Chapter 239: "Fifteen Against One"

The smell hit Aren the moment she stepped into the arena.

Smoke, sweat, and the metallic stink of rust hung so thickly in the air that she had to suppress the urge to cough.

It was a considerable departure from the Pit, where every surface was meticulously maintained and even the air carried the scent of expensive perfume. Cavallo’s establishment seemed to have no interest in making its visitors comfortable, and the smell only grew stronger as she entered the cage.

Unlike at the Pit, Jeremiah wasn’t waiting inside to introduce her. As the owner of the hosting establishment, Mister Cavallo had claimed that privilege for himself.

He stood near the center wearing what Aren assumed was one of his better outfits: a wrinkled shirt and a pair of worn khaki trousers. His microphone was already in hand, and he seemed thoroughly delighted by the crowd gathered around him.

"Friends and fellow patrons of Cavallo Fight Club! What a wonderful night we have ahead of us!"

"Can you feel the excitement? Can you believe your luck?"

"Because tonight, right here in this very arena, you’re about to witness one of the most legendary fights this city has ever seen!"

The crowd answered with a deafening roar. Most of the spectators standing nearest the cage were men, many wearing shirts already soaked through with sweat.

They shouted over one another, thrusting their fists into the air and pounding against the metal fencing. The noise seemed to delight Cavallo, who waited with a broad grin before raising the microphone again.

"Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, we’re not bringing you just another ordinary fight!"

"No, tonight we’re hosting a spectacle unlike anything you’ve witnessed before! We’ve even got a challenger from the most prestigious fighting club in the city, someone who has come all this way to take on our finest fighters!"

"And not one at a time, mind you."

"Oh, no! She’s going to fight every last one of them at once!"

The announcement sent another wave of excitement through the spectators. The fifteen fighters were already inside the cage, occupying much of the space opposite Aren.

Shirtless and heavily muscled, they paced about with the confidence of men accustomed to being cheered. Several flexed for the audience, while others roared and pounded their fists against their chests.

"FIFTEEN AGAINST ONE! WHO’S READY TO WATCH A SLAUGHTER?"

"YOU CAME HERE FOR A FIGHT? WE’RE GONNA GIVE YOU FIFTEEN!"

"HOPE THAT LITTLE LOMBARDI PRINCESS BROUGHT HER WHOLE FUCKING ARMY!"

Cavallo looked happier than any of his fighters. He swept an arm toward them as though presenting his most treasured possessions.

"Well, perhaps these gentlemen hardly need an introduction! Those of you who know Cavallo Fight Club will certainly recognize them. These are fifteen of the very best fighters our establishment has to offer!"

The audience responded enthusiastically, calling out their favorites and cheering as the men acknowledged them.

Meanwhile, Aren waited patiently to Cavallo’s left. She’d remained in approximately the same position throughout his introduction, hands relaxed at her sides, watching the proceedings with mild interest.

She understood that rousing the audience was part of the business, although the lengthy ceremony seemed somewhat unnecessary when everyone had already gathered to watch the match.

At last, the cheering diminished enough for Cavallo to continue.

"Now, now, let’s not get too carried away, shall we? We can’t possibly forget the daring challenger who’s come to face these gentlemen tonight!"

He turned toward Aren with a broad smirk and extended his arm in a theatrical gesture.

"Coming to us from the prestigious Castellano Club, she’s recently become one of the biggest sensations in the underground fighting scene!"

"Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together and give one hell of a welcome to our fearless challenger!"

"ARIANA LOMBARDI!"

Aren was mildly relieved that her introduction had finally arrived. She stepped forward, smiled politely at the spectators surrounding the cage, and inclined her head in a small bow.

By now, she’d grown rather accustomed to what happened whenever her name was announced at a fighting venue. The first boos arrived almost immediately, then came the insults.

"BOO! Get that little girl out of there!"

"What’s she gonna do, tickle them with those feathers?"

"Nice tits, sweetheart! How about giving us a better look?"

"Careful, boys! She might break a nail before she gets around to sucking your dicks!"

Aren straightened from her bow and regarded the crowd without much reaction.

The volume was impressive, if nothing else. She’d long since learned that audiences at underground fighting establishments were inclined to express themselves with very little restraint. It was simpler to treat the shouting as background noise.

Lately, however, she’d noticed an interesting change.

Although the jeering remained as enthusiastic as ever, it was no longer the only response she received. Scattered among the insults were people who seemed genuinely pleased to see her.

"ARIANA! YOU’VE GOT THIS!"

"Don’t listen to those assholes, Swan Queen! Knock them all out!"

"Fifteen guys? That’s just fifteen more people who owe our princess an apology!"

"WE LOVE YOU, ARIANA!"

"AND DON’T FINISH TOO FAST THIS TIME! SOME OF US PAID GOOD MONEY TO WATCH!"

Aren almost smiled.

Apparently, some people had begun attending her matches because they actually wanted to support her, rather than merely hoping to see her suffer an embarrassing defeat. The friendly shouting came with genuine applause, and she was fairly certain some of it came from Jordan and Caio.

Up in a quieter corner of the arena, Jordan and Caio were indeed applauding alongside the Sartori men who’d accompanied them.

