Our Mission

Chapter 33

- Isabella's POV -

"Come on! Again!"

The trainer, I've been dealing with for the past fucking week yells in my face as he pats the side of the punching bag.

It's been a week. A fucking week waking up at five in the morning to train. Train for what? I don't know, I'm still trying to figure that out.

When Lorenzo mentioned training I thought of simple workouts to keep me in shape. I couldn't tell if he meant it as an insult that I've gained a few pounds or if it had to do with my lack of fighting these past months.

Whichever he meant resulted in my original thought of workouts to be far off because this man has me practicing self-defense like I haven't killed or hurt people with my hands.

I raise the back of the boxing glove to my forehead, pushing away the wet baby hairs out of my face. It's barely six in the morning but I only have two more hours left of this bullshit.

You got this Isabella.

Bringing my hands back into position, I throw a jab. I use a small fraction of my energy into the hit, the heavy sound of the iron chains rattling along with the heavy bag.

"Can I fight a person? Not a stiff bag?" I groan, "it'll be more realistic Rafael."

He stares at me blankly. Even though his expression is giving me nothing I can sense he's starting to become irritated by my presence. At least the feelings are mutual.

"C'mon, please," I push.

His dark brown eyes look around the room, as he turns away from me. I watch as he walks away and his extremely loud and obnoxious howling whistle catches the attention of Valerie's trainer.

They go back and forth speaking in Italian. My brain trying to understand what the fuck they're saying and why they keep looking at Valerie and I.

Don't tell me. Shit.

"In the ring, " Rafael says in English, turning his head over his shoulder then jerking it in the direction of a large empty leveled box.

I should be happy he's letting me do this but I'm now dreading it. My feet struggle to move like weights are holding them down, keeping them from moving.

Eventually, I walk extremely slow up the wooden steps bending over to fit my body through the padded ropes wrapped around.

Maybe punching bags aren't so bad?

When I'm finally in, Valerie is already standing by the far corner close to her coach. She's speaking to him, her back hunch and her tied up hair is out of place.

I practically plead, "Rafael you can't have me fight an amateur." my expression stern. He's giving me what I asked for and now I don't want it. "Raf."

He pats my sweaty shoulder and leans down to my level, "Don't underestimate your friend. You'll be surprised by her progress." he says bringing a water bottle to my lips, I open my mouth and let him squeeze the cold liquid down my dried throat.

He can't compare my years of training to her week of training. It's ridiculous for him to even make this decision. I wonder if Valerie is thinking the same or if she is excited because from what I can tell she seems exhausted.