Page 38 of Celestial Combat

Midtown, New York City

THE BASS FROM THE CLUB outside Zane’s office was still pounding through the walls, a constant pulse of energy that didn’t seem to slow. The distant roar of the crowd flared every few minutes – another knockout, another win or loss, another fighter stepping into the ring to prove themselves.

Inside the office, the air was stale with cigar smoke, the sharp scent of whiskey lingering in expensive glasses on the desk. The heavy wooden door was shut, sealing the four of us inside – a stark contrast to the chaos outside.

Trevor was seated across from Zane, his posture sharp, all business, discussing something to do with black-market intel, tracking down some rat trying to take down our families – both the Sus and the Morettis. Apparently, Natalia and Trevor had teamed up to handle it together, which meant whatever mess was happening behind the scenes was serious.

I didn’t care.

Or rather, I wasn’t in the mood to care.

I was still running on the high from my win, adrenaline buzzing beneath my skin like an electrical current, but now, instead of using that energy for something useful – like going back out and enjoying the damn party – I was stuck here, in a dimly lit office, listening to the two of them talk shop.

I sighed, shifting back in the leather chair, legs crossed, scrolling through my phone, half-listening to Trevor’s low, measured voice.

Something about encrypted channels.

Something about black-market access.

Something about a hit list.

Boring.

I scrolled through my notifications again. No texts I cared to respond to. No one I wanted to see. The only thing keeping me here was the fact that Trevorwouldhunt me down if I left in the middle of the meeting.

Minutes stretched. Then an hour.

When the conversation finally shifted, I glanced up, relieved to hear Trevor’s voice drop into something more familiar – something directed atme.

“How long you been here for?”

I locked my phone and tucked it into my lap. “A couple of weeks.”

Trevor’s expression didn’t shift, but I could tell he wasn’t thrilled. He turned to Zane, expression expectant.“Did you know?”

Zane was leaning back against his desk, arms crossed over his broad chest, black tattoos snaking up to his jawline, his usual cold, unreadable expression in place. He looked at Trevor, then at me.

“No,”he said simply.“I had no idea who she was when she showed up here.”A beat. Then, slower, sharper,“I wouldn’t have let her fight if I knew.”

I smirked, tilting my head. “Exactly why I didn’t tell you.”

Tension snapped into place, thick and sharp.

Zane’s dark eyes locked onto mine, something simmering beneath his usual cold exterior. It was the same thing I’d seen in the ring when I fought him – something unreadable, something I wasn’t sure I wanted to define.

I held his gaze, refusing to be the one to break first.

Trevor sighed, dragging a hand down his face, exhausted already. “Jesus Christ.”

For a second, I thought he was about to launch into another lecture – about how reckless I was, how fighting in an underground club was dangerous, how I shouldn’t be here at all.

But instead, he just exhaled and stood up, rolling his shoulders.

“I need to drive Natalia home,”he muttered, adjusting the Omega watch on his wrist. “Ferrari’s a two-seater.”

I leaned back in my chair, unfazed.“I drove here anyway. Just need to grab my stuff from the changing room.”

Trevor hesitated, like he wanted to argue, but he finally nodded. “We’re not done talking.”

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