Chapter 2 - Midnight Challenge
At 11:32 the following night, Dominic drove another right hand into Leo Santoro’s focus mitt.
SMACK.
“Again.”
Leo raised the mitt.
Dominic hit it harder.
SMACK.
“Again.”
Leo lowered his hands.
“No.”
Dominic frowned.
“What?”
“I said no.”
Leo removed one mitt and flexed his fingers.
“I’m fifty-two years old. I’d like to keep using these hands.”
Dominic grabbed a towel.
“You’re getting soft.”
“I was ranked eighth in the country when you were still getting kicked out of Catholic school.”
Dominic smiled.
“Seventh.”
“Eight.”
“You tell everyone seventh.”
“I tell women seventh.”
Dominic laughed and wiped the sweat from his face.
The private gym occupied the entire basement level of one of his Gold Coast properties.
Heavy bags lined one wall.
Free weights covered another.
In the center stood a regulation boxing ring under bright overhead lights.
Marco and three other Castellano men waited near the entrance.
A black duffel bag rested on a bench.
Inside it was fifty thousand dollars.
Leo glanced toward the clock.
11:34.
“She isn’t coming.”
Dominic wrapped his hands again.
“She’ll come.”
“You sound certain.”
“I saw her eyes.”
Leo shrugged.
“You saw a waitress.”
“I felt a wrist lock.”
“That doesn’t make her a fighter.”
Dominic stepped into the ring.
“It wasn’t a self-defense move.”
Leo looked at him.
“No?”
“She controlled the joint without damaging it.”
Dominic demonstrated the position.
“She had me.”
Leo’s expression changed slightly.
“And then?”
“She let go.”
“Interesting.”
Dominic put on his gloves.
Leo climbed through the ropes.
“Let’s assume she has training.”
Dominic raised his guard.
Leo tapped his gloves.
“You still have eighty pounds on her.”
“Ninety.”
“That makes this stupid, not impressive.”
Dominic threw a jab.
Leo blocked it.
“You challenged a woman half your size because she embarrassed you.”
Dominic threw another.
“You’re starting to irritate me.”
“That’s why you pay me.”
“I pay you to train me.”
“No. You pay me because everyone else tells you what you want to hear.”
Dominic stopped.
Leo grinned.
“See?”
Dominic shook his head.
“She lasts three minutes, she gets fifty grand.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“She gets nothing.”
Leo stared at him.
“You’re going to hit her?”
“If she enters the ring, yes.”
“Dominic.”
“She accepted.”
Leo’s expression hardened.
“You break her ribs, I’m walking.”
Dominic laughed.
“You’ve watched me break men’s ribs.”
“Men who deserved it.”
Dominic leaned against the ropes.
“She put me in a wrist lock in my own club.”
Leo stared at him.
“That might be the weakest justification for violence I’ve ever heard, and I trained professional fighters for thirty years.”
Before Dominic could answer, the elevator sounded.
DING.
Everyone turned.
The steel doors opened.
Clara stepped out.
Silence followed.
Dominic slowly straightened.
This was not the woman who had served bourbon the previous night.
Clara wore black boxing shorts, worn training shoes, and a gray athletic top beneath a zip-up jacket.
Her hair was braided tightly against her scalp.
A faded gym bag hung from her shoulder.
She walked toward the ring without hesitation.
Marco looked at Dominic.
“Okay.”
Dominic didn’t respond.
Marco continued.
“She looks different.”
“She changed clothes, genius.”
“No.”
Marco studied her.
“Different.”
Clara placed her bag on the bench.
Her eyes landed on the black duffel.
“That it?”
Dominic nodded.
“Fifty thousand.”
“Cash?”
“Yes.”
“I count it first.”
One of Dominic’s men laughed.
Clara looked at him.
He stopped.
Dominic smiled.
“I like you more tonight.”
“The feeling isn’t mutual.”
She opened the bag.
Stacks of bills.
Clara checked several bundles.
Dominic watched her.
“You don’t trust me?”
“I don’t know you.”
“Everyone in Chicago knows me.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
Leo walked closer.
“I’m Leo.”
Clara glanced at him.
“Trainer?”
Leo nodded.
“You?”
“Waitress.”
Leo looked at her hands.
“No.”
Clara said nothing.
Leo pointed toward her bag.
“What gym?”
“None anymore.”
“How many fights?”
Clara zipped the money bag closed.
“I came for three minutes, not an interview.”
Leo exchanged a glance with Dominic.
Then Clara removed her jacket.
Dominic noticed the scars.
A thin line near her left shoulder.
Another along her ribs.
Not ordinary injuries.
Clara took out a worn roll of red hand wraps.
She began wrapping her hands.
Across the knuckles.
Around the wrist.
Between the fingers.
Fast.
Exact.
Automatic.
Leo stopped smiling.
Dominic noticed.
“What?”
Leo didn’t answer.
Clara finished her right hand and started the left.
Leo stepped closer.
“Who taught you to wrap like that?”
Clara kept working.
“My coach.”
“Name?”
“No.”
Leo studied the angle of her wrists.
“You fought amateur?”
Clara tightened the wrap.
“No.”
Leo’s eyebrows rose.
Dominic looked between them.
“What am I missing?”
Leo turned toward him.
“She’s done this before.”
Dominic smiled.
“I know.”
“No.”
Leo lowered his voice.
“I mean really done it.”
Clara pulled on her gloves.
Dominic climbed through the ropes.
“Good.”
Leo grabbed his arm.
“Don’t be stupid.”
Dominic pulled free.
“That warning is getting repetitive.”
Leo turned to Clara.
“How much do you weigh?”
“One-thirty-four.”
Dominic laughed.
“Two-twenty-one.”
Clara climbed into the ring.
