The Warrior's Gamble

Chapter 4

Tristan

Admittedly, when my brother first announced his plans to align with the Chicago Bratva, I thought he was fucking nuts. First, the Outfit, then the fucking Russians?

Surprisingly, though, it had turned out to be one of the best ideas he's ever had. Our group of Donnellys expanded to both the Marinos and then the Yenins.

Good news was it expanded our profits and territories. Not to mention there was less of a chance of accidentally almost getting killed if you stepped in a wrong part of town. Bad news was I felt like there were even more people to impress now.

It's hard enough to try to prove my worth to Ronan, and now I had to do it with both the Italians and the Bratva?

I think maybe that's why I liked fighting so much. It gave me purpose.

Sean and my trainer, Walt, stand outside the ring, watching as one of Walt's other proteges and I spar.

The kid's good – huge. Bigger than me.

But not better.

Not to sound cocky, but it's true.

I'm one of the best in the city.

I don't compete nationally, or anything. With a last name like Donnelly, it's probably not smart to find myself too much in the spotlight.

Although rumors about the Irish mafia run rampant regardless.

The kid is two years younger than me and has a good thirty pounds on me.

But he has a similar style to my opponent tomorrow.

I cross the kid unexpectedly and he goes flying. I'm quick on my feet. I avoid his jab as he launches himself back at me and give him the upper-cut. He falls back and nods at me.

I shake his hand, "You good?"

"Yeah," he laughs. "Fuck you."

We chuckle and Sean nods approvingly from the side as I grab some water.

Walt claps my shoulder, "You all ready for tomorrow?"

I nod.

It'll be a good fight.

I lean against the ropes and listen to Walt tell me the same fucking thing for the fifth time today about using my speed and maneuverability to get the best of the guy.

The door to the gym opens, sending a beam of sunlight into the room.

Parker and Nolan walk in, fully dressed.

Duty calls.

I quickly shower and change before joining my friends and Sean for our daily duties around the city.

Back to reality.

I like who I am when I enter a ring.

It's so often I'm seen as the non-serious brother, the idiot, the fool. The party-guy. Maybe I am all of those things. But when I step into a fighting ring, I'm the fucking Savage. I'm bigger than my brothers, despite being the youngest.

A part of me always knew I'd end up doing something like this with my life. It comes with the territory when you grow up in the limelight of others while also simultaneously being beaten to a pulp by your parent on the regular.