Page 151 of Poor Little Rich Girl

This is how he bulked out and built all that muscle.

This is how he’s coped with the deaths of his mother and brother.

This is what he’s become. A fighter. A warrior. A monster.

The pieces slide into place as Noah’s opponent wanders into the ring. Antony announces him as ‘Snakebite.’ He’s twice Noah’s size and covered head-to-toe in snakeskin tattoos. His head is shaven and his face drawn with the features of a snake – sneaky and mean and deadly. In his hand he carries a long leather whip, which he cracks in the air as the crowd bays for blood.

A gong sounds from the edge of the arena, and the two men circle each other. The crowd falls silent. You could hear a pin drop in this place – the only sound is the shuffle of feet against the floor of the arena, the sink of the whip as Snakebite cracks it in the air.

Noah, what the fuck are you doing?

Why risk your future for this—

Snakebite lunges forward, dropping to one knee and flicking his wrist. Noah sidesteps, but he’s too slow – the whip wraps around his arm. Gasps and angry yells echo through the crowd, and the reverent silence is forgotten as everyone cries for their pound of flesh. Noah howls as the leather pulls taut, his skin red and bulging where the leather digs in. Blood splatters into the sand at Noah’s feet. The whip is studded with tiny barbs that dig into Noah’s skin as Snakebite sinks his fangs deeper.

That’s not fair. Noah doesn’t even have a weapon.

I lunge forward, my own fists bared, as if I can somehow leap into the caged arena and save my friend from his own stupidity. George slams me back into my seat.

Snakebite grins as he winds the handle of the whip, sinking its barbs deeper into Noah’s flesh. Noah roars, thrashing his arm around and splattering more blood. My stomach churns. I can’t watch this. I can’t watch Noah die out there—

Noah grabs the taut whip with his other hand and pulls.

Snakebite clearly doesn’t expect this move. He’s knocked off balance, stumbling forward, right into Noah’s fist.

CRACK.

Snakebite’s head wobbles. Blood gushes from his nose, scenting the air with a metallic tang that drives the crowd into a frenzy. He drops the whip as he staggers back, his evil eyes begging for mercy.

But Noah has no mercy in him. His fists pummel Snakebite’s face, reducing the man’s features to a bloody, gory, pulp. His jaw loosens as he works the man over – he’s enjoying this. Judging by the way the crowd reacts – leaping to their feet and screaming his name – they love it, too.

I watch, my body frozen and my stomach churning, as my friend grabs his opponent’s skull and smashes it into the concrete wall. Snakebite’s eyes roll back into his skull. His body goes limp. Noah tosses him to the ground, now crimson with spilled blood. He grunts as he unwinds the whip from his arm and wraps it around Snakebite’s neck. Noah tugs on the end, lifting Snakebite’s head up and back, up and back, as the crowd chant his stage name.

Claudia leaps to her feet, her fist pounding the air as she yells in triumph. All around me, the air sings with my friend’s victory. I can’t move. I’m frozen to my chair by the brutality of it.

As Noah’s opponent is dragged from the arena, leaving a trail of blood behind him, Antony himself wanders across the gangway. Two men follow him, dragging another man whose legs are shackled in chains. My pounding heart leaps so fast I’m sure it’s going to fly out of my chest. I know we haven’t seen the last of the blood to be shed tonight.

Noah disappears from the arena as Antony leans over the edge of the gangway, holding his hand up for silence. It takes a long time for the cheers and roaring to calm down enough for him to be heard. “I’m pleased you enjoyed the return of our favorite champion. Now, we have a special treat for you tonight. An interlude for your amusement. Bring him forward.”

Antony’s guards hold the man upright so everyone can see him. He’s naked save for his underwear, which is already stained with piss. He trembles as he’s held aloft for the baying crowd, and he looks as though he might pass out at any moment. Someone has carved up his chest with a blade. As I squint, I realize the bloody cuts form words – a Latin phrase. Et in morte fidelitas.

“You might know this man as Tony Moretti, but he does not deserve that name. He is a traitor.” Antony spits the word. “He broke the cardinal rule of our family – the rule of blood, of loyalty.”

“Et in morte fidelitas,” the crowd chant. Across the arena, Gabriel grins as he joins the chant. He’s got no idea what’s coming, but he loves being swept up in the moment.

But Claudia doesn’t clap or chant or even smile. Her cold eyes fix on her cousin.

“He offered information about our business to the police. Because of his betrayal, one of our most loyal soldiers is in custody and we’ve had to close a lucrative distribution channel.” Antony points out people in the crowd, including Nero. “This costs me money, and you, and you. But more importantly, it makes a mockery of everything we fought for, everything we stand for. Where is the honor? Corvus oculum corvi non eruit – a crow shall not pull out the eyes of a fellow crow.”

The crowd hiss and boo. They watch Antony with greedy eyes, waiting for his next move. Nero nods to Antony, sipping his drink with a smile playing on his lips. Antony acknowledges Nero with a nod in return.

I thought Claudia’s cousin merely ran this club for the gangs, but it’s clear he’s so much more than that. These people may bow to Nero, but they adore Antony. They look to him to mete out punishment. He may not be top dog, but he wields power I can’t even imagine.

And I’ve pissed him off. For the first time, I realize that the danger Claudia keeps trying to warn me about may be real, and closer than I ever imagined.

“What do you say his punishment should be?” Antony cries.

The crowd roar as they thrust their fists in the air, thumbs pointing up. I remember the gesture from movies about Ancient Rome – it means death to the defeated gladiator in the ring.

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