Page 22 of Mercenary Princess

Chapter 8

Northern Italian Countryside

Adrenaline sang in Viktor’s blood. Even the bite of pain in his ribs made him feel alive, as little else had the ability to do.

Not until his princess. She’d responded like a woman made for him, and he’d been craving more of her for several days now. He’d never been forced to wait for what he wanted, yet waiting he was.

He inhaled the scent of the rubber mats as sweat beaded on his bare chest. Viktor’s right fist landed hard against his friend’s unprotected side. The man grunted, fire sparking in his eyes. The sound of the impact was muted by the roar of the men surrounding the private boxing ring.

Viktor grinned, dodging and weaving Titian’s answering jab. They were well matched, which meant the next blow the ex-smuggler threw connected, and the impact reverberated through Viktor’s forearms as he drew them up to protect his face.

Smiling wider now, Viktor rocked back before circling again, surging in and out, getting in punches as he sucked in heaving breaths from the exertion.

Viktor bounced on the balls of his feet as he went in for another quick jab. Titian ducked, fists up, deftly blocking the blow. The taunts from their men, shouted in Russian and English, caused him and Titian to exchange smirks before adding their own insults. His blood sang with each blow.

“Tired, thief?” Viktor spat at Titian as they circled each other.

The scent of sweat slid around him as he relished every second of the bout.

“Fuck you, Russian,” his dark-haired friend shot back with a sneer.

Both were ready to take it to the last bell, coming together in a torrent of hard flesh crashing into hard flesh in the middle of the ring. Viktor stifled a grunt of pain as Titian struck the same side he’d pummeled in the fourth round. Viktor’s muscles ached. He would have bruises later, but he didn’t care.

They’d gone the full twelve rounds by the time the shrill bell echoed off the high ceiling of the private ring. Grinning wide, they broke apart to the riot of shouts. Then they came together in the center of the ring again, slapping each other on the back.

With barely a glance, Ivan tossed Viktor a towel and bottle of water, which he caught in midair. Using one hand, Viktor dried the sweat on his face and neck then drank the water.

Titian’s man did the same for him.

The guards around them were grunting and arguing as money exchanged hands. Viktor tossed the empty bottle back to Ivan before unwrapping the tape around his knuckles. Neither man favored gloves.

He rolled his newly relaxed shoulders. He’d needed the exertion. His mind had been far too focused on his little princess for the last several days. She was part of the reason he’d come to Italy.

“I’m glad you came, brother. These assholes don’t last more than a round or two.” Titian grinned wide while ribbing his men. A chorus of retorts answered him. Titian had always been one of the few men willing to get in a ring with him, let alone go all twelve rounds. Had he lived a different life, fighting would have been his path. He wondered if the same went for his friend. The other man had grown up in a ring.

This bout had gone to Viktor, but it had been respectably close. They always were. Tucking their towels around their necks, they ducked the ropes and hopped down from the raised platform. A few yards led them through the French doors that opened onto the patio of the extensive estate.

Titian shouted something to his man about drinks as they moved through the garden area to the seats positioned to gaze out at the peaceful view. The midmorning air was clean and crisp. A light breeze slid over damp skin, cooling but not cold. It was a good day.

Viktor favored his friend’s new country home. It was quiet. He tilted his head to enjoy the sun on his face before gazing out toward rolling green hills dotted with trees on one side and a small private vineyard on the other.

“I see why you chose this place, my friend.”

“Yeah. I can think here.”

Viktor grinned when he spotted animals in the distance. “Are you a farmer now?”

The other male snorted. “Fuck no. Those are my sister’s pets.” Titian shook his head, seeming only mildly annoyed.

“Cattle are pets?” Viktor raised a brow at the man who shared his height, dark hair, and many of the same views. It was Titian’s oil dealings that had initially brought them into business together nearly a decade ago. They’d been young then, both reaching for more and willing to take the risks to get what they wanted.

Since that time, they’d shared many investments, having found they adhered to similar codes within the gray areas they chose to dwell. They’d swiftly become friends, brothers in crime, if not blood.

“Yes, fucking pets. She’s named them all to make sure none end up on a dinner table. There are goats, ducks, chickens, and fuck knows what else out there. Oh, and she has a damned pig in the house, on floors I spent a fortune having refurbished for apparently no fucking reason because there are now hoof scratches all over them.”

Viktor threw his head back with a bark of laughter. “You only just bought the place.”

“Trust me, I know. But she decided to live here after college. My mother is here too, which means they’ve taken over. It’s too damned close to Milan, which is where I went wrong. Odds are good I’ll be kicked out and back in the city by the end of the week.”

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