Page 54 of Celestial Combat

Zane.

I turned my head, my gaze trailing up his arm, across the broad expanse of his chest, until I met his molten eyes.

They were dark. Black with something lethal.

But the viciousness in his expression wasn’t for me.

It was for the broken man lying in a heap behind us, barely breathing, his own blood pooling around him like a deathbed.

I swallowed hard, my pulse still hammering as I tried to force out the words clawing at my throat.

“I… I can’t–”

Zane’s fingers tightened around my shoulder, solid and reassuring.

“You don’t have to.”

My lips parted, but before I could say anything, he reached down. His other hand wrapped around mine, over my fingers, still clenched around the hilt of thetanto.

His grip was steady.

Unshaking.

“May I?” His voice was quiet, deep, cutting through the thick tension in the air like a blade.

I stared at him, my breath hitching.

His hand was warm over mine, his presence unwavering, like he knew the storm raging inside me. Like he was giving me a choice.

After a moment, I nodded.

Zane didn’t hesitate.

The last thing I saw before I turned away was the look of pure, unfiltered terror on Hiroshi’s face as Zane walked toward him.

Chapter 17

Present

Midtown, New York City

THE WEIGHT SETTLED IN MY hands, heavy but familiar. My muscles burned, but I welcomed the sensation – the ache, the exhaustion, the proof that I was still in control of my own body. The end of my workout left my pulse steady, my breaths deep and even as I finished my last set and let the barbell drop onto the mat with a dull thud.

Across from me, Tony was already peeling off his gloves, tossing them onto a nearby bench. He was moving fast, barely even cooling down before grabbing his bag and throwing it over his shoulder.

“Gotta run. Work,” he said, flashing a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.

Cosa Nostra business.

I didn’t ask, and he didn’t elaborate.

“See you later,” I said instead, stretching out my sore arms as he nodded once and headed for the exit.

I took my time rolling up my wraps, securing my gloves in my gym bag before making my way through Python’s main level.

It had been two weeks.

Two weeks since that night.

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