Page 9 of Celestial Combat

“How can I help you, man?”

Matteo’s smile faded. “Zach’s got some issues with a dirty fed we used years back to get our product over the border. Bitch disappeared almost three years ago.”

He said it calmly, but I knew that tone. That edge. Matteo was always the protective type, even if he didn’t always know how to say it. Zachary was younger, cleaner, more public-facing. But Matteo had built the kingdom he now ruled. With blood. With grit.

I leaned back.“Name?”

“Isabella Ruiz.”

My eyes flicked toward him.“Yeah, I know her.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Another one of my clients got fucked over by her.”To put it nicely.“I’ll handle it.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly. He nodded. “Good.”

Ten years of loyalty and friendship sat between us. No need for promises or thanks.

My eyes flicked to the side, to the computer on my desk, and landed on the woman training in my cage ten stories below.

Then, like always, the air shifted. Matteo leaned back, resting his shoes casually on the edge of my desk again, and nodded towards the monitor he couldn’t fully see. “Who’s the girl?”

“Huh?”

“C’mon. You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“That look you get when you want something,” He said, pointing at me with his glass. “You’ve never had that look about a girl before.”

I cracked a smile. “You analyze my face now?”

“I’ve known you long enough to know when something’s different,” he said, shrugging. “And right now? You’re thinking about a girl. Definitely not business.”

I sighed, playing along.“Let’s just say – if she asked me to stop killing people for a living… I might actually think about it.”

Matteo snorted mid-sip, coughing. “Don’t say shit like that when I’m drinking.”

“You’re the one trying to have a therapy session.”

Matteo laughed.

We slipped into it – the old rhythm. Stories, quiet insults, inside jokes. The business always came first. But we knew when to let it go.

It was close to midnight when I got back to the underground gym. Python’s official gym had long since shut its doors.

The moment the doors of the elevator slid open, I heard it.

The sharpcrackof fists slamming into a heavy bag.

I stepped out into the underground warehouse. The place stretched wide and cavernous, a dystopian underworld of iron and concrete. The place was supposed to be dead at this hour.

But she was still here.

Meisa.

Alone. Focused.

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