Cruelly Fated - Book 4

Chapter 14 - Family

Stefano

It's half-past six, and I'm excepting my parents in the next hour. Although today went better than predicted, and I finally had a win against the timer, my racing thoughts haven't ceased. My boxing bag sees another day of abuse as I relentlessly throw the hard hits. I need to release all this pain I buried throughout the years that started to surface again when I found my family. After the truth was revealed, I developed this burning hatred, seeking revenge for myself, my parents, and Bianca. I've never felt like this before, and I don't know how to control the rage that builds. It's suffocating.

Swinging, I lay another punch. Although I'm not taking it easy on the bag, it is yet to swing violently. My mind starts to drift. I'm trying to predict Lim's next move, thinking about all possible scenarios. My anger erupts as I throw powerful hits, enough that the chain holding up the bag starts to click. I have always found solace within these gloves, and today is no different. They once again give me the release I seek.

Sweat drips as I close my eyes, replaying the match against Lim. I start mimicking his movements and develop his techniques as my memories bring to life that night. His left was weak, and he opted for the right; his footing remained the same with no switch to confuse his opponent. Taking two quick steps to my right, I throw a right hook, the bag jolts at the connection. Blocking out the sound of the clicking chain, I remain focused. My eyes stay sealed as I remember the details. He dodged my purposely debilitated hits with a duck again to his right.

Sinking further into my memories, my training with Jackson replays. At the age of seventeen, I started boxing with him as my mentor. Connecting a vibrating hit to the bag, it swings backward violently, giving me enough time to jump in my spot and shake my arms, loosening the strain in my muscles. I start to train as if he is here holding the bag, his voice still vibrant in my thoughts, "Your left is weak, Stef. Right arm behind your back. Practice with your left. let me feel strength building."

Shifting left to my right, I connect a fierce punch with my weaker arm. Switching my footing, I lay in quick jabs before hooking a swing with my left. I'm drenched as sweat continues to drip, blurring my vision, but I refuse to stop. Raising my fists, I peek between my gloves and mark my spot on the bag. I start unleashing my fury for the past, current, and future torment to come.

Lost in thought, focusing on my rhythm, I'm oblivious to an audience until my father's voice disrupts me. "Dad." I catch the bag, stopping the sway. Glancing at my father, he's pleased and surprised. He doesn't hear the words dad and father often enough from me. I won't lie, it was a struggle initially, but recently it has become easier to acknowledge them as my parents.

"They were some strong punches. Impressive!" My father grins.

Taking hold of the towel, I wipe the sweat off my forehead. "I was never good enough to go pro boxing."

"You just weren't given the opportunity," he corrects and steps forward, gesturing me to extend my hands. Complying, I nod as he unties my gloves. "It seems you need a new pair."

I glance down at the faded and worn brown gloves. The story behind them will no doubt surface pain for my father. Blowing a breath, I give him insight, cautious not to upset him, "They were a gift from Jackson. I'm attached to them."

His brows knit together, and his features distort. However, Luciano recovers quickly, "The man that took you in?"

I nod. Meekly smiling, he states, "I wish I could've met him and shown my gratitude."

Lightening the mood, I chuckle, "You would've liked him. He was a foul mouth with similar personality traits to William."

Grinning, he wavers the distressing thoughts. "My kind of man." Clasping my shoulder, he orders unintentionally, "You should shower!"