Page 1 of Rafi

1

RAFI

The sharp smell of sweat and blood fills the air, thick and overwhelming, like a storm pressing down on the arena. The cage towers above the crowd, its metal bars scratched and stained from countless battles. Inside, I move back and forth, my steps quick but tight with tension. My breathing comes fast and shallow, each inhale pulling against the ache in my ribs. The crowd roars around me, a living, pulsing force that rattles my senses. Above, harsh lights glare down, making every bruise and streak of blood on my skin shine like battle scars.

Across from me, my opponent—a hulking man with a jagged scar slashing across his forehead—watches me with cold, predatory focus. The scar seems to grin every time the man smirks, a mocking reminder of just how ruthless he is. I spit blood onto the stained mat, ignoring the sting of my busted lip. My body screams for rest—muscles burning, joints aching—but I won’t stop. No matter the cost. Not while the fight is still mine to win.

The clang of the cage door slamming shut echoes through the arena, sharp and final. The referee stands between us for abrief moment before raising his arm. His voice rings out, cutting through the din.

“Fight!”

I don’t hesitate. I lunge forward, my fists flying. Each punch is sharp and precise, slicing through the air with determination. But the scarred man moves like water, dodging and blocking with maddening ease. The crowd erupts, their screams blending into a deafening roar that pounds against my skull. Before I can regroup, the man strikes—a powerful punch to the ribs that sends pain crashing through my torso. I stumble, gritting my teeth as I swing back with a ferocity born of desperation.

My hook connects with the man’s jaw, snapping his head to the side. The crowd gasps, a collective intake of breath as the scarred man staggers. Encouraged, I press on, landing blow after blow, driving my opponent toward the edge of the cage. Victory feels tantalizingly close, a fragile thread I can almost grasp. This is my chance to prove I’m not just the youngest Gatti brother, always living in the shadows of Scar’s leadership and Brando’s magnetic presence. For once, I can stand on my own, carve my name into our world. I can be my own man, on my own terms.

But the man isn’t done. He ducks low, moving with a sudden, startling speed, and surges upward, slamming his knee into my stomach. The impact knocks the wind out of me, leaving me gasping. Before I can recover, a massive fist collides with my temple. Stars explode in my vision as the ground shifts beneath me.

“Get up, Rafi!”a voice from the crowd cuts through the chaos, sharp and desperate. It pulls at me, but the fog in my mind is too thick to see through my pain.

Another punch comes, this one crashing into my jaw like a wrecking ball. My legs give out, and I stumble back into the cold steel bars of the cage, falling into their open arms. My opponent doesn’t relent, advancing with deliberate, menacing steps. Theman’s eyes gleam with the thrill of dominance, his breaths steady and controlled.

I shake my head, trying to clear the haze clouding my thoughts. I can’t let it end like this. Digging deep into the last reserves of my strength, I roar and push off the cage, swinging wildly. My fists connect once, twice, but each strike feels weaker than the last. My arms feel like lead, every movement a monumental effort. The scarred man weathers the blows with grim determination before delivering his counter—a brutal uppercut that sends my world spinning.

The mat rushes up to meet me, the impact jarring and final. I lay sprawled on the cold canvas, my cheek pressed against its rough surface. My breaths come in shallow, ragged bursts, each one harder than the last. The edges of my vision darken, shadows creeping inward. Still, I force my eyes open, clinging to consciousness by sheer will.

The crowd blurs into a chaotic swirl of shapes and colors. Then, through the haze, one face sharpens into focus—a face that stops me cold, that makes me think I’ve been hit so hard, I must be concussed. I must be imagining the vision before me.

Maxine Andrade.

She’s seated in the front row, her blue eyes wide with shock as they lock onto mine. Her lips part slightly, as if she wants to scream but can’t find the words. Her hair frames her face in loose waves, and she’s wearing a too-large suede jacket that looks out of place against her delicate beauty. She’s far enough away to be untouchable, but close enough that I don’t mistake the concern in her eyes as she frowns at me. It makes my chest tighten in a way that has nothing to do with the fight.

But it isn’t just Maxine that makes my heart stutter. It’s the man that sits beside her, leaning in close, his hand resting possessively on her knee. His sharp features and confident smirktug at the edges of my memory. I feel like I know the face, but the connection slips away as quickly as it materializes.

The crowd’s roaring fades into a distant hum, the blinding lights above dimming into shadows. Maxine’s face remains, a steady beacon in the chaos, until even that begins to fade. Darkness envelopes me, heavy and absolute. The last thing I feel is the cold, unyielding floor beneath me, and the overwhelming sense of yet another loss.

When I stepinside the house, I’m greeted by the familiar sound of laughter and the smell of takeout pizza. They’re waiting for me — not my blood brothers, but damn near close. These guys have been by my side since college, roommates who became something more. Even when we weren’t living under the same roof, we were always in each other’s orbit. And when the walls of the family home start closing in, I end up here, in the apartment I still share with them, a place where I can breathe without the weight of my blood brothers’ expectations pressing down on me. There are parts of me — things they’ll never understand, things they can never know, that I will protect from them at all costs.

Sam’s on the couch, scrolling through his phone, while Mateo paces, his ever-present cigarette dangling from his lips. The smell of smoke and fried food clings to the air, and I hate it. Hate that in about five seconds, I’ll smell more like a fast food restaurant than the blood and sweat that currently coats my skin.

Sam looks up from his spot on the coach and is first to speak. “Jesus, Rafi. What the hell happened to you?”

“Nothing,”I say, heading for the kitchen. My reflection in the microwave door says otherwise; one eye is swollen, while my lipis a tangled mess. The beginning of a bruise blooms across my jaw. I grab a beer from the fridge, twisting the cap off with more force than necessary.

“Nothing my ass. You look like you went ten rounds with a brick wall.”

“Drop it.”

He doesn’t. Sam never does as he’s told. “You back in that fucking ring again?”he asks, as his anger flares to the surface.

“I said,drop it,”I snap, the words coming out harsher than I intend. Both of them sit quietly watching me as I tip the beer bottle to my mouth, then hiss as the liquid burns a stain across my busted lip. Their eyes burn with unspoken questions, most of which they probably already have the answers to. I drain half the beer in one go and leave the room before they can press me further.

In my room, I collapse onto the bed, the mattress creaking under my weight. My body aches, but it’s nothing compared to the chaos in my head. Maxine’s face haunts me, along with the stranger beside her. A Russian. Even though I’ve never met her, I know enough about Maxine Andrade from the months that my brothers and I have spent trying to find her. So far, we’ve hit against brick wall after brick wall for all the effort we’ve put in, and this is probably as close as we’ve gotten to her since she went missing.

Why was she there at the fight tonight? And why can’t I shake the feeling of dread that pumps through my veins?

Sleep doesn’t come easy. When it does, it’s filled with fractured images: the cage, Maxine, the man’s shadowy silhouette. Over and over, like some twisted loop I can’t escape.

By morning, I know one thing for sure: I have to find out what she was doing there. And I have to do it without anyone else finding out—especially my brothers. They can never knowwhere I was and what I was doing when I finally find Maxine Andrade.

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