Page 144 of Requiem for Love

The announcer shuffled to the middle of the cage, knees knocking like he was trying to pick up a family of cobras from behind while wearing a blindfold. When Giorgio stood, the announcer squirmed and stepped behind her.

Giorgio flicked a glance his way.

“S-sorry,” the announcer squeaked. Releasing her, he did his spiel and hurried from the cage.

Mo adjusted her top and tights. She should have done cornrows. A ponytail, Giorgio could grab, and Giorgio was a ponytail grabber. Only, in this instance, she was eighty percent sure she wouldn’t come right after.

The bell rang.

Neither one of them moved.

Not even the crowd appeared to be breathing, and it made her wonder what Giorgio had done in front of these people.

“Bez.” He tossed his hair out of his eyes. “Come.”

They crossed the mat toward each other.

She threw a kick.

He pushed her leg aside, picked her up, and dropped her onto her back. Grimacing through the sting, she hopped right back up.

He went to grab her for another takedown, but at the last moment, she spun around his body. After lodging her knee against his spine, she hooked her elbow around his neck, but he reached back and flipped her over his head, dropping her onto her back, again, on the mat.

She leaped back onto her feet.

“I watch you, my Bez,” he said.

She threw a punch that he slapped away. He did the same with her second attempt. She rushed him, wrapped him up around the middle, and when she felt his muscles flex to grab her, she swept his leg, and they both dropped to the mat, her on top of him. Somewhere in the middle of their descent, he grabbed her forearms and moved them to his chest so that his weight didn’t fall on her hands or wrists.

A gasp cut through the silent room.

Anyone else, at this point, she would have hit.

Elbowed.

Struck insomeway.

It was Gio, so she rolled away and stumbled to her feet. It felt like they were fighting alone with all the cheering and jeering gone. The way Giorgio’s gaze pierced hers, it felt that way.

He sat with his forearms on bent knees. “Do you hate me, my Bez?”

“Never, Gio.”

“You leave. You,” he gestured to her body, “have bruise when you return.”

Was this why he’d done this? Was this the only way he could get her to talk to him? It wasn’t that she didn’t want to; she had no idea what to say. Something was wrong, but she had zero explanations, neither for thesome nor thething.

He stood.

They circled each other.

When it came to Aleksi and the physical aspects of their relationship, things were terrific. Yet, ithadbeen a while since they’d been Giorgio and Mo instead ofMm-maandDada-Papa.

She rushed him.

He shifted, looped one arm around her waist from behind, and she braced, but the impact stung every nerve cell in her body the minute her spine met the floor.

“Shit, Gio!”

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