“That supposed to scare me?”
Dominic walked toward the center.
“It should.”
Clara rolled her shoulders.
“I’ve fought bigger.”
Leo looked sharply at her.
Dominic heard it too.
“Where?”
Clara adjusted her gloves.
“I thought we weren’t doing interviews.”
Dominic moved closer.
“One round.”
“Three minutes.”
“If you leave the ring before the bell, you lose.”
“Fine.”
“If you say stop, you lose.”
“Fine.”
“If Leo stops it?”
Clara looked toward Leo.
“He won’t.”
Leo laughed once.
“You’re confident.”
Clara stared directly at Dominic.
“No.”
She raised her gloves.
“I’m prepared.”
Dominic’s smile faded.
Leo climbed into the ring and stood between them.
“This is sparring.”
Dominic said nothing.
Leo pointed at him.
“I’m talking to you.”
“I heard you.”
“No elbows. No knees. No hitting behind the head.”
He looked at Clara.
“You understand?”
“Yes.”
“Protect yourselves at all times.”
Dominic refused headgear.
Clara noticed.
“You should wear it.”
Several men laughed.
Dominic stepped toward her.
“Concerned about me?”
“No.”
Clara tightened the Velcro on her glove.
“I don’t want you making excuses.”
Marco’s laugh disappeared into a cough.
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
Leo looked at the clock.
11:59.
“One last chance.”
Dominic raised his gloves.
Clara did the same.
The contrast was almost absurd.
Dominic looked enormous.
Clara looked small enough to disappear behind his shoulders.
Leo stood between them.
“Touch gloves.”
Dominic extended one.
Clara touched it.
He leaned forward.
“You can still leave.”
Clara whispered back.
“So can you.”
Leo separated them.
“Corners.”
They moved away.
Dominic bounced lightly on his feet.
Clara stood almost completely still.
Her breathing slowed.
Everything outside the ropes disappeared.
For a moment, she was twenty-one again.
A warehouse in Philadelphia.
Hundreds of people screaming.
Blood on the canvas.
Her coach yelling from the corner.
Move, Clara!
She blinked.
Chicago returned.
Leo raised his hand.
“Three minutes.”
Dominic smiled.
“I’ll only need one.”
Clara’s eyes went cold.
The bell rang.
DING.
Dominic immediately advanced.
No testing jab.
No patience.
He wanted to dominate her before everyone watching could question him.
He threw a hard left toward her guard.
Clara slipped outside it.
Dominic followed with a right.
She moved again.
The punch cut through empty air.
Marco frowned.
Dominic reset.
Clara hadn’t thrown anything.
He smiled.
“Running?”
“Watching.”
He stepped in again.
Jab.
Cross.
Left hook.
Clara slipped the jab, rolled beneath the cross, and stepped outside the hook.
Three punches.
Three misses.
Leo’s expression changed.
Dominic saw it.
That annoyed him more than Clara.
He attacked again.
Clara blocked a jab.
Dominic drove a right toward her body.
She pivoted.
His glove barely touched her ribs.
“Fight back,” he snapped.
Clara circled.
“You sure?”
Dominic lunged.
That was his mistake.
Clara’s left hand fired.
POP.
A jab struck Dominic directly in the nose.
His head snapped backward.
Silence.
Clara stepped away immediately.
Dominic touched his nose.
No blood.
But the message had been delivered.
Marco’s mouth fell open.
Leo whispered, “Oh, hell.”
Dominic looked at Clara.
She raised her guard again.
“Still think I’m running?”
He charged.
This time the punches came faster.
Dominic landed a glancing hook against her shoulder.
Clara absorbed it and moved.
He cut off the ring.
She changed direction.
He tried trapping her against the ropes.
She slipped out.
Forty seconds had passed.
Dominic finally understood.
She wasn’t trying to survive him.
She was studying him.
“You’ve boxed.”
Clara said nothing.
Dominic jabbed.
She parried.
“How many fights?”
Another jab.
Another parry.
“Who trained you?”
Clara slipped his right.
“Focus.”
Dominic threw a hook.
Clara ducked beneath it.
Then she hit him.
Left to the body.
Right to the ribs.
Left hook upstairs.
Three punches landed before Dominic could reset.
He stepped backward.
Leo stared.
Those weren’t the combinations of a hobbyist.
Those were professional combinations.
Dominic’s pride flared.
He came forward with power.
Clara’s expression changed.
She had been waiting for exactly that.
Dominic threw the right hand.
Clara slipped outside.
Her left foot stepped forward.
Her hips rotated.
CRACK.
A short right hand landed directly on Dominic’s jaw.
His balance disappeared.
His legs crossed.
For one impossible second, Dominic Castellano tried to recover.
Then his glove touched the canvas.
The gym became completely silent.
Leo stared at him.
Marco stared at him.
Every man in the room stared.
Dominic looked down at his glove.
Then slowly raised his eyes toward Clara.
She stood three feet away.
Calm.
Balanced.
Waiting.
Leo looked at the clock.
Only one minute and twelve seconds had passed.
Dominic rose.
His face had changed.
The arrogance was gone.
In its place was something Clara hadn’t expected.
Respect.
And anger.
Real anger.
Leo stepped between them.
“You good?”
Dominic never took his eyes off Clara.
“Move.”
Leo hesitated.
“Dominic—”
“I said move.”
Leo backed away.
Dominic lifted his gloves.
Clara did the same.
He smiled, but this time there was nothing mocking about it.
“Who the hell are you?”
Clara stared at him across the ring.
“You wanted three minutes.”
She stepped forward.
May you like
“You’ve still got one forty-eight.”
And for the first time that night, Dominic Castellano realized the waitress might not be the one who needed to survive the round.
