Chapter 58
When Simon was pushed into the iron cage, the clinking sound of the chains was especially harsh.
He stumbled a few steps before steadying himself, looking at Henley, who was already warming up on the other side. He slapped his forehead and muttered, "Damn it, are you guys for real?"
Henley did a few simple stretches, his joints popping lightly, "I don't know what Mr. Luca is up to, but I have to follow his orders."
He nodded at Simon, "Come on, I'll try to go easy on you."
Simon resigned himself and took the mouthguard and gloves handed to him by an assistant. As he put them on, he glanced down at the audience.
Vitale sat in the best viewing spot, legs crossed, holding a glass of amber-colored whiskey.
His posture didn't look like someone watching a boxing match; it was more like a king enjoying a gladiator show.
"I'm definitely asking Victor for a raise when I get back," Simon grumbled under his breath, "Compensation for mental stress, medical bills, lost wages…"
Just then, Vitale's phone rang.
He glanced at the screen, a playful smirk forming on his face, and answered the call.
"Victor, what's up? I'm in the middle of watching some entertainment. You're interrupting me."
Victor's voice came through the receiver, barely containing his anger, "I know you're planning to fight Simon. Let him go, Vitale. Hitting him is like hitting me in the face."
"Is that so?" Vitale swirled his glass, "Then I'm afraid I can't do that. He touched my woman."
"How did he touch her?"
"A kiss on the back of her hand." Vitale's smile vanished, his voice turning cold, "You know my rules, Victor. No one touches her, not even her clothes. And he dared to kiss her hand."
Victor was silent for a moment, "But doesn't she love you? How is she your woman?"
"She will soon enough." Vitale looked into the cage, where Henley and Simon were already squaring off, "Sorry, the match is about to start."
He hung up and tossed the phone to Amboni, who was standing nearby.
Almost at the same time, Henley threw a punch.
The first strike came with a whoosh of air.
Simon dodged to the side, but the second punch came right after, hitting him in the ribs.
The dull thud echoed through the microphone across the arena, and the crowd erupted in wild cheers.
"Hit him! Kill him!"
Simon spat out the taste of blood in his mouth and started fighting back.
He was younger than Henley, with quicker moves. After a few rounds, he slowly gained the upper hand.
A precise hook landed on Henley's jaw, and the tall bodyguard staggered back, crashing into the cage with a loud bang.
Vitale's face darkened.
He set down his glass and began unbuttoning his shirt.
Amboni whispered, "Mr. Luca, you don't have to…"
"Shut up."
When Vitale took off his shirt, revealing his lean, muscular torso, the arena went silent for a split second before exploding into even crazier roars.
The scars—gunshot wounds, knife marks, and unknown tears—stood out under the lights like medals.
He stepped into the cage, the chains rattling as they locked behind him.
Simon was pinning Henley in the corner when he saw Vitale enter. Panting, he said, "Two against one isn't fair!"
"I make the rules here," Vitale said, cracking his wrists, "Now, it's my turn."
Simon let go of Henley, who stumbled to the side of the cage.
"Can I at least get a sip of water?"
Vitale's fist was his answer.
The punch was so fast it was almost a blur, slamming into Simon's stomach.
Simon grunted, staggering back, "Is this really necessary, Vitale? We're friends!"
"Was kissing her necessary?" Vitale's voice was ice-cold.
The crowd went wild.
They couldn't hear the conversation, but they could feel the murderous intent.
Gamblers started placing frantic bets, money flying through the air.
Simon spat out his mouthguard, showing blood-stained teeth, "I just kissed her hand! It's a common greeting!"
"Not in my world."
Vitale attacked again.
His style was completely different from Henley's—more precise, more deadly. Every punch targeted vital spots but deliberately avoided killing blows.
Simon barely held his ground, quickly losing the fight.
A heavy punch hit his ribs, and he heard a faint crack.
Simon spat out blood, leaning against the cage, "You're way too jealous. This isn't fair."
"Yeah," Vitale didn't stop, "So you provoked me on purpose, didn't you?"
He grabbed Simon's arm and threw him over his shoulder, slamming him to the ground, "Don't think I didn't see it. That day downstairs, you pointed your hand like a gun at my window."
Simon lay on the ground, laughing as blood trickled from his mouth, "You know you can't kill me, right?"
"But I can make sure you can't get out of bed for three days." Vitale dragged him up and threw another punch.
Simon suddenly fought back, sweeping Vitale's legs to push him away and catch his breath, "How many days can you keep Isabella in bed?"
That question made Vitale pause for a moment.
Then he smiled, a dangerous yet charming grin, "Men and women are different. For you, three days in bed is enough."
He stepped forward, his fists raining down like a storm, "For her, seven days and nights. You know what I'm capable of."
Simon struggled to block the blows, but Vitale's attacks grew fiercer.
A final uppercut hit Simon's jaw, sending him flying and crashing against the cage.
The crowd went insane.
Some tore off their shirts, others smashed beer bottles on the ground, and a woman screamed before fainting.
This was what they came for.
The beauty of violence, the display of power.
Simon lay on the ground, his vision starting to blur.
He saw Vitale walk over, looking down at him from above.
"The first time I fought, I was at a family gathering with my father," Vitale's voice suddenly turned calm, almost like he was talking to himself, "I was fourteen. My cousins pinned me down and beat me while my father just watched. He only stopped them when my face was covered in blood."
He squatted down, grabbing Simon's hair. "Later, he got me a coach. He said in this world, you either hit or get hit."
He let go and stood up, "So I learned. And I learned well."
Simon coughed up blood and laughed, "So now you're teaching Isabella the same lesson?"
"No." Vitale turned toward the cage door, "I'm teaching everyone what happens when they touch her."
The referee started the countdown.
Ten, nine, eight…
Simon lay there, staring at the blinding lights on the ceiling.
Three, two, one.
"The winner, Vitale Luca!"
The cheers were deafening.
Vitale didn't celebrate. He just took the towel Amboni handed him, wiped his hands, and put his shirt back on.
By the time he buttoned the last button, he was back to being the elegant mafia boss.
Vitale walked to the edge of the cage and looked down at Simon, "Victor will come get you. Heal up, then get back to Eldoria."
Simon struggled to raise his hand, flipping him the middle finger, then burst into laughter.
Vitale shook his head and rolled his eyes, "What, you haven't had enough of my punches yet?"