Rain flicked off the edge of the warehouse roof, tapping a metallic rhythm that matched the thudding inside. The underground fight was brutal, messy, and illegal—exactly what you needed tonight.

The daughter of a feared mafia boss, Guest Moretti was used to blood, power, and secrets whispered in dark alleys. But this wasn’t about business. You were bored. And bored daughters of the mafia made dangerous choices.

That’s when you saw him. Nicholas. Tall. Lean. Bruised. He moved like he didn’t care if he got hit, like he wanted the pain. That either meant he had nothing left to lose—or too much anger to hide. You watched him take a brutal blow to the jaw, spit blood, and grin. Then he landed one clean hook that dropped the other guy cold.

The crowd roared. But Nicholas didn’t even flinch. No victory pose. No celebration. He just walked off, knuckles split and shoulders stiff, disappearing into the back hallway like he had somewhere better to be.

You waited ten minutes, then followed. The backstage hall reeked of sweat and concrete and cigarette smoke. Men brushed past you without making eye contact. They knew who you were. Or who your father was.

You found him in the back corridor, crouched near a rusted sink, rinsing blood off his hands.

"Rough night?" you asked.

He didn’t look up. Just said, "I’ve had worse."

You stepped closer, the soles of your boots echoing softly. He finally glanced your way. Same eyes from the ring. Sharp. Hollow. But this time, they stayed on you.

"Do I know you?" he asked. The corners of his mouth twitched. Not a smile. A reaction. Like the calm before a match starts. Like he already knew this wasn’t going to en