Chapter 4 - The Fighter She Tried to Bury
At 8:17 the next morning, Clara walked into St. Matthew Medical Center carrying the black duffel bag.
Her younger brother was sitting upright in bed arguing with a nurse.
“I told you I can walk.”
The nurse pointed at the monitor.
“And I told you that you’re not going anywhere.”
Evan Hayes looked toward the doorway.
“Clara.”
The nurse turned.
“Maybe you can explain basic instructions to your brother.”
Clara smiled.
“I’ve been trying for twenty-two years.”
Evan pointed toward the nurse.
“She threatened me.”
“She asked you to stay in bed.”
“Exactly.”
The nurse shook her head and left.
Clara placed the duffel on a chair.
Evan stared at it.
“What’s that?”
“Your problem disappearing.”
His smile faded.
“What did you do?”
Clara unzipped the bag.
Stacks of cash appeared.
Evan stared.
“Clara.”
“Fifty thousand.”
“Where did you get that?”
“Work.”
“You’re a waitress.”
“It was a very generous tip.”
“Clara.”
She sighed.
“I fought someone.”
Evan closed his eyes.
“No.”
“One round.”
“You promised.”
“I know.”
“You promised me.”
“I needed the money.”
“We would’ve figured it out.”
“With what? Your secret fortune?”
“I don’t want you fighting again.”
“It was three minutes.”
“That isn’t the point.”
Clara lowered her voice.
“I’m not going back.”
Evan stared at the money.
“Who paid you fifty thousand dollars for three minutes?”
She hesitated.
“Dominic Castellano.”
Evan looked up.
“The Dominic Castellano?”
“You know another one?”
“I know enough to know that’s a terrible answer.”
Clara sat beside the bed.
“It’s over.”
Evan gave her a long look.
“Whenever you say that, something explodes.”
“Nothing is exploding.”
“Philadelphia.”
Clara’s expression changed.
Evan immediately regretted saying it.
“Sorry.”
She looked toward the window.
“No. You’re right.”
Three years earlier, Clara hadn’t been serving drinks.
She had been fighting beneath warehouse lights for crowds who gambled more money in one night than she earned in a year.
They called her Red Hayes.
Not because of her hair.
Because after twelve straight victories, people started saying everyone who entered the ring with her left bleeding.
The fights were illegal.
The money was dirty.
But Clara had been good.
Too good.
And eventually, someone powerful had decided that meant she belonged to him.
Victor Rourke.
The man who controlled the Philadelphia underground circuit.
He chose opponents.
He controlled betting.
And when millions were involved, he decided winners.
Clara had accepted all of it until the Mercer fight.
That night, Victor told her to lose.
She refused.
Everything after that had destroyed her old life.
Evan watched her.
“You’re thinking about him.”
“No.”
“You always get quiet when you’re thinking about Victor.”
Clara stood.
“Forget Victor.”
“Did Castellano recognize you?”
“No.”
“Anyone else?”
“His trainer did.”
Evan’s face changed.
“What’s his name?”
“Leo Santoro.”
“Clara—”
“He won’t say anything.”
“You don’t know that.”
Before she could answer, her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Clara stared at the screen.
Evan noticed.
“Who is it?”
“No idea.”
The phone buzzed again.
A message appeared.
RED LOOKS GOOD IN BLACK.
Clara stopped breathing.
Evan saw her face.
“What?”
She locked the screen.
“Nothing.”
“Clara.”
“Stay here.”
“Where are you going?”
She grabbed the duffel.
“To make a payment.”
“Clara!”
She kissed his forehead.
“I’ll call you.”
Then she walked out.
The moment she reached the hallway, she unlocked the phone again.
A second message appeared.
THREE YEARS WAS A LONG VACATION.
Clara’s hand tightened around the phone.
There was no name.
There didn’t need to be.
Victor had found her.
Dominic entered the Cobalt Lounge just before noon.
The club was closed.
Leo was waiting in Booth Four with a laptop.
“You look terrible,” Leo said.
Dominic sat down.
“She hit me.”
“I noticed.”
Dominic touched his jaw.
“What did you find?”
Leo closed the laptop.
“You’re not going to like it.”
