Chapter 90: The Omega They Didn’t Take Seriously

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I was back in every room where someone had judged my worth. Back with Richard, back with Lydia, back with Blair. Back when people treated me like an object to be traded, controlled, blamed, and tossed aside. The words hit the same old bruises, the ones that never quite healed no matter how many times I told myself they didn’t matter.

Not even one of them took me seriously.

I turned around. "Excuse me?"

The laughter quieted down. The guy who spoke looked at me. He was bigger than me. Naturally. Because the universe seemed to love throwing challenges my way with unnecessary height differences.

He had that cocky smirk on his face...the kind that said he’d never had to work for anything and fully expected the world to keep handing him free passes. "Is there an issue, sir?"

I stepped forward, I wanted to show the son of a bitch what a punch that could send someone into a coma actually looked like. Then another step. Before I could get too close, Nikolai’s hand grabbed my arm. "Don’t."

I shot him a look and said through clenched teeth. "Let go."

"No."

"But he just—!"

"I heard him."

"Then let me—"

"No."

I glared at him. "He thinks I can’t fight, so let me beat his ass to warm up a little."

"And that’s exactly why you should let him think that."

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Nikolai leaned closer, voice low enough that only I could hear. "Prove yourself in the fight. Not by throwing a punch at one of the witnesses. Save the energy. You’ll need it."

I took a deep breath. My anger was still burning. But he was right. Unfortunately. I hated it when he was right. It was becoming a pattern, and I was starting to resent the consistency.

I turned back around. "Fine."

The guy let out a quiet laugh. I glanced over my shoulder. "And enjoy laughing while you can. Memory’s a funny thing. You’ll want something to look back on when this is over."

Nikolai’s grip loosened. I faced the fighting space again. The anger remained. But it shifted. It wasn’t wild anymore. It turned cold, useful, good...let them underestimate me. Let them laugh. I’d rather they expected me to lose. Expectations were a gift when you planned on shattering them.

The doors at the far end of the room opened. The atmosphere shifted instantly. Every conversation stopped. Every man straightened up.

I didn’t need to turn to know who had arrived. Lorenzo had a way of commanding attention that bordered on unfair. But I turned anyway.

And instantly forgot how to breathe.

Oh. That was so unfair. Extremely unfair.

Criminally unfair, if I was being honest. Someone should have been arrested for this level of visual sabotage.

He wasn’t in one of his usual suits. Instead, he wore fitted dark training clothes that made it painfully obvious he’d dedicated years to building a body that existed solely to annoy me.

His black shirt hugged his chest and shoulders, sleeves pushed up his arms, while his pale hair hung loose around his shoulders. As he walked in, without a hint of awareness of the distraction he was causing, he gathered it into a neat bun at the back of his head. The motion was casual. Effortless. Infuriating.

I stared... I shouldn’t have. But I did. For several dreadful seconds, my mind completely forgot I was there to fight him. His arms. His shoulders. The way his shirt shifted when he lifted his arms.

The infuriatingly calm look on his face. Why did he have to look like that today? Was this psychological warfare? Was there a section in the mafia handbook that said, When fighting your husband, make sure to look ridiculously fucking attractive? Because apparently that helps?!

I swallowed hard. No...you idiot. Focus! I was here to win. Not to gawk at my super hot kidnapper-husband, not to think about how damn good he looked right now.

Not— Oh, great. He was looking right at me.

I straightened up, my brain kicked back into gear. Lorenzo’s mouth curved into a smirk. He knew. Of course, he did. That man missed nothing. He could probably sense the exact second my higher brain functions temporarily abandoned ship.

Next to him, Mateo walked in, looking way too entertained by everything. He was grinning, I blinked at him in surprise. When did he return from his ’Grieving My Dead Father Partying Retreat In Las Vegas!’ trip? The man had the emotional recovery speed of a rubber ball and the self-awareness of a brick wall.

Was the whole world here as well to watch the fight too? At this rate I half-expected a food vendor to set up shop in the corner and start selling popcorn.

"Worth flying back for," he said loudly. Mateo looked at me, then at Lorenzo, then back at me. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

Lorenzo moved through the room. Every man greeted him.

"Good morning, Don!"

"Morning, sir!"

"Don!"

Lorenzo acknowledged them with brief nods, never fully taking his eyes off me. The attention felt heavy, deliberate, like he was already assessing the distance between us and deciding how little effort it would take to close it.

I stayed put, I wasn’t greeting him, I wasn’t bowing like the others were and I wasn’t smiling.

I wasn’t giving him anything. When he finally stopped in front of me, the room fell so silent I could hear my own heartbeat. It was loud. Embarrassing. Possibly audible to the people in the back row.

Lorenzo looked me over slowly, his gaze landed on my face. The amusement in his eyes was soft and sharp at the same time—like he found the entire situation equal parts entertaining and inevitable.

"You look serious, tesoro." Lorenzo’s eyes sparkled with amusement. "Are you nervous?"

"No."

"Liar."

"Arrogant."

"Stubborn."

"Insufferable twat."

His smile widened. "You’ve been practicing."

"I’ve been preparing."

"For losing?"

My jaw tightened. There it was, that smugness. That calm confidence that drove me crazy. I wanted to throw something at him. Preferably a shoe... or a frying pan. Or both, in rapid succession, just to make a point.

I stepped closer. "No."

Lorenzo’s eyebrows shot up. "I’ve been preparing for you to lose."

His smile didn’t fade. If anything, it got even more amused. The kind of expression that said he was already three steps ahead and enjoying the view from there.

"You should be thinking of how embarrassing for you will be when I wipe the the floor with your stupid face." I said with a casual shrug. The words came out smoother than I expected. Maybe the training had improved more than just my footwork.

A few men shifted around us and Mateo actually whistled. "Oh... Big bro Lorenzo, you mated one with a potty mouth!"

Lorenzo leaned in slightly, lowering his voice so only I could hear. The proximity sent an unwelcome spark down my spine. "You seem very confident for someone who spent the last two weeks learning how to stay on his feet."

I smiled. A not-so-nice smile. "That’s because I learned something."

"What?"

I held his gaze. "You’re not the only one who knows how to keep secrets."

For the first time, the amusement in Lorenzo’s eyes flickered. Just a bit...barely noticeable to anyone else. But I caught it. And that was enough for me. A tiny crack in the perfect composure. Proof that I could still surprise him.

I stepped back. "Let’s fight."

The room went totally silent. Lorenzo looked at me for another long moment. Then his smile returned. Slowly, and dangerously. The kind of smile that usually preceded someone realizing they’d made a very expensive mistake.

"Very well, my love."

I clenched my fists. Three days of training had led me here. The contract had brought me here. Every person who ever told me I was too weak had brought me here.

And now Lorenzo stood across from me, calm and confident, with half his men watching.

Good. Let him be confident. Because in a few minutes, I was going to show him just why that was a mistake.