I nod, without looking at him, unable to tear my gaze away from the guys, even while they take short breaks between rounds.
This is clearly not the first time either of them has boxed. Their movements are smooth and strong, well-practiced, and I’m not sure if there’s a clear winner. Zeno’s definitely the more aggressive of the two though, and seems to have several pounds on Matteo, despite Matteo being a beast of a man himself.
In no time, sweat pours down their bodies, and their grunts become laced with pain while they keep landing more and more punches on each other. The skin on Matteo’s entire side is an angry red, probably turning into one ugly bruise, and Zeno took a right hook to the cheek that’ll probably be visible for a few days.
I swirl my fingers around the bottom of the popcorn bowl, just to find it empty. Wow. I was so mesmerized; I didn’t even notice I’d already eaten it all.
It might only be my imagination, but it seems like the guys are slowing down. Not that I blame them. I probably wouldn’t even last a minute in there, which is pretty embarrassing to think about.
What does it feel like to know how to fight, to be that empowered and confident?
My entire life, I’ve either been completely sheltered from violence, or protected by the men in my family. I’ve never even come close to a situation where I needed to protect myself. The scene at the bar was the only experience, other than the attack on my mom and me five years ago, where I barely made it out alive.
For a while after the attack—when I was able to push through my grief—I was so upset I didn’t know how to protect myself or anyone else. If I’d known how to, maybe I could have saved her. Instead, we were like two innocent lambs offering ourselves to the big bad wolf on a silver platter.
Something about that idea has my chest fluttering, and I’m too antsy to sit. Planning on pacing around the ring to work off some of the nervous energy, I jump out of my seat.
At my movement, Matteo’s head snaps around, his gaze finding mine immediately. Zeno uses that instant to catch him on the temple, and Matteo goes down like a sack of potatoes.
“Oh shit.” I throw the empty bowl on the couch and rush toward the ring. “I’m so sorry.”
Zeno taps Matteo’s foot with his own.
I’m not sure if it’s to gloat or to make sure his friend is okay, but I glare at him and climb into the ring through the ropes. “Will you leave him alone now?”
The mountain of a man only raises one brow before he stalks off toward the stairs, Ash following behind him.
I drop to the floor next to Matteo, my hands hovering all over his face and body, not sure what to do.
“That was a low blow.” His voice is raspy, and his eyes slowly open.
“I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“Are you sure about that?”
I lick my dry lips. “Well, you did kind of deserve it for hitting Ash earlier, but I still didn’t do it on purpose.”
“Mmm.” He closes his eyes again and just lies there.
“I swear. I was just going to walk around a bit and didn’t think about being a distraction.” When he doesn’t move or say anything, I continue, “That looked like a pretty nasty hit.”
“Don’t sound so happy about it.”
I press my lips together. “I’m really not.”
“Uh-huh, could have fooled me.” He pushes himself up on his forearms, which brings him incredibly close to my face. “But if you really feel that sorry, I know how you can make it up to me.”
Closing my eyes for a second, I gather my strength to resist this inexplicable connection I feel toward him. When I open my eyes again, he’s still right there. “You’re engaged, Matteo.”
But Ally made it sound like her and the Russian might be involved.
Does that change anything about this engagement?
Matteo mumbles something, and his gaze flicks to my mouth. “What if I told you that—”
The door slamming upstairs and Ash calling my name breaks the spell between us. Matteo sighs and stands, offering his hand to me.
I gaze up at him, putting my hand in his and letting him pull me up. “What did you want to tell me?”