A Very Risky Gamble

Chapter 1: Vittoria

My fist collides with his jaw. He has an eight pack and can't even punch my fucking nose? Pussy.

The man stumbles back and swiftly crosses his leg, successfully making me crash down. "Son of a bit-"

I'm cut off by a muscular forearm dangling off my collarbone, I'm assuming this guy is trying to lock me in a chokehold.  He does know his arm isn't in the right position right?

I kick his dick which was right above my my foot, successfully earning a grunt from him falling off my back. I scramble to my feet and walk over to straddle his waist on the floor, repeatedly bruising my knuckles from punching him repeatedly. Shit, now my cargo pants are dusty from the sandy floor.

The poor guy's face is barely recognizable once I'm done with him, not my problem. I hear the crowd's cheering as I get off the man's waist and stand up.

What was his name?

Jeffrey? No.

Stan. I think.

"Give a round of applause for Vittoria Alamar, once again!" the commenter announces. "Someone get a cleanup crew, I don't think Jake Ryders is stable."

His name was Jake? Ew, he sounds like a  college frat boy. Thank god I quit after high school.

Goddamn the underground ring is bright. My fists are now covered with bruises, they are most likely going to be stained after multiple washes. Too bad Jake was my opponent, he was kind of cute. He would have made a perfect one nightstand. I really need to get laid.

I start dragging my feet off the sandy floor and quickly make my way out of the fighting ring where the crowd literally suffocates me alive. I push off everyone trying to hoard my attention with a scowl and make my way to the barely lit locker room.

I don't really like underground fighting, it's just a way to pay my bills. Which by the way, are really expensive when living in an apartment in NYC. It is actually a really nice one, and it feels more like home than where I grew up in New Jersey.

I quickly head to the showers to clean off poor man Jake's blood that is still trailing down my body, along with sweat. I love showering, and feeling clean. I'm not really too obsessive about my hygiene but if I feel dirty, I will take a  shower even if it is three in the goddamn morning.

After I'm done with my warm shower, I put on some grey sweatpants, along with a cropped black tank top hidden partially by a black zip up hoodie.

It is night, but I don't really care wearing revealing clothes because I can protect myself from horny ass middle aged men. I stuff two blades in my sports bra and a gun in the back of my waistband.

As if I'll need them.

I make my way out of the locker rooms, down a dark hall where the back exit is. The exit door leads to a creepy alleyway which I go through every night to  get to the city where my apartment is located. I open the dark grey doors and step into the chilly breeze that make my skin crawl in goosebumps.

I start walking through the aisles of dumpsters from nearby houses, and I had successfully made it through halfway of the dark street until I heard voices. I quickly ducked behind a trash can and tucked my brunette hair out of my face to hear better.

"P-Please. I'll get the money back to you in a week," a weak, shuddering voice says. It sounds like a thirty year old man begging for mercy while pissing his pants. Pathetic. "Please don't hurt me."

"I don't care about the money. I just need a stress reliever toy."

My eyes widen. That deep and raspy voice sends chills through my whole body. Whoever that that man is, is probably hot as hell. One peek wouldn't hurt right? Just one look.

One look.

I look up from the trash can and am immediately blessed with the most beautiful looking man ever. He has dark fluffy hair that is crossing over to his face, and the greenest eyes you will ever see. The man has an all black suit and is pinning up the as expected, weak 30 year old looking man, on the alleyway wall. His hands are covered in tattoos, and is holding a—

Oh shit. A fucking gun. The man I was just drooling over is holding a gun to the chin of a weak lowlife.

I quickly reach into my bra and pull out one of my two blades.

So much for not needing them.

I probably should be running away from this chaotic scene, but I'm not the kind of person who follows rules. So I stay.

"You shouldn't have stolen me, Francis." The green eyed man says sternly. "Now you must pay the price."

I don't even get time to process his words before a loud gunshot goes off and the weakling's blood splatters all over the concrete wall. I almost gasp before I bite my tongue and start crawling my way out of that horrid scene.

It's not the first time I've seen a murder unfold beneath my eyes, I've literally killed about a hundred people since March started. It's March 8th. Even so, I can't help but feel shocked of what just happened.

As I make my way around the corner of a street, a twig snaps underneath my foot. Shit.

I hear footsteps coming my way, so I just get up and start running. Gunshots erupt from behind me, but if I look back my death will just stare right back at me. So I run, I run like I was always taught to do.

After what feels like forever, I see lights indicating that I've reached the city. New York City is always crowded, so I loose myself in the crowd. Although, I still look behind me all the way to my apartment building to check if I'm being followed. I'm not. I enter the building that houses my apartment shortly, and make my way to the elevator.

Once I enter, I press the button to floor six and wait a few seconds before the elevator doors open again. I go through two hallways with the same ugly dark red carpet and finally reach the door to my apartment number. 65.

I take my golden key from my pocket and insert it into the doorknob, twisting it in the process. The white wooden door opens and I step into the darkness, only to flick off the light switch and find that all my furniture is gone.

What the fuck.

——

how was it?? idk I wrote this chapter like 2 months ago but I took the 4 chapters that I posted down cause I didn't like them 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

wc: 1156

it's a short chapter cause I thought writing would be easy but it's infuriating