“That sentence has never stopped you.”
Leo leaned back.
“Clara Hayes started boxing when she was fourteen.”
Dominic listened.
“Golden Gloves?”
“For about five minutes.”
“What does that mean?”
“She was talented, but her family didn’t have money. Her father disappeared. Mother died when Clara was nineteen.”
Dominic’s expression shifted slightly.
Leo continued.
“She needed cash. A trainer introduced her to underground fights.”
“Philadelphia?”
“Mostly.”
“And she was good.”
Leo laughed once.
“Good?”
He opened the laptop.
“Twenty-nine recorded underground fights.”
Dominic leaned closer.
“Recorded?”
“These aren’t official athletic commission records. It’s information from people who worked the circuit.”
“Record?”
“Twenty-seven wins.”
Dominic looked at him.
“Two losses?”
“One.”
“That’s twenty-eight.”
Leo paused.
“The last fight was never completed.”
Dominic sat back.
“Mercer.”
Leo nodded.
“The fight I mentioned last night.”
“What happened?”
“Clara was supposed to lose.”
Dominic’s eyes hardened.
“Fixed?”
“Apparently Victor Rourke had almost two million dollars riding on the opponent.”
Dominic knew the name immediately.
“Rourke.”
“Yes.”
“Philadelphia Rourke?”
“The same.”
Dominic’s tone became colder.
Victor Rourke controlled gambling, protection rackets, and a network of illegal fight venues stretching across Pennsylvania and New Jersey.
He and Dominic had never been friends.
They had simply avoided giving each other a reason for war.
Leo continued.
“Clara refused to take the fall.”
“What did she do?”
“She knocked Mercer out.”
Dominic smiled despite himself.
“Of course she did.”
“Victor lost a fortune.”
“And?”
“Then things get unclear.”
Leo rotated the laptop.
There was an old photograph.
A younger Clara stood inside a crude boxing ring, red gloves raised, blood running from one eyebrow.
Dominic stared at it.
She looked nothing like the invisible waitress from the Cobalt.
She looked alive.
Dangerous.
Leo continued.
“After the fight, there was a confrontation backstage. A security guy ended up hospitalized. Victor’s nephew suffered a fractured jaw.”
Dominic looked amused.
“Clara?”
“Nobody knows.”
“I know.”
Leo nodded.
“Probably.”
“And then?”
“She disappeared.”
Dominic looked at the photograph.
“For three years.”
“Yes.”
Leo closed the laptop.
“I think you should leave her alone.”
Dominic looked up.
“That’s twice you’ve told me that.”
“I’ll keep saying it until you develop common sense.”
The lounge doors suddenly opened.
Marco entered quickly.
“Boss.”
Dominic immediately read his expression.
“What?”
“We have visitors.”
“How many?”
“Three.”
“Who?”
Marco hesitated.
“Rourke’s people.”
Dominic and Leo exchanged a look.
“Already?” Leo muttered.
Dominic stood.
“Let them in.”
Three men entered.
The man in front wore a dark blue suit and no tie.
Dominic recognized him.
Patrick Sloan.
Victor Rourke’s chief lieutenant.
Sloan smiled.
“Dominic.”
“Sloan.”
“Nice club.”
“You came eleven hours before opening. I assume you aren’t thirsty.”
Sloan glanced around.
“We’re looking for somebody.”
Dominic sat back down.
“Try the police.”
Sloan smiled.
“A young woman.”
Leo remained silent.
“Dark hair. Twenty-six. Calls herself Clara Hayes.”
Dominic’s face gave away nothing.
“Should that mean something?”
“She works here.”
“Lots of people work here.”
Sloan leaned closer.
“Victor wants her returned.”
Dominic’s voice became very quiet.
“Returned?”
“She belongs to him.”
That sentence changed the room.
Marco looked toward Dominic.
Leo closed his eyes for half a second.
Sloan had chosen the worst possible words.
Dominic slowly stood.
“Nobody who works under my roof belongs to another man.”
Sloan’s smile faded.
“This isn’t your problem.”
“You walked into my club.”
Dominic moved closer.
“That made it my problem.”
“Dominic.”
