Page 42 of Beautifully Savage Butterfly

“Fucking excuse me?” My throat is tight, and my voice comes out low, deep, vibrating with an unintended threat that has Tito and a few other guys taking a step back. Like I’m a bomb about to go off.

The silence that follows my question rings in my ears. But no one seems willing or able to elaborate. Belonging to the mob. No one wants to spar with me because Elio showed up here to pick me up last week?

No. O’Malley refused before Elio walked in.

I grind my teeth and try to think back. Did it somehow get out that he’s been visiting the locker room after fights for over a year? Even so, it’s a pretty big goddamn leap to assume we’re dating or to think that their lives are at risk over a friendly bout or two. Did Elio say something to someone?

As soon as the thought occurs to me, I can feel the truth of it in my bones. It’s exactly the kind of shit he would do. A memory of the way he asked if Nelson hurt me after the last fight, with worry and simmering rage in his eyes, sends a jolt of heat and irritation through me at the same time. Was Nelson pulling his punches in the last fight? I mentally run through every fight I’ve had in the last six months, trying to pinpoint if anyone else felt like they were holding back. How long has Elio been fixing my fights without me knowing about it? Is that why I’m still undefeated? Because every fighter in the city is afraid to look at me too hard, let alone knock me out?

A whoosh of air has heads swiveling towards the entrance. Maybe they’re hoping for a distraction, or they just can’t stand the building tension in my silence and need somewhere else to look. I whip my head towards the door too, hoping whoever just walked in will have more balls than the rest of the guys in here, and be willing to tell me what the fuck O’Malley meant by me “belonging to the mob.”

Just my luck, it’s better than another fighter who may or may not have any answers for me. My hands ball into tight fists and my heart beats so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t crack a rib.

Elio’s eyes land on me and his face lights up in a casual grin, completely unaware of the uncomfortable silence echoing around us, or the fact that half the guys in the gym abandoned their workouts to flee for the locker room the second they recognized him. I’m moving towards him before my brain catches up with my body, striding across the tile floor with long, purposeful steps.

Halfway to him, and he must notice the fire in my eyes because his smile finally falls. “Hey, Boss, what—”

I grab him by the lapels as soon as I reach him, forcing him backward. He stumbles over his feet but manages to move fast enough to correct his balance as I shove him back through the door.

“What the hell did you do?” I hiss through my clenched teeth, still walking him backward, forcing him up onto his toes to keep up with me. His pupils blow wide, and his cheeks turn that light shade of pink that’s barely noticeable under his olive skin unless you’re looking, or unless you’ve become so addicted to turning him on that you can’t help but see all the signs.

My cock swells to life, making me dizzy but not doing a damn thing to soothe the rage clawing at my chest.

“Help me out here, is this foreplay, or what?” he asks, licking his lips as I push him the last few steps, shoving him right up against his car.

I crowd into him, noticing the smell of citrus on his skin and the rapid flutter of his pulse in his throat. Even through the haze of fury that’s currently clouding my mind, something feels different from the last time I had him in a position like this, pressed up against the wall in his entryway, nearly naked and clutching a pistol he never even tried to threaten me with.

“You know what O’Malley just said to me?” I tighten my grip on his suit jacket, taking a weird amount of pleasure in feeling the silky fabric wrinkle in my sweaty fists. Elio opens his mouth, no doubt to give a smartass answer, but I don’t have the patience for it right now, so I beat him to it. “He said that him and all the other fighters in this city are afraid to hit me because they think my boyfriend is going to whack them.”

He snorts a laugh. “Did he really say whack? Am I Bugsy Siegle now?”

The muscle in my jaw ticks hard, and I shake him. Elio moans and his cock hardens against my thigh. This is just a game to him like everything else, and I should be pissed. I am pissed, but somehow not in the way I expected to be.

He’s fucking with my career. He’s painting me with a permanent fucking black mark that will never wash off. He’s making me question every win I’ve had since the first night he cornered me after a fight. All the reasons I had to hate him before were vague and theoretical. They were moral reasons to be against his lifestyle, not really anything about Elio himself. This right here is personal. It’s as personal as it gets.

The moment crystallizes around me, coming into sharp focus. Twenty minutes ago, I was asking myself when things changed. When I went from hating Elio to falling for him. I had shit backward though, I think. He’s been wearing down my defenses and burrowing under my skin, and I let him. Elio plays the submissive role when things are getting heated, but there’s no doubt that he’s been the one in control of every step of this dance from the beginning. And I let him. I let him get off on my violent side, I let him pull me into his world, and I let him decide the other night at the hospital that this was more than just fucking.

It’s finally my turn to make a choice. There are only two ways forward as far as I can tell. I can end it now, tell him to fuck off one last time and to stay out of my life. Would he listen for a change? Something makes me think he would. Even the way his eyes are softening with worry over my long silence tells me that this is it, this is my chance to cut ties without looking back.

Or…

My chest collides with his every time I drag in a deep, shuddering breath. The wind whips through my loose hair and cools the sweat on my skin. All my muscles are tense and coiled, ready for action.

“Did you tell someone that I belong to the Morettis, or otherwise instruct another fighter not to hurt me?” My throat is tight, but I manage to get the question out, my voice just as low and deadly as it was when O’Malley dropped the bomb.

Elio squirms, his eyes glued to mine. He’s silent for half a second before he nods once.

“I didn’t mean those guys.” He waves vaguely in the direction of the gym behind me. “I told that prick with the razor blade at the underground fight that he’d better not fight dirty with you like that again. I might have implied that if anyone else fought dirty with you, I’d hold him responsible for that too.”

I huff through my nose and loosen my hold on his jacket, shoving him a little harder up against his car, just for good measure.

“This isn’t going to work for me, Elio,” I say gruffly. He opens his mouth again, but I’m not done saying what I need to say. “I can’t untangle you from your family any more than you could unravel the pieces of me from all my own bullshit and trauma. But it’s not going to work between us if you can’t give me the fucking breathing room I need. You can’t wave your pistol around just because I get roughed up at a fight that I fucking signed up for. You’ve got to keep the Moretti shit away from my career. Do we understand each other?”

He sags against his Jaguar with what looks like relief, and maybe a little bit of guilt. He jerks his head in a single nod again.

“Yes, Boss.”

“Good.” I drag my eyes over him, frustration still simmering in my chest, but it feels like the volume has been turned down. We have a hell of a lot to sort out if this is going to work. It doesn’t feel impossible though, and that’s terrifying and maybe a little exhilarating. But I’m not quite done with this particular disagreement yet either. “Drop your pants and bend over the hood of your car. I’m going to make sure this is a lesson that sticks.”

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