“Focus, son,” he said. “Keep your mind clear. You are in for the fight of your life, and this is a game you do not want to lose.”
Nico nodded and stepped through the door and into the warehouse. The floor had been cleared in preparation for the fight and fluorescent lights overhead cast the area in a bright white glow. A large, black curtain hung at the far end of the room, separating the rest of the warehouse from the fight floor, and at the edge of the lighted area stood a pedestal draped with a black curtain. Light gleamed off the steel daggers coldly and Nico fought to quell the churning in his belly.
The Vittores walked into the warehouse behind them, and Emiliano shoved River off to the side. She glanced at the door and Nico could see she was thinking about bolting. He shook his head and gave her a serious expression telling her to stay put. Ancient traditions like the Dance had rules that had to be abided by. And breaking those rules carried serious consequences. The Vittores might not care about them, but Nico and his father did. As did the heads of the other families. It was the traditions and the Code that kept order and prevented perpetual bloodbaths.
Among those rules was that once the combatants stepped onto the fighting floor, nobody was permitted to leave until the fight was over. Each combatant was permitted one witness and the fight was only over when one of the fighters was either dead or had yielded. As was ancient custom, it was an honor system that governed the fight. The Dance, like the entire structure of the Families, relied on the honesty and integrity of the people involved.
Nico stepped over to the table and looked down at the blades and thought maybe Emiliano was right and parts of the Code were outdated and should be revamped. But he was a man self-aware enough to know his strengths and his weaknesses and knife fighting was definitely the latter. The daggers were long and slightly curved with silver handles and had sapphires embedded in the pommels. They were beautiful and looked like they should have been in a museum, not in a dirty warehouse coated in blood.
He wasn't afraid to fight. Nico had training in a couple of different martial arts disciplines. But he had never done any training with knives. Who knew he'd be involved in a duel to the death with daggers?
“Are we going to do this?” Emiliano snapped.
“I’ll give you this one chance to call this off and leave Venice,” Nico said.
“Go fuck yourself.”
“Okay. We’re going to do this then,” Nico replied.
Aldo and Rocco stepped to the table and each of them picked up one of the daggers, glaring hard at one another. Nico’s father brought the dagger over to him and pressed it into his hand. He patted Nico on the shoulder.
"These daggers belonged to your great-grandfather. He had them commissioned for a duel he had back in his day,” his father said. “They brought him luck so hopefully, they’ll bring you some luck too, son.”
“No matter what happens, take care of River,” Nico said. “She’s all that matters.”
A wan smile touched his lips and when he spoke, Nico couldn’t help but hear the distinct note of pride in his voice. “You sound just like I did before I went to war with the Galante family.”
“Doesn’t sound like much of a war.”
“Yeah, well, make sure this doesn’t turn into a war either.”
“Santonelli, let’s go!” Emiliano shouted, his voice echoing around the cavernous warehouse.
“I’ll do my best, Dad.”
“Do better.”
His father stepped off to the side and walked over to River. Rocco glared at them but ultimately didn’t move to stop his father from cutting her hands free. Nico saw them exchange a few quiet words with each other and then she turned back to him, eyes wide, her face etched with fear. She took a step forward, but his father, looking tense himself, held her back and whispered in her ear. River seemed to stop struggling but looked no less fearful. Both of them looking at him like they were looking at a dead man did nothing to boost his confidence.
From the corner of his eye, Nico saw Emiliano rushing at him, the point of his dagger leading the way. Nico spun to the side, blocking the thrust of Emiliano’s dagger with a casual swipe of his own. The blades connected with a high-pitched ping. The younger Vittore recovered quickly and slashed with his dagger. Nico danced backward, just out of reach of that murderous cut, but any slower and he would have been disemboweled. Emiliano was a lot quicker than he expected.
“Gut him. Get this over with quickly,” Rocco shouted to his son.
Aldo and River remained silent, their faces tight. Emiliano darted in and feinted to the left. Nico bit on the fake, only realizing he was coming back to the right when it was too late. He spun, trying to get out of the way but he grimaced as Emiliano scored a hit, opening a gash along his ribs. Nico heard River draw in a sharp breath and as he danced away, getting out of Emiliano’s reach, he saw her clap her hands over her mouth.
Nico pressed his hands to his side, and it came away red and slick with his blood. He felt it spilling down his torso, thick and warm. But he knew although it looked bad it was a shallow cut. Emiliano though, saw the blood and like a shark, came at him in a frenzy of hacks and slashes, his father cheering boisterously the entire time. Nico was doing his best to parry the other blade, making the air around him vibrate with the ringing of steel on steel.
Emiliano lunged in with a thrust aimed at his shoulder and Nico moved to block it. He realized too late though, that the younger Vittore quickly changed his trajectory and came in low, driving a thrust into his thigh. Nico grunted loudly and his body exploded in pain. The muscles in his leg felt like they had been set ablaze and that feeling quickly spread through his body like a raging forest fire. Emiliano yanked the blade out of his leg roughly, making Nico grimace as he was battered by another wave of pain. Blood flowed down his leg, making the sock in his shoe wet and sticky with it.
Nico staggered back a few steps, holding his blade up, taking a moment to recover. His breath was ragged and sweat poured down his face in sheets. He blinked it out of his stinging eyes and ran his arm over his forehead, trying to keep it from falling and blinding him. Nico knew he couldn’t afford a moment of distraction. Emiliano was too fast. Too good with a dagger. And for the first time in his life, Nico felt like he was overmatched in a fight.
His throat was dry, and he couldn’t seem to work any moisture into his mouth. He licked his lips and kept his eyes on his opponent. His body sang with pain, and he knew if he kept bleeding, he was eventually going to grow sluggish from the blood loss. There was nothing he could do about his physical discomfort other than shut it out as best as he could. He had to focus.
Nico let his gaze shift over to his father and River for a brief moment and saw the agony on their faces. He could see the fear in their eyes. They knew, as well as he did, that if he lost this fight, his father was a dead man. They’d kill him on the spot, as was the right of the victor. What Emiliano would do with River though, turned his stomach. He didn’t think he’d kill her. He thought the fate he had planned for her was far worse. Nico thought that what he probably had planned for River would make her wish Emiliano had killed her.
Nico tightened his grip on his dagger and got himself in a ready position. Emiliano, sensing that victory was at hand, grinned at him. He’d always been smug and cocky. His overconfidence was always his weakness. It wasn’t much but it was something Nico thought he might be able to use against him. He just needed to focus. Nico blinked the sweat out of his eyes and wiped them with his sleeve again.
“Come on,” Nico said. “Let’s go. Let’s finish this.”