SAVAGE 2

22

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"You're fighting that Irish motherfucker in two weeks..." Frank trailed off while pushing a cigarette into his mouth. He held it at the corners, placing his attention on Preach as he kindled the cigarette. "Jack Boland."

Instead of placing his attention on Frank, Preach decided to focus on the punching bag in front of him. He stood there in a prowling stance as he kept his eyes on the bag. Before Frank could spit out another word, he went at it. His long arms extended out, tossing the bag around in the air as the strikes caught it.

"Look, I'm only trying to help out here." Frank raised his voice.

"By doing what?" Preach quipped, glancing over his shoulder. "Fuck up my flow?"

"Your flow?" Frank reiterated, pulling the cigarette from his thin pink lips. He stood in front of Preach, invading his personal space as he looked around the room. They weren't alone. They were at Venturi's restaurant. He had a couple of extra rooms and he turned one of them into a boxing area for his fighters. The rest of the rooms were used for his other work: Like the illegal booze, meetings, interrogations, and so much more.

"Listen. I'm only trying to help you out. Get your mind right. The Don has a lot of money on you, Preach. A quarter of a million dollars. Do you know why he put that kind of money on you?"

Preach stayed quiet, allowing Frank to rant.

"Because you're good. You showed him at Newts that you're able to win every fight. The Don wasn't feeling you until he saw you in the ring. Your footwork, your stance, your blows are what made him change his mind. Don't you understand? He's counting on you to win this fight and double his winnings."

"Alright..." Preach trailed off, not thinking about the possible consequences.

"Alright..." Frank reiterated once again with a slight chuckle. He touched his clean-shaven face as he put out the cigarette. "You don't get it. You have two hundred and fifty thousand dollars on you. Don Venturi has never put that kind of money on a boxer before. The maximum was thirty thousand dollars, and he was lucky enough to get that back plus more."

"So, I'll win him his money back." Preach spoke with confidence.

Frank stared at the young kid for a while and eventually nodded his head.

"Alright, I like your confidence. But if you don't...there will be consequences. It's not about the money, Preach. The Don takes pride in his reputation, his winnings. He hates losing, and if you lose..."

"Yo...I don't need you coddling me and shit. I know what I'm doing."

"I would hope so." Frank quipped, backing away. "Jack Boland is lethal."

Preach shook off the negative energy and went back to the punching bag.

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It had been a while since Jersey had the pleasure of being out with a friend. She and Alesha decided to catch up with one another. After a soothing experience of being pampered at the spa and doing a little shopping, they headed straight to a nearby restaurant.

The restaurant wasn't overly luxurious, but it was costly. Jersey didn't mind spending money since she was out with her friend.

They ordered their drinks and appetizers. It didn't take long for their orders to arrive at the table. Jersey nibbled on her crab cakes as she chatted.

"Are you sure you're fine?" Alesha asked Jersey after sipping her Pinot Noir.

Jersey didn't tell her about the pregnancy, but she did run her mouth about her lovely vacation in Aspen—minus the baby incident. She cleared her throat while chewing on the food in her mouth. Jersey eventually said, "I'm great. Why?"