Chapter 88: Three Days to Outsmart a Mafia Don

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I tried to pull away, some last bit of pride urging me to create distance before I did something revealing like asking him to keep touching me.

But his arm tightened around my waist, holding me in place, solid and unyielding, causing the tension between us to hum louder instead of settling.

I stayed leaning against him longer than I should have, face flushed, body still trembling from the aftershocks and the embarrassing acknowledgment that I’d just used him to finish while cursing him the whole time.

The only thing stopping me from bolting was the weight of his arm and the quiet, possessive satisfaction radiating from him, a feeling that told me he already knew how this was all going to play out the next time desperation hit.

I woke up alone, and for a few seconds, I was totally disoriented...didn’t know where I was, what time it was, or why I felt so damn comfortable all over.

Then I moved, and everything came rushing back: the contract, the training, the fight, the massage, and of course, Lorenzo.

I stared up at the ceiling.

"Oh, God." My voice was rough from sleep. "Was I fucking high on something?!"

Rolling onto my back, I glanced at the other side of the bed, it was empty and cold.

Lorenzo was already gone naturally. That guy could probably get up at five in the morning, put on a sharp suit, threaten three people with death, ruin a business deal, down an espresso, and still show up at work looking like he’d just had the best night’s sleep.

Meanwhile, I looked like I’d just gone twelve rounds with my mattress and lost.

I pushed myself up and braced for the usual aches. They didn’t come and I blinked in surprise. Then I rolled my shoulders.

Nothing...I stretched an arm overhead. Still nothing. Bending one knee, then the other, I realized my body felt... good. Not perfectly good, though. I’d spent nearly two weeks being tossed around by Nikolai, so there were still a few sore spots. But the horrible, deep soreness that had been my constant companion for days had almost faded away.

I looked at my legs, then my arms, then back at the empty side of the bed. "No way." I rubbed my face. I couldn’t believe it. Lorenzo’s stupid massage had actually worked.

Getting out of bed, I stretched again, just to double-check. My back didn’t complain. Shoulders? Not a peep. Even my thighs felt less like they’d just betrayed me.

I groaned in frustration. "This is annoying."

So the massage-sex trap did work on my muscles after all...

I made my way to the bathroom, I stopped short and something faint lingered on my skin—Lorenzo’s scent.

It was subtle, maybe because I’d showered before crashing, but it was still there, mingling with the clean smell of soap and the fancy lotion he’d used, he had scent marked me again while i was asleep.

I frowned. It should’ve bothered me, but some ridiculous part of my brain found it oddly comforting. And that just made me more irritated.

"Traitor," I muttered to myself.

I glanced in the mirror. My hair was sticking up all over the place, my eyes still heavy with sleep, and a faint crease marred my cheek from the pillow. I looked ridiculous, but at least I looked like a ridiculous person who could move without groaning. So, progress!

I splashed water on my face and tried really hard not to think about last night. That lasted about four seconds.

I couldn’t help but remember lying on the bed while Lorenzo worked the soreness out of my shoulders, how warm his hands had felt, the way he spoke softly, and that annoying gentleness that made it hard to keep my defenses up. It had felt nice, and that was exactly the problem.

I couldn’t believe I’d let him do that... I couldn’t believe I’d actually relaxed. And yet, I still wanted to punch him.

Apparently, both could coexist. My life had gotten way too complicated.

I dressed quickly and headed to the gym. By the time I got there, I was convincing myself that thinking about Lorenzo was a waste of valuable brainpower. Training was my focus. the fight was just three days away.

Three! That number had shifted from being just a number to sounding like a real threat.

Nikolai was already there of course. He stood next to the punching bag, arms crossed, as if he’d been waiting for me since dawn. Leon was close by with the usual water bottle and towel.

I pointed at him. "You’re getting predictable."

Leon smiled casually. "You always need water."

Nikolai shot me a look. "Warm up."

I sighed. "Good morning to you too, Sensei."

He gestured towards the mats. I complied; I’d learned that arguing with Nikolai before training was just wasting energy I’d need later.

After some stretching, we jumped into footwork drills. And right away, I noticed something different. I was better. Not by a ton, but definitely better.

My feet felt more natural, no need to overthink every step. I was breathing more easily, and when Nikolai approached, I didn’t freeze up or brace for impact.

I moved. He shifted and I followed. He feinted, and I didn’t fall for it.

He tried to catch my shoulder. I slipped away, then his eyebrow arched. "Better."

I couldn’t help but grin. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

"Don’t--"

"Too late."

We moved on to the punching bag.

I hit it again and again. The sound of my fists connecting filled the gym, sending a dull vibration through my arms.

I kept going, breathing heavier as sweat began to trickle along my hairline. The burn in my shoulders was familiar now, but it felt useful...not the helpless pain from earlier days. This was different.

I stepped back to catch my breath, then hit it again. The bag swung away, and I followed it with another punch. And another.

Then I stopped, three days left until I faced Lorenzo. The confidence I had been building suddenly felt shaky.

Being faster was one thing. Being flexible was good too and knowing how to redirect someone’s weight was helpful. But Lorenzo wasn’t Nikolai. Nikolai was skilled and quick, but Lorenzo had something else going for him. He was way stronger.

He’d been around violence his whole life. He understood people, noticed everything, and was always thinking several steps ahead of me. I’d seen it too many times with my escape attempts, every argument, every time I thought I’d outsmarted him.

Lorenzo was always right there, ready at the end.

I punched the bag harder. It swung back. I followed it for another hit. My jaw tightened. I couldn’t just do what he expected. I couldn’t be faster all the time; he’d adapt. I couldn’t rely solely on flexibility; he would find a way around it.

And brute strength? That was off the table unless I suddenly discovered I had the hidden strength of a professional wrestler.

I hit the bag again, I needed something else. An edge...something Lorenzo wouldn’t expect, something he wouldn’t see coming.

Breathing heavily, I stepped back. Nikolai was watching from across the gym. "What?"

I shook my head. "Nothing."

His gaze narrowed. "You’re thinking."

"I’m always thinking."

"That’s not what I meant."

Leon looked between us. "What’s going on? Are you alright, Sir?"

"It’s nothing, I’m alright." I responded.

Turning back to the punching bag, the idea hit me. Small at first, barely there, just a little thought that slipped into my head and made me pause.

Staring at the bag, a smile crept up the corner of my mouth. It wasn’t a nice smile or an innocent one. It was that grin I usually had just before making a bad decision.

Leon caught on first. His expression shifted. "Oh, no."

I looked over at him. "What?"

He took a cautious step back. "That face."

"What face?"

"The one you make when you’re about to do something bad, sir."

Nikolai’s gaze flicked between us. "What are you planning?"

I picked up my water bottle and took a slow sip, trying to look innocent. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."

Nikolai studied me and Leon sighed adjusting his glasses. "That’s exactly what you say when you have a plan."

I lowered the bottle, my grin growing wider. Sure, I didn’t have the whole thing figured out yet. It might be ridiculous, and it might land me on the mat within thirty seconds of the fight.

But finally, I had something Lorenzo wouldn’t see coming. And for the first time since signing that ridiculous contract, I wasn’t just thinking about surviving the loss.

I was thinking about how I was going to win.

Glancing at the punching bag again, I couldn’t help but murmur, "Oh, Dracula. You’re going to hate this."