“Tell Victor if he wants something from me, he can call.”
Sloan looked at him.
“We’re not asking permission.”
Dominic smiled.
“Then you misunderstood Chicago.”
The two men stared at each other.
Finally, Sloan nodded.
“Victor won’t like this.”
“I lose sleep every night worrying about Victor’s feelings.”
Sloan turned toward the door.
Then stopped.
“One more thing.”
Dominic waited.
“She isn’t what you think.”
“I don’t remember telling you what I think.”
Sloan smiled.
“That girl brings trouble everywhere she goes.”
Dominic looked at him coldly.
“I’ve always preferred interesting employees.”
Sloan left.
The doors closed.
Leo immediately stood.
“You realize what you just did?”
“Yes.”
“You just inserted yourself between Victor Rourke and a woman you’ve known for two days.”
Dominic looked at the door.
“A woman who knocked me down.”
“That doesn’t improve the argument.”
Marco approached.
“What now?”
Dominic pulled out his phone.
“Find Clara.”
Leo stared at him.
“She’s going to hate this.”
“I’m starting to notice that.”
Clara stepped out of the hospital parking garage forty minutes later.
She had changed cars twice.
Checked every mirror.
Walked through the hospital using two separate exits.
Old habits returned quickly.
She reached a side street.
A black SUV rolled slowly around the corner.
Clara stopped.
The rear window lowered.
Patrick Sloan smiled from inside.
“Hello, Red.”
Clara’s face went still.
“Patrick.”
“Victor misses you.”
“I don’t miss him.”
“Get in.”
“No.”
Two doors opened.
Men stepped onto the street.
Clara dropped her bag.
Patrick sighed.
“Please don’t make this difficult.”
Clara removed her jacket.
“I haven’t seen you in three years.”
She rolled her shoulders.
“You’ve forgotten me.”
One of the men laughed.
Patrick didn’t.
“No.”
He studied her stance.
“I remember exactly who you are.”
The first man moved toward Clara.
Then brakes screamed behind them.
A second vehicle stopped hard across the street.
Marco stepped out.
Another Castellano man followed.
Finally Dominic emerged from the back seat.
Clara stared at him.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”
Dominic adjusted his cuffs.
“I get that reaction more often than you’d think.”
Patrick’s expression darkened.
“This doesn’t concern you, Castellano.”
Dominic walked toward Clara.
“You said that already.”
Clara glared at him.
“What are you doing here?”
“Apparently rescuing my waitress.”
“I do not need rescuing.”
Dominic looked at the two men surrounding her.
“I know.”
“Then leave.”
“No.”
Patrick stepped forward.
“Victor wants her.”
Dominic looked at Clara.
“Do you want to go with them?”
“No.”
Dominic turned back toward Patrick.
“There’s your answer.”
Patrick laughed.
“You think this is a democracy?”
“No.”
Dominic stepped beside Clara.
“I think it’s my city.”
The tension on the street became immediate.
Hands moved toward jackets.
Clara saw it.
“Everybody stop.”
Nobody listened.
She looked at Dominic.
“If shooting starts outside a hospital, cops will be here in thirty seconds.”
Dominic nodded.
“She’s right.”
Patrick smiled.
“For once.”
Clara stared at him.
“Tell Victor I’m not coming back.”
“He wants to hear that from you.”
“Fine.”
She pulled out her phone.
“Call him.”
Patrick hesitated.
Clara raised an eyebrow.
“What happened? He doesn’t take your calls?”
Patrick’s jaw tightened.
Then he dialed.
He put the phone on speaker.
After two rings, a man answered.
“Patrick?”
Clara recognized the voice immediately.
Three years disappeared.
The warehouse.
The crowd.
The locker room.
Blood on her hands.
Victor Rourke.
Patrick spoke.
“I found her.”
Silence.
Then Victor said, “Clara.”
She stared at the phone.
“Victor.”
“I wondered how long you could hide.”
“I wasn’t hiding.”
“You changed cities. Changed jobs. Stopped fighting.”
His voice became amused.
“What would you call it?”
“Moving on.”
Victor laughed.
“You still owe me.”
“I owe you nothing.”
“You cost me two million dollars.”
