Chapter 51: Chapter Fifty-One

“Hm,” Leo grunted as he came around the back of the SUV to find Frankie and Gloria in their intimate position.

Frankie reluctantly pulled away from the woman who was growing stronger by the day. “Like what you see, big man?”

“I’ve seen better,” Leo muttered as he pulled open the driver door and climbed in.

“I’m sorry,” Gloria muttered, looking down.

Frankie immediately seized her chin and lifted. “What the fuck are you sorry for?” he asked.

She waved her hand in the general direction of the diner, her eyes still not meeting his. “What I did in there. Not very professional.”

“Professional? No,” Frankie agreed. “Bad ass? Dick-hardening? A sight to behold? Hell yes,” he said, bending to take her mouth again.

He could care less she’d hurled two minutes ago. She’d turned him the fuck on and there was no toothbrush in sight and he wasn’t about to waste time looking for one. Their kiss was interrupted as Leo rolled down his window and smacked his palm against the side of the door.

“When you two love-birds are done, we’re still in front of a diner full of Russians,” Leo reminded them.

Frankie smoothed his thumb across her cheek, a gesture he realized he liked very much as it made her eyelashes flutter. “I suppose the old man is right. Let’s get out of here.”

“Can we go home?” she asked as he held the door open for her.

“Afraid not. Sergei got his reckoning, now it’s time for Accardi to get his,” Frankie told her as he pulled himself in behind her.

“In your fucking dreams,” Accardi said, a smile pulling at his lips as he typed away on his phone, probably sexting Gen.

“Gotta knock me out first for that, Sweetheart,” Frankie taunted.

“Easy enough,” Accardi said, his smile pulling wider.

“So, we’re going to the club?” Gloria asked, her body relaxing the further they got from the diner.

“Yup. No civilian audience though, just those in the family. Accardi has an image to protect, after all,” Frankie teased in a kid’s voice.

“It was your request, Jackass,” Accardi said back. “I wanted an audience. It would do well to remind the masses who they shouldn’t fuck with.”

“Oh, they already know not to mess with me, but I appreciate the concern,” Frankie said, already flexing his fists.

He could feel Gloria’s eyes on him. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since he’d obtained his newest round of injuries thanks to his sparring sessions. She’d muttered under her breath the list of injuries as she’d doctored them: bruising along his ribs, broken finger on his right hand and cuts to his face.

He could sense her doubt in being able to hold his own against his boss. What she wasn’t able to know just by looking at him was the anger he’d kept under a tight leash for weeks on end. Anger that had begun when he’d gotten the call from Sergei on Stephen’s phone. He leaned his head back against the headrest and replayed the mocking tone Sergei had used to inform Frankie that he’d found his safehouse. He recalled the harsh breathing of his own brother, the sound of nails hitting wood, the moment Stephen’s composure broke and he’d screamed out in blinding pain. His brother had died while Frankie listened, halfway across the world, still drunk from celebrating his boss’ wedding. The same boss who he’d learned signed over Gloria’s virginity with a careless swipe of a pen.

Sure, he could understand Accardi was in a tough position. He could also understand that Accardi was only sixteen and only signed those agreements to placate packs of ruthless tyrants before changing the entire system as everyone knew it. He could understand… but he couldn’t forget. The only way he felt, in his heart, he could keep working for the man is if Accardi took some form of punishment, some form of accountability for what he’d done and caused. While he knew Accardi was looking forward to a fight with a man at the same level of skill as himself, Frankie also knew to allow it done in front of his men was a sign of humility and ownership. The man could have dictated it be done in private with no other witnesses besides those in the very car now pulling up to the club. But he hadn’t. He’d accepted his punishment.

Frankie held onto his anger as he helped Gloria out of the car and slammed the door in Louis’ face. He held onto it as they walked into the club amid the applause of several dozen of their men and women. He held onto it as he pulled himself into the ring and shucked his shirt off.

Gloria hung onto the ropes on the outside. Her mouth was pulled to the side and her eyes were watching Matteo as he handed his own jacket, tie and shirt to his wife. Frankie grabbed her by the chin and forced her eyes back to him.

“There’s no need to rile me up further by checking him out, Vixen,” Frankie admonished, releasing her chin and shaking his head.

Gloria’s eyes went to Matteo and back faster than she could blink. “I wasn’t… I just…” She sighed. “You don’t have to do this for me. Really.”

Frankie snorted as he racked his shoulders back. Her pupils dilated with the gesture and, dammit, that action did rile him up. “I’m not doing it for you, Gloria. Well… a part of me is. You’re mine. I defend what’s mine. Nothing will stop me from doing so, even my boss. He fucked up, now he has to pay the price.”

