringside,” I told Marco, looping one arm around Sol and the other around Marco. I tugged them both toward the action. “Right in the splash zone.”

An hour into the matches, and I had to give it to the crowd. I’d thought I liked violence, but the mass of humanity standing behind me was on another level. The more brutal the blow that was landed in the ring, the louder the cheers. If teeth could get knocked out, that was a cause for celebration. If someone hit the mat and didn’t get up? A standing ovation. Sol had her hands clamped over eyes.

“Can I look yet?” She winced.

I knocked back the rest of my drink. “I wouldn’t.”

“This is less sexy that I expected.” Marco shuddered as someone spat out a mouthful of blood through the ropes. He’d returned from a drink run and passed me my third cocktail in a plastic glass.

“Really? You thought it would be sexy to see people get the shit beat out of them?”

“I thought there’d be more grappling and pinning to the mat, or something, you know? Like in the Olympics.” Marco was an avid Summer Games watcher.

“Well, this isn’t ancient Greece. This is modern-day New York, and according to the crowd, they want blood.” I took a long sip of my lukewarm drink. It wasn’t great, but it was better than anything else on offer.

Marco shivered.

A match ended, the loser carried out of the ring on a stretcher.

“Is he dead?” Marco asked.

Sol peered around her fingers. “Hard to say.”

The overhead music switched to something with Celtic fiddles and heavy drums. A rousing call to war. Marco clapped his hands together.

“He’s mine. I bet on him,” he said excitedly and then gasped. “Holy shit, hello Daddy. You think he takes private fight scenario requests?”

“Private fight scenarios? You can’t fight,” I pointed out.

Marco sighed. “I just really want him to step on me.”

Sol giggled. “I think Giada got stepped on last night. It’s your knight in torn denim.”

“Wait, what?” I glanced up to see what muscled moron had caught Marco’s eye in the ring and froze.

There, in all his admittedly fucking hot glory, was Bran O’Connor.

Tonight, his knuckles were wrapped in preparation for destroying his opponent, and he was wearing low-slung black jeans instead of dress pants. His opponent was fully decked out in fighting gear, from his Dri-FIT shorts to his sleeveless T-shirt, while Bran looked like he’d wandered over from the nearest pub and decided to go a round or two as a workout. His casual confidence was magnetic.

He had his hair pulled back, and it glinted in the lights above like a tarnished crown. His green-eyed gaze scanned the audience, and I nearly glanced away when he reached me, not wanting to be caught already staring.

He was too quick, though. His eyes met mine, and he stilled for a moment. A jolt ran down his powerful body, and he stopped where he was and stared.

“Red alert, I think he’s staring at us. Oh my God, this is it, my meet-cute. Wait, is he looking at me or you?” Marco rambled excitedly beside me.

I was relieved that while Marco had known I’d nearly hooked up with someone last night, he didn’t know who it was.

“You, probably,” I muttered, forcefully tearing my eyes from Bran’s.

He ignored his opponent to stare at me. I indulged in the universal save-face activity of whipping my phone out and pretending to read a message. What was it about this guy that made me awkward as hell? I chugged my drink, my skin hot and tight all over.

“He’s eyeing Giada like she’s his favorite dessert on the menu,” Sol laughed and elbowed me lightly in the side. “I still need to hear what happened last night after he showed at your place.”

“Nothing much. We talked. His minion came and got him. It was pretty tame,” I said unconvincingly.

“Hmm, sure, that’s why he can’t take his eyes off you,” Sol teased. She sounded more cheery than she had all night. That was the thing about Solaria Moroni. She might be down in the dumps, having been rejected by some loser, but she’d still be excited and happy for her friends. She was a gem, and none of the men in this city deserved her.

The small bell rang, and the crowd cheered. It was clear that this was the fight of the night.

There was no referee, no formal rules — just a brief nod of respect before the fight erupted. Bran stood still, his opponent dancing closer, barely bothering to tilt his head from side to side to avoid blows. He looked like he couldn’t give a fuck. It clearly made his opponent more confident, because they weaved closer, bringing out fancy footwork. The crowd cheered. A blow came close to Bran, and he dodged it, grabbed the guy’s arm, and pulled him forward off-balance. The other guy stumbled, and Bran stepped away. He let the other guy catch his balance, just waiting patiently, then stepped in casually and landed a blow to his side that sent his opponent to the mat. He got back up, but he seemed hurt. Bran folded his arms over his impressive chest and shook his head at the guy, as though disappointed he’d bothered to get up.

The opponent made a big display of throwing punches and kicks. Spinning around and dancing out of reach. Bran laughed and stepped in, delivering a punch to the other guy’s abdomen that sent him spinning across the ring. He swayed, held onto his side, and then went down like a ton of bricks.

With a hard clang of the bell, the fight was over. Bran barely bothered to hold up a victorious arm, turning and striding out of the ring.

He still has my knife. The reminder came out of nowhere. That was right, Mr. Bossy Balls still had my knife. I wanted that knife back. It was special to me.

“Babe, you should go and see if he needs help showering.” Marco poked me hard in the side.

“What? No way,” I muttered, but heat washed through me at the very thought. Maybe this was my chance to get my knife back. I could go and demand it.

“He was eye-fucking you the entire fight. He could barely look away,” Marco continued.

I made up my mind to go and get my belongings. He couldn’t keep that knife. I couldn’t let him.

“He was staring at you. He didn’t get enough last night. He wants more… Elio isn’t here. No one would know,” Sol urged.

I rolled my eyes at her. “You know my brother has ways of finding out the tiniest things.”

Sol laughed. “Yeah, because you do it for him. Without your digital little spying eyes… he isn’t half as omnipotent as you think.”

I tapped my lip and considered. It was true, after all. I was the eyes and ears of the De Sanctis family. Anyone else who might tell Elio at the fight would simply be my word against his. Besides, I told myself firmly, I’m just going to get my knife back. That was all. There were no rules against that, surely? Anyway, if I’d learned anything in my twenty-seven years alive, it was that Round 2 wasn’t always a given. I wasn’t exactly an easy-to-get-along-with woman. One night might have satisfied the Irishman’s fill. I wouldn’t have been surprised at all. I could grab my knife and be done.

I stood, and Marco cheered.

“Tell me you’re going to go and let that Irishman bend you double?”

I wasn’t about to tell him that I was going to see Bran for something far less interesting than a hookup, so I gave him a wicked grin. “Who says I’m not going to bend him double?”

Marco cackled. “Go get it!”

I glanced at Sol. “You two are okay without me for a bit?”

She sighed and gave me a motherly look. “Go and let your hair down for a minute. We’ll be fine. See — I even get to have your cocktail!”

“Fine, but you owe me one when I get back — if you want all the details, that is…” I gave them a wicked smile and went in search of the locker rooms.