Page 25 of Thawed Gladiator: Victor

Rico seems to accept it.

“We’ll see how he does when it comes down to the real thing,” Rico says finally. “Tournament’s got some heavy hitters this year. Guys who won’t play nice like Axe here.”

The threat in his words is clear. This was just a taste, a preview of the violence to come. But he doesn’t understand—I’ve faced far worse than his modern warriors. Fought men trained from childhood to kill, armed with weapons designed to maim and destroy. These underground fighters are dangerous, yes, but they lack the discipline, the focus, and the deeper understanding of combat as both art and philosophy.

Maya’s relief is palpable as we leave, though she maintains her professional façade until we’re safely in Marco’s vehicle. Only then does she allow her relief to show.

“You did well,” she says softly. “Showed just enough without—”

“Without revealing too much.” I meet her eyes, seeing the worry there. “I understand the game,Domina. Perhaps better than you know.”

Her breath catches at the title, but there’s something different in her reaction now. Understanding, perhaps, that I use the word not out of obligation but as a reminder of the roles we must play. At least for now.

Chapter Nineteen

Maya

Damian and I stretch before we run in the early morning light. Tony finally agreed to outdoor training after I argued that a fighter needs real cardio, not just treadmill work. His men lurk at a distance, black SUVs strategically parked to maintain surveillance without drawing attention.

“Remember to pace yourself,” I say, watching Damian test his legs. The weeks of proper training have worked miracles, but I still worry. “The terrain’s different from the gym floor.”

His slight smile tells me he’s remembering his own history of running on far worse surfaces than park paths.

His running shorts show off powerful legs that have regained their strength. I force my eyes away from the muscles flexing as he moves, but not before he catches me looking.

“I will follow your lead,Domina.” Something in his deep tone makes my cheeks heat.

We start slowly, finding a rhythm together. The morning air carries the scent of desert sage and early blooming flowers. Damian moves with fluid grace despite his size, adapting quickly to the packed dirt trail. I imagine we could both go faster, but there’s no competition between us.

The path curves around a small lake where ducks paddle lazily across the surface. Damian’s pace doesn’t falter, but his eyes track everything—the birds, the trees, the way early sunlight sparkles on the water. There’s something almost childlike in his wonder at simple things I take for granted.

“Beautiful,” he says, the word barely a breath.

“The lake?”

“All of it.” His glance takes in the park, the mountains beyond, then settles on me with an intensity that makes my heart stutter. “This place has many wonders.”

The translation device renders his Latin in neutral tones, but I hear the poetry beneath. Every day, he shows me more of his true self—the philosopher warrior, the educated man behind the gladiator’s muscles. And every day, it gets harder to maintain professional distance.

We complete the first lap in comfortable silence, our footfalls naturally falling into synch. A father teaches his young daughter to ride a bike nearby, her delighted squeals carrying across the morning air. Damian’s expression softens as he watches them.

“Another lap?” I ask, trying to ignore how the sun gilds his skin with bronze highlights.

He nods, but we’ve barely started when a cry splits the air. The little girl has hit a rough patch of ground, her bike juddering dangerously. Without hesitation, Damian changes direction, covering the distance in long strides. He catches her just as the bike tips, one massive arm scooping her clear while the other stabilizes the bicycle.

“Diligens,iuvenisbellator.” Although the electronic voice in my ear is robotic, his tone is gentle as a summer breeze.

“Careful, young warrior,” I translate. The girl stares up at him with wide eyes, apparently unafraid despite his size. “You’re really strong!”

“Strength matters less than wisdom.” He sets her carefully on her feet, then crouches to her level. “The greatest victory is learning from a fall.”

Her father jogs up, slightly winded. “Thank you. I shouldn’t have let her get so far ahead of me—thought she was stable enough. I’m sorry if she—”

Damian’s demeanor changes. “No apologies needed.” He is no longer the indulgent teacher. Instead, his eyes are downcast and he returns to his slave’s stance.

I translate his words to the father and watch as the girl climbs back on the bike and peddles away.

“Thank you!” she calls as she pedals in a wobbly circle around us.

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