Her eyes went over his chest as he stretched. “You’re still injured from the fights last night, and the fight with Sergei’s men at his compound and…”

“I’ll save you the trouble of finishing your list.” He grabbed the ropes on either side of her hands and lowered his head. “I’m always injured. If we let that stop me from doing my job, I might as well become a funeral director.”

She finally smiled. It was only one side of her lips that lifted up on the edges but it was adorable and directed solely at him. She sighed and it was her turn to shake her head. “Stephen was right. My nursing skills are going to come in handy with the likes of you.”

A cold shiver of shock ran down his spine as she leaned forward and gave him a quick peck on the lips. She mouthed ‘good luck,’ before hopping down from the ring to join Genevieve a few feet away who was currently biting her thumb as she salivated over the image of her husband stretching on the opposite side. Frankie shook off his moment of shock and shoved the idea of what all his brother and lover talked about while in that safehouse. Instead he focused on the skilled fighter getting ready to defend himself with all he had.

Accardi smirked, his eyes gleamed as he stretched his calloused fists out. “You ready, Donati?”

“Should we count it down or would you prefer the element of surprise?” Frankie asked, letting the anger beneath his skin buzz to the surface.

“Start the clock, Leo!” Matteo bent at the knees and raised his fists. “There’s nothing you can do to surprise me at this point, Frank.”

Frankie smirked. He’d see about that. Frankie lunged. It was best to not waste time against Matteo. Waiting gave him more time to analyze. Matteo blocked the three jabs to the face and two to the gut before he went on the offensive. Frankie grunted as one blow glanced off his ribcage but he dodged the uppercut and kick that came next. The two backed off. Frankie pumped his fists and restarted his assault. Two kicks to the thigh and Matteo caught his shin. Frankie smiled, used his inertia to flip and sent Matteo whirling in the air. The mafia boss caught himself, landing expertly on his feet. He stepped backward, deflecting Frankie’s hailstorm of fists: uppercut, haymaker, haymaker, jab to the gut once, twice, three times, uppercut. The last blow landed and Matteo’s head flung back. He sidestepped once, forcing Frankie to fall forward with the inertia of his swing.

Matteo spat blood onto the mat and cracked his neck. He smiled, his teeth coated in blood. “Been a while since I’ve tasted my own blood, Brother.”

“You should get out more.”

Frankie yelled as he went on the offensive again. Each punch, swipe of his leg, lifting of his foot toward the man across him was packed with weeks of unfulfilled aggression. He didn’t hold back like he normally did. He fought for his life, for Gloria’s. Each jab that landed sent a rush of air out of his boss’ lungs. Each knock of his leg to the sensitive muscle of Matteo’s thigh made him limp a step as he recovered his bearings. Likewise, Matteo didn’t hold back… though he never did. That was the perks of being the boss: he had the right to showcase his strength with every bout he fought. Matteo was ruthless, his years of training honed into each strike. Every ounce of strength was contained, pinpointed and expelled with maximum efficiency. It was a sight to behold… when the force wasn’t being released onto Frankie’s own stomach, chest, legs and face.

In no time at all the clock buzzed behind them. Both men stood across from each other: equally bloody, equally out of breath, equally pissed off that they hadn’t succeeded in taking the other down.

“Time’s up, boys,” Leo called from the floor. Was that nerves he heard in the old man’s voice?

Matteo smirked and Frankie used the back of his arm to smear the blood away from his eyes.

“Tired, Donati?” Matteo mocked.

Frankie answered with a snarl and several quick steps that brought him back within punching range. He screamed as he pushed Matteo back. Each attempted jab to the gut was met with steel deflections. Then… One kick to the shin and a single second of hesitation from the mob boss and Frankie landed a haymaker to the jaw. Matteo went down. The crowd gasped. Matteo rolled and bounced up to his feet, his eyes wide not out of shock, but respect.

Frankie relaxed his shoulders. His fists fell slightly to his abdomen now bruised by his competitor’s knuckles. His harsh breathing pulled at the strained muscles of his chest. Blood continued to blur his vision and his head pounded. He let Matteo surge forward. He took his turn deflecting punishing blow after punishing blow. Matteo succeeded in catching him off guard: a perfectly placed heel that broke his root on the ground. Frankie stumbled back, caught himself, whirled, fist pulled back… Matteo’s eyes widened. The world slowed. Frankie analyzed the rate in which Matteo’s cocked fist would make impact and compared it with his own. Matteo had done the same. He knew he’d fucked up the moment Frankie had turned. He’d charged too quickly, mistook strategic positioning for a fumbled loss of ground. All Frankie would have to do is follow through and he would land his bruised and bloodied fist directly in the mafia boss’ nose. The fight would be over.

Instead… Frankie hesitated. A slow smirk, a short wink, a confused raised eyebrow from the man who had called him ‘brother.’ Matteo’s fist connected with Frankie’s jaw and his world went black.