Page 25 of Forced to Marry the Bratva

I don’t want to admit it, but he is right. I’m losing my stamina with each passing fight and have difficulty maintaining technique and strategy. I’m tired, emotionally and physically. But what other choice do I have? How can I explain that this is the only way I know to protect Genevieve from myself? To protect myself from the hold she has over me?

“That’s a part of the game,” I say nonchalantly, biting my inner cheek as Genevieve again plays in my head.

Razor nods, his gaze unwavering. “Whatever you say, kid. I’m just sayin’, If I noticed you ain’t conditioned, others might too. If your opponent thinks you’re weak, you are.”

“The only way my opponent would think I’m weak is if he hasn’t seen me fight before,” I say, rather ferociously. I do believe I have the capability to put myself up for a win with my power of belief.

“A’ight. If you say so. Fake it ‘til you make it, eh?” He smacks me playfully on my shoulder before leaving me to my own devices. He knows he tried, and Razor’s the kind of guy who knows when to leave a fight.

I turn back to focus on myself, his words still spinning in my head. I close my eyes and imagine the roars of the crowd when I win. By the time I open my eyes, I convince myself I’m going to win and that I’m conditioned from the years of fight in me. What were the decades spent in underground rings across Moscow and Philadelphia for, if not this very moment? I convince myself that the trepidation I feel is excitement, and with that thought, I turn all skepticism into belief.

The bell dongs for us to take our places.

As I climb into the ring, the noise of the crowd intensifies, their faces and bodies a blur of excitement, cheers, clapping hands. Yet, amidst the chaos, I find my focus narrowing, zeroing in on my goal: victory.

“Alright, boys,” the referee announces, his gravelly voice cutting through the din. “Keep it clean and give ‘em a show.”

“Of course,” I mutter under my breath, knowing full well that in this world, there’s no such thing as a clean fight.

The smoky haze of the underground fighting ring fills my lungs as I watch my opponent stride in, muscles rippling beneath his sweat-slicked skin. He’s known for his dirty tactics, and the menacing smirk plastered on his face tells me he’s eager to put them to use tonight. Adrenaline courses through me, and I can’t help but feel a shiver of excitement at the challenge ahead.

“Ready to dance?” he taunts, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a predator stalking its prey.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” I reply, my voice steady despite the pounding of my heart. My determination hardens, fueled by thoughts of Genevieve—her soft touch, her fiery spirit. I need this man to help me stop fantasizing about the very image of her.

The bell rings, and the first round begins. I waste no time analyzing his movements, searching for weaknesses to exploit. He lunges forward, aiming a vicious hook at my head, but with a quick sidestep, I dodge the attack and counter with a sharp jab to his ribs.

“Is that all?” I taunt, keeping my tone light even as my mind races with strategies. I need to stay one step ahead of him if I’m going to win. But I am so lost in my thoughts that I don’t notice his next move until it’s too late.

He feints a punch to my face, but instead of striking, he pulls back and sweeps his leg around my waist, sending me crashing to the ground in a cloud of dust. I feel the sting of the impact as my shoulder connects with the cold, hard floor of the ring. I struggle to get up, but he’s already on me, grappling for a chokehold.

“You think you can just walk in here and take me out?” he sneers, his breath hot and heavy in my ear. “You’re nothing but a kid, playing at being a fighter. I’ll teach you the hard way what happens when you mess with the big dogs.”

I can feel the desperation rising within me, the realization that I’m in a losing battle. I stay down for this first round as the referee counts down, and the bell rings, signaling the end of the first round.

He gets off me, and I jump to my feet with more power than I should exert, my ankle hurting from the stress of it. Yet, I keep a straight face as I walk to my corner.

Just then, I see Alexai walk over from the corner of my eye. He leans against the boxing ring and his pale gaze rakes over me, cold and calculating as he waits for me to acknowledge him. I straighten under the scrutiny, refusing to show any weakness.

Shit. He thinks I’m not conditioned for this fight.

The realization hits me like a freight train. The failure of the first round tonight has not escaped his notice. I’ve grown complacent, too focused on Genevieve to properly concentrate. I’ve grown tired, fighting four nights in a row, but I’m not willing to pay the price.

This man is the greatest gambler in here, and he’s the only one I know I can exploit for the thrill of the win. He’s also one of the most asset-rich guys in here, and if I want any chance to lay the foundation for my business in the boxing world, I need him.

If I fail to give him what he wants, the chance at a bet, he’ll just find another boxer to lay down a bet with. No matter what happens tonight, I can’t allow him to lose interest.

“Hey,” I say, leaning back against the ropes and nodding at him.

“Hey, Champ,” Alexai says. “Ready for another win?”

“Always,” I say, without skipping a beat.

“I have a deal for you tonight,” he says, choosing to turn my weakness into his strength. I narrow my eyes and brace myself to hear what he has to say. “If you lose tonight, you return the last piece of land you won off me.”

I freeze, my heart pounding in my chest. Lose my land tonight? To him? It’s not an option. I need to use that land to build a boxing ring. I’ve been betting my way into an underground boxing business all because Boris would never loan me the money for it, knowing I might fight, too.

I’m all I’ve got to make my dreams come true.

---