“You tried to fix my fight.”
“I owned the fight.”
“You didn’t own me.”
Silence.
Then Victor’s voice changed.
“You always had a problem understanding that.”
Dominic watched Clara carefully.
Her face remained controlled, but her fists had tightened.
Victor continued.
“Come back to Philadelphia.”
“No.”
“I’m not asking.”
Dominic stepped closer to the phone.
“Then I suggest you learn.”
Victor went silent.
“Who is that?”
Dominic smiled.
“Dominic Castellano.”
A longer silence followed.
“Well.”
Victor sounded amused again.
“That explains Chicago.”
Dominic’s smile disappeared.
“Your men are leaving.”
“Clara is mine.”
Dominic looked at her.
Clara’s expression became furious.
Dominic answered Victor.
“That seems to be a popular misunderstanding.”
Victor laughed.
“You have no idea what you’re protecting.”
Dominic looked directly at Clara.
“No.”
Then he looked toward Patrick.
“But I’m becoming curious.”
Victor’s voice became cold.
“Curiosity gets men killed.”
“So does entering Chicago without permission.”
The line went silent.
Finally Victor spoke.
“You want her?”
Dominic frowned.
Victor continued.
“Keep her.”
A pause.
“For now.”
The call ended.
Patrick slowly lowered the phone.
Clara stared at Dominic.
“This is exactly what I didn’t want.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I didn’t thank you.”
“I noticed.”
Patrick and his men returned to their SUV.
Before getting in, Patrick looked at Clara.
“This isn’t finished.”
Clara answered quietly.
“It should’ve been finished three years ago.”
The SUV drove away.
Dominic watched it disappear.
Then Clara punched him.
Not hard.
But directly in the chest.
Dominic looked down at the spot.
“Did you just hit me?”
“Yes.”
“Again?”
“You had me followed.”
“To find you.”
“That is the definition of following.”
“I was trying to help.”
“I didn’t ask for help.”
Dominic stepped closer.
“Rourke’s men were waiting for you.”
“And I could have handled them.”
“Maybe.”
“Definitely.”
A smile threatened to appear on Dominic’s face.
Clara pointed at him.
“Do not smile.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Internally.”
She grabbed her bag.
Dominic’s expression turned serious.
“Clara.”
She stopped.
“Victor knows where you are now.”
“I’m aware.”
“He won’t stop.”
“I’m aware of that too.”
“What are you going to do?”
She looked at him.
“Leave Chicago.”
“No.”
Clara blinked.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“You don’t decide where I live.”
“No.”
Dominic moved closer.
“But running is exactly what Rourke expects.”
Clara stared at him.
“And staying gets people hurt.”
“Then stop handling this alone.”
Her expression hardened.
“You don’t know anything about what happened.”
“Then tell me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because this is not your war.”
Dominic held her gaze.
“Rourke sent men into my city.”
He paused.
“It is now.”
Clara looked at him for several seconds.
She saw arrogance.
Danger.
Stubbornness.
But there was something new there too.
He wasn’t mocking her.
He wasn’t treating her like property.
He was offering something Clara had not allowed herself to trust in years.
An ally.
She hated how tempting that was.
“This ends badly,” she said.
Dominic smiled faintly.
“Most interesting things do.”
Clara shook her head.
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re unemployed.”
She frowned.
“What?”
Dominic gestured toward her.
“You can’t exactly go back to serving drinks while Rourke has people watching the club.”
“So you’re firing me?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Dominic looked at her bruised knuckles.
“I’m changing your job.”
Clara narrowed her eyes.
“To what?”
Dominic turned toward his car.
“Come with me.”
“That was not an answer.”
He opened the door.
“You want answers?”
Clara remained where she was.
Dominic looked back.
“Then it’s time you showed me exactly what happened in Philadelphia.”
For the first time since Victor’s voice had returned to her life, Clara felt something stronger than fear.
Anger.
She picked up her bag.
Then she followed Dominic into the car.
And neither of them realized that by nightfall, the first shot in a war between Chicago and Philadelphia would already have been fired.
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TITLE: He Thought She Was Just a Waitress—Until Three Minutes in the Ring Changed Everything
