Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Fabiano looked at me for a long time, then he set the car in motion.
“I saw what you did to my father,” I told him.
No sign of guilt showed on his face. “He got what he deserved. If he wasn’t your father, he would have gotten worse.”
“This is you being lenient?” I asked incredulously.
“If that’s what you want to call it.”
It wasn’t the first time my father got in trouble like that. When I’d been around ten and lived with my parents in Dallas, he’d owed money to some biker group. The guys had almost beaten him and my mother to death over it. It didn’t stop my father from borrowing money again.
I leaned back against the seat, my head tilted toward Fabiano. He was steering the car with one hand, the other rested in a relaxed way on the center console. I wondered if his outward cool reflected his inner side. Could he really be that at ease with his life?
My eyes lingered on the dark blond five-o’clock shadow. It was the first time I saw him with anything but a perfectly shaved face and it made me want to rake my fingers over the short stubble.
Sin. That was what he was.
He glanced at me, his lips curling up and I tore my gaze away. Playing with fire had never been part of my life plan. Then why couldn’t I stop thinking about the man beside me?
He pulled up in front of an opulent white concrete building, at least ten stories high with a curved driveway, shielded by a long roof with thousands of light bulbs in multiple colors, most of them broken. An abandoned Casino building, I realized as we stepped through the glass revolving door into the game room. Silence had replaced the sound of the roulette wheels and slot machines. The red and gold chandelier was covered in dust, and an air of forlornness lay over the empty poker tables and Champagne bar. Broken Champagne flutes littered the black bar counter. This was where we would train? “Come on,” Fabiano said, and continued past the deserted cashier booth. The red and blue carpet was worn out from thousands of feet. I followed him, breathing in the old smell. Fabiano wasn’t impressed by our surroundings. He was in his zone. I could already see a change in his demeanor, as if he was eager for the fight. Perhaps the thrill of it was his addiction. Perhaps everyone had an addiction.
We left the first game room and stepped into the next; this one even more splendid than the first. Crystal chandeliers hung from high arched ceilings above our heads and the fluffy carpet softened our steps as my eyes took in the black marble columns and gold-ornamented wallpaper. Most of the roulette tables had been removed, but a few remained. They were no longer the main attraction.
A fighting cage and a boxing ring dominated the center of the room. Their stark brutality a shocking contrast to the luxury from the past. And randomly positioned among the remaining roulette tables were bench presses, punching bags and other weightlifting equipment. Heavy burgundy drapes covered the shell-shaped windows. The sun shone bright through the gap between them. Fabiano turned a switch and the chandeliers cast us in their golden, splintered glow. This wasn’t what I’d expected.
“So this is where you come to fight?”
Fabiano smirked. “This is where I come to train, and occasionally fight, yes.”
“Is it always this empty?”
“Depends. It’s mainly for my boss, his brothers and me. Few other people ever come here.”
“And I am allowed?” I asked.
He didn’t say anything, only led me to a dark mahogany door, then along a hallway with curling paint and torn carpet, around a corner and through another door and suddenly we were in a pool area. This room had been renovated recently. I didn’t get the chance to register more than the large swimming pool made from stainless steel and the Jacuzzi on an elevated platform to the right. “We need to find you some decent training shorts,” Fabiano said as he pulled me into the adjoining locker room.
It was functional like the pool area, nothing fancy or splendid.
“Why this place?”
Fabiano shrugged as he rummaged in a basket with clothes. “Remo wanted it, so he got it.”
“But isn’t it expensive to keep the place from falling apart? It’s a huge building.”
“Parts of it are falling apart. But it costs us more money than a standard gym would. Still what’s life without the occasional irrational decision?”
His blue eyes held mine, and the nerves I’d managed to calm with my curiosity about the building returned full force. Fabiano yanked red shorts out of the basket. “The youngest brother of my Capo uses these. Perhaps they will fit you.”
I took them from him. “Capo?” I asked curiously. I had heard the term of course but Fabiano had said it with so much respect, it surprised me.