Cruelly Fated - Book 4

Prologue

Stefano

Running my fingers through my hair, I prepare myself for another night at The Long Mile. Pulling the door open, I step inside. The smell of sweat and blood reminds me of the brutality surrounding this place. Dreams of landing legitimate fights in pro-boxing were the hope I was holding. It won't happen. I've accepted this is all my life will be. In the slums of New York, I battle. I will never become anything. A shadow in the streets that no one cares about, I will remain.

Dislodging the clog in my throat, I blow a sorrowful breath. I keep telling myself, "Get it together!" Leaning against the wall, I watch the elimination of yet another fighter. The bell never rings; there are no rounds. It only ends when one is left standing. This fight lasted longer than it should. I'll hand it to the underdog. He didn't want to stay down. Another night, another full house. The floors are once again putrid from spilled liquor. Men throw money at the bookies trying to get their bets in before the next fight begins. Depressing doesn't begin to explain this place. My eyes travel to Ben's table; he laughs as his men stand and head to the ring. Throwing a handful of cashews in his mouth, he watches on with a sadist glint in his eyes. The unconscious fighter is dragged out of the ring like an animal.

I slide down the wall and fall back into my despairing thoughts as another two fighters enter the ring. Opening my bag, I pull out my only childhood possession, a model car. Glancing at the Ferrari Daytona, I run my fingers over my fading name. I can't help but think, how I came to own it. Is Stefano even my name, or did I steal it from some kid? My earliest memory is waking up at the hospital. Martha and James stood around my hospital bed, whispering to men in suits. They spoke to me as if they knew me, yet their faces weren't familiar. My head hurt, and despite my efforts to remember, my memory was gone. All I had was this model car.

Six long years I spent in a home with Martha and James. A couple of foster homes after that, I ended up in Carl's care, living another nightmare. Throwing the car into my bag, I glance at my worn boxing gloves, a gift from the only person who showed me kindness. I blow a breath and focus back toward the ring. Horrific and painful groans echo as another boxer slumps to the ground. Once again, Ben's men hover, ready to drag him out.

I avoid friendships. I fight against these men. Friendships only complicate things when you're standing in a ring as opponents. Nevertheless, the treatment of injured fighters surges my rage. Picking up my gym bag, I go to follow. I need answers to some of my lingering questions. Just like all the fighters before him, this man will never be seen again. Where do they take them? What happens to them? I need to know! I've never lost a fight, and I don't intend to, but what would that mean for me if I were to lose?

Glancing to my side, I notice Ben's eyes following my movements. Standing, he halts my steps, "Where are you heading? You're up next! Get in that fucking ring."

I loosen my fists and shake my hands, attempting to control my rage. I want nothing more than to break Ben. Drop him where he stands, but my current situation doesn't allow me to burn my bridges. I fight back my murderous desires and nod. Glancing over Ben's shoulder, I watch his men drag the fighter out, a glimpse of a black SUV raises more questions, but I'm forced to do as I'm told and ignore the suspicious activity accruing. Another man will disappear, and I can only watch from the sidelines.

Pivoting around, I throw my bag to the side and remove my top. I have no fear in that ring. Regardless of who my opponent is, I'm confident. Wrapping my hands, I prepare to slide on my gloves when Ben's mocking voice demands, "Gloveless!"

I smirk. He wants to see me beaten. He will be disappointed, and one day I will achieve at least one of my desires, and Ben will be bleeding out on the floor while I stand tall over him. Throwing my gloves back into the bag, I slide into the ring. I'm in my element. This is all I know. The only thing I'm good at. Loosening my shoulders, I bounce, throwing a few punches in the air, warming up. I intend to finish this quickly.