Deception (Infidelity #3)(42)

Over a hundred and fifty years later.

“What do you think, Abe? Are you happy with what you see?” I sneered at my own negativity.

He’d made historic decisions that changed our country forever. Without his insight, America would be a different place. A simple man from the Midwest, born in Kentucky and raised in Indiana, he grew to adulthood in Illinois. It wasn’t the résumé of a great leader, yet history said otherwise. And yet after everything President Lincoln accomplished, he’d succumbed to the fate that had tried to take me out just this morning.

He’d been assassinated.

The idea sent a cold chill down my spine.

Assassinated.

Shot.

Killed.

The difference, as I saw it, was that Mrs. Lincoln hadn’t been a possible victim.

I needed to know who the intended recipient of the bullet was.

Me or Charli?

After seeing the look on Davis’s face, I believed it was me. But it could have just as easily been Charli. She was now my weak link, the one I’d sacrifice anything for. For that reason she needed protection.

This wasn’t my first personal brush with death. The grim reaper and I were old friends. Before he took Jo, I had my own near miss with him. The final result of that encounter was much more painful than what Charli and I’d experienced this morning.

It was the night I found myself staring across the octagon at my cousin Luca Costello.

Family.

From the time I was old enough to understand, my parents told me that family was important. Luca was the son of Vincent Costello, my mother’s cousin. She and Vincent were close. My grandfather died young, and she and Vincent had been raised like siblings by his parents, Carmine and Rosa. When Luca and I were children, we’d played in backyards and parking lots all over Brooklyn. Together we were little shits who had one another’s back. After we moved to Rye, I rarely saw Luca. Nevertheless, kick-the-can in some back alley was a far cry from the MMA octagon.

When that night came, I was “Nox” Demetri, MMA champion. In my short career I was the youngest contender to accumulate so many wins—in points and knock outs—more than anyone else in the Newark area.

The MMA establishment was on my side. The organizers of the fight club in Jersey had made a fortune on me.

The thing about MMA was that it was a crapshoot. I never knew who’d step into the octagon with me. I was listed as the headliner—but not in public record. It wasn’t like the fight club had a banner flying behind a plane on the Jersey shore or even a lighted placard outside the gym that was more of a warehouse.

Word of mouth was the means of broadcast.

Nox Demetri, undefeated MMA champion. It drew the best opponents.

Cocksuckers lined up, begging and pleading with the organizers for a chance to take me down. That was what I did—NYU during the day and then I’d cross the bridge to Newark and fight at night. My parents were done raising me. They were done with one another. Oren was busy screwing everything in a skirt and making backroom deals to better the Demetri name. And my mother spent her time in Rye finally coming out of the oppression of twenty years wasted on him. I was happy for her. Him, I didn’t give a shit.

MMA started as a pastime and grew into my own rebellion. I knew what I was doing. I knew who I was making money for. It was my own version of Oren Demetri’s deals.

I’d heard my parents’ warnings. I knew about the neighborhoods and my mother’s family name. But I’d never been a part of it. Especially after we moved. That didn’t mean I didn’t know.

By doing what I was doing, where I was doing it, I was accomplishing two things: I was making the Demetri name known for me, not Oren, and I was screwing Oren’s backroom deals at the same time. The underground world of MMA included families and cartels and all kinds of people who my father would rather me not know.

Fuck him.

At twenty I thought I was immune. That was until I saw Luca and Vincent and I knew.

I’d been making my name known and bringing a fortune to the wrong people.

I understood…

Instead of being in college like I was, Luca worked his father’s crews, running some and second-in-command on others. At barely twenty, being the son of the head of the family, Luca had a reputation for following orders. I’d heard the rumors and seen the news. Luca was proficient at eliminating problems. Guns, knives, or his hands were all options. He’d already beaten one murder charge and had another one pending.

My cousin had willingly done what I hadn’t wanted to do—follow in his father’s footsteps.

Vincent, Luca’s father, wanted my involvement in the MMA enterprise to stop. That night he was present, ringside, to be sure it came to an end. I just wasn’t sure if he was there to watch a warning or a hit.

My father’s admonition came back to me, his anger at my pastime. His insistence that I do something else, that I have more respect for my name and where I came from. I hadn’t listened.

The moment Luca’s eyes met mine a sense of dread washed over me like I’d never before felt—especially, in the octagon. When I turned back to Vincent, I knew there was going to be a beat-down and that Luca had been sent to teach me a lesson.

I was good at fighting, the best at mixed martial arts, but death wasn’t my goal.

The hit they had planned wasn’t a clean shot from a gun.

What they had planned wouldn’t be fast and painless.