There were no luxurious private boxes here, no comfortable suites where wealthy patrons could enjoy fine wine while watching the violence below. Instead, the group occupied several rows of elevated seating at the far end of the room, with a reasonably clear view of the cage.

Jordan lowered his hands first, his attention returning to the fifteen fighters. He narrowed his eyes, examining the men one by one as they continued their display for the audience.

"See any hidden blades on those guys?" Jordan asked.

"None that I can see," Caio replied.

He was studying them too, although he turned toward Jordan a moment later with a skeptical expression.

"You think they’d hide a blade and then make it easy enough for you to spot from all the way up here?"

"Well, they’ve only got those pants to hide anything in," a third voice observed pleasantly. "If they move around enough, you might see the outline."

Jordan and Caio frowned before either bothered to turn around.

Jeremiah Castellano sat beside them, wearing the delighted smile of a man who believed he’d just made a valuable contribution to a productive discussion.

"Unless, of course," he added, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "there’s nothing for you to find because every last one of them has already been stripped of his weapons."

Jordan looked unconvinced.

"In a place like this? I highly doubt that."

"Oh, my dear Jordan!"

Jeremiah’s smile widened.

"You’re underestimating me again. Who do you think is cohosting this event? Naturally, I sent several of my own men to conduct a thorough second inspection before any of those fighters were allowed near the cage."

Jordan didn’t bother disguising his skepticism. He turned back toward the arena, keeping his attention on the men below.

Jeremiah, however, seemed perfectly satisfied with his answer. His smile remained in place as he surveyed the crowd gathered around the fencing.

Several of his men were stationed among the spectators, dressed inconspicuously enough to pass for ordinary patrons. They were there to intervene if anything happened that his preparations hadn’t accounted for. At a signal through their earpieces, they would move toward the cage immediately.

Satisfied that his men remained in position, Jeremiah raised his gaze toward the elevated seating on the opposite side of the arena.

There they were.

Hezekiah and Zachariah sat together with several of their own men, apparently absorbed in conversation.

Jeremiah’s smile brightened.

He raised one arm high above his head and waved enthusiastically.

Across the arena, Hezekiah stopped speaking when he noticed someone waving in his direction. He followed the movement and discovered his youngest brother smiling at him with almost embarrassing affection.

Beside him, Zachariah followed his gaze and spotted Jeremiah as well. Both brothers looked momentarily dumbfounded before recovering their composure.

"God, look at that bastard," Hezekiah muttered, sounding equal parts weary and amused. "Does he actually enjoy pretending to be our affectionate little brother, or has he started believing the act himself?"

Despite the contempt in his voice, he arranged his features into a flawless brotherly smile and waved back.

Zachariah joined him, although his smile retained a faintly mocking edge.

"Him? Believing he’s our brother? Please, Hezekiah. I bet he’d love nothing more than to put a bullet through both our heads and keep the family fortune for himself."

His gaze drifted from Jeremiah to the cage below. The final round of betting was still underway, and the young woman in the white costume stood waiting while Cavallo finished addressing the crowd.

Zachariah studied her for a moment.

"But speaking of the Lombardi girl... do you think House Lombardi has been secretly training its heirs without anyone knowing?"

He frowned.

"Surely Jeremiah couldn’t have staged that many fights without risking his reputation. She must have actually beaten those huge bastards herself."

Hezekiah stopped waving.

He turned toward his younger brother with a thoughtful expression.

"What? Getting scared something might go wrong?"

Zachariah shrugged.

"Who knows what kind of crazy shit might happen these days, big brother? That ridiculous Jeremiah somehow managed to make more money than either of us. Apparently, anything’s possible."

"You’re not entirely wrong," Hezekiah admitted. "But that’s precisely why we have insurance. I’ve already spoken to old Cavallo. If anything unexpected happens, he’ll keep the cage locked until those fifteen men manage to beat the shit out of her. And the referee has several blades ready to use if necessary. I don’t see much reason to worry."

Zachariah considered that.

Fifteen fighters were already a considerable advantage. With Cavallo controlling the cage and the referee prepared to intervene on their behalf, Ariana Lombardi would have very few opportunities to escape if the match turned against her.

His shoulders relaxed.

"You’re right, brother. I suppose we might as well sit back and enjoy the show. Want some champagne?"

Hezekiah seemed amenable to the suggestion, and Zachariah gestured for one of their men to bring over the bottle they’d brought with them.

Below, the final round of betting came to an end. The last wager was entered into the system, and the referee stepped inside the cage.

He glanced first at Aren, then at the fifteen men occupying the opposite side. The size difference was considerable, and his expression suggested he found the arrangement rather entertaining.

"Well, well. Look what we’ve got here."

A crooked smile spread across his face.

"Everybody’s a veteran tonight. No newcomers to worry about. Do I really need to waste everyone’s time repeating the rules?"

Aren shook her head politely.

"No, Mister Referee."

Across the cage, the fifteen fighters seemed equally eager to begin, although their response was considerably louder.

"NO, SIR!"

The referee grinned.

"Good! Well, then, what are we all waiting for? Let’s get this over with, shall we?"