Chapter 7

The lion let out a pained roar, lost control mid-air, and crashed to the ground, skidding across the dirt. It convulsed violently but still fought to get up, front legs unsteady, eyes wilder than before.

It dragged its broken body forward and lunged again, pure savage fury driving it on.

Mike took a slow breath and stepped into it, muttering under his breath, "Tough bastard. Let's see how long you last against this one."

Man and beast collided in the middle of the arena. Mike twisted to dodge the snapping jaws, looped his left arm around the lion's neck, drove his right arm up under its jaw, locked both hands together, and squeezed — a chokehold, clean and tight.

The bones in the lion's neck groaned under the pressure.

Claws raked deep, bloody lines across his arms and back. Mike didn't flinch. He just squeezed harder.

The lion thrashed wildly. Mike's feet carved furrows into the sand, but his grip never broke.

Twenty seconds later, the struggling slowed. A last hoarse roar rattled from the lion's throat, and its eyes rolled back.

Crack.

The spine snapped. The massive body dropped like a stone, kicking up a cloud of dust.

The entire arena went dead silent.

The guards up in the stands looked like they'd seen a ghost. They forgot to breathe.

Their hands trembled around their guns.

Was this even something a human being could do? Killing an adult male African lion with bare hands?

Lucas collapsed back into his seat, face drained white as paper. Cold sweat soaked through his clothes. His mind was blank.

It's over.

That was the only thought left in his head.

The blood-soaked man standing down there wasn't his brother. He was something that had crawled up out of hell.

His clever little plan — the one that was supposed to take care of two problems at once — had turned into a complete joke.

Mike slowly unclenched his hands and stood up from the lion's body.

His dark shirt had been shredded. Blood dripped from his arms onto the sand, and it was impossible to tell how much was the lion's and how much was his own.

He turned, lifted his head, and fixed his gaze across the hundred feet of open air toward Isabella in the stands. His voice was flat. "Well? Satisfied?"

Isabella stood at the edge of the stands, her fingers tight around her riding crop, knuckles going pale.

She stared at the man below her, standing in the blood like some kind of war god. For the first time, the arrogance in her gray-green eyes was gone — replaced by something she couldn't quite name, a raw, shaken awe edged with something close to obsession.

The smell of blood hung heavy in the arena.

Isabella couldn't look away. Her breath came faster.

She'd seen plenty of mafia men who thought they were tough. Put them in front of a real predator, and they'd be screaming pieces on the ground. But Mike had just strangled a full-grown male lion to death with nothing but his hands.

This wasn't a man. This was a beast wearing a man's skin.

"Good." Isabella's voice had a slight tremor in it — not fear, but the kind of shiver that comes from being wound up too tight. "Very good."

She tossed the riding crop to a nearby guard without looking and clicked down the stands in her boots.

She stopped at the iron gate and looked at Mike through the bars. His expensive shirt was in rags. His muscles were striped with bloody cuts. But his eyes were still cold, completely empty of warmth.

"The Costa family's been hiding something like you." All the contempt was gone from her voice now, replaced by naked hunger. "Mike, you've proven yourself. From this moment on, you are the only man I, Isabella, have ever chosen."

Up in the stands, Lucas's legs buckled. He nearly slid off his chair.

The trap he'd so carefully built to destroy Mike had just become the platform Mike used to establish himself with the Brown family.

Word reached the main house fast.

Vincent Brown, the patriarch of the Brown family, received Mike personally in his study. He was pushing seventy and sat in a wheelchair, but his eyes were as sharp as a hawk's. He looked at the rough bandaging on Mike's wounds and burst out laughing.

"Lucas, you've got one hell of a brother!" He slapped the armrest of his chair. "All those old fossils back in New York keep saying the Costa family is finished. I say that's complete bullshit. You killed my lion — the one I'd been starving for three days — with your bare hands. Mike, you're even more ruthless than your dead father."

Mike stood easy, neither humble nor arrogant. "Mr. Brown, I came to Chicago for the future of both our families."

"Ha! Straight to the point — I like it!" Vincent's eyes lit up with genuine appreciation. "Isabella has never given any of Chicago's rich boys a second look. If she's made up her mind about you, then I'm giving this marriage my blessing. Once you two are wed, every smuggling route from Chicago to New York opens up to the Costa family — all of it."

Lucas stood to one side, forcing a smile through twitching lips, fingernails digging into his palm.

He knew. He'd completely destroyed himself.

News traveled fast through Chicago's underworld.

In less than half a day, word that "New York's Mike Costa killed a lion bare-handed and won Isabella's favor" had landed on the desk of every major family boss in the city.

Across town, at the Harris family estate —

Smash.

A crystal glass worth a small fortune exploded against the wall.

Matteo Harris stood there, face dark, chest heaving. As the Harris family's heir, he had been pursuing Isabella for three years.

Everyone in Chicago knew he considered her his woman.

Anyone who got too close got dumped in Lake Michigan.

And now some nobody from New York — a guy who should have been dead five years ago — had cut right in front of him.

"Mr. Harris, please calm down." One of his lieutenants kept his head low, choosing his words carefully. "This Mike took down a lion with his bare hands. He's no ordinary man. And Vincent has already spoken. Moving against him right now could bring the Brown family down on us—"

"Shut up." Matteo yanked the gold-plated pistol from his waist and pressed it against the man's forehead, eyes cold and vicious. "This is Chicago. This is the Harris family territory. Some outsider trash thinks he can take a woman I want?"

His jaw was tight, murder flickering in his eyes.

In the mafia world, pride matters more than your life.

If he let this go, the Harris family would never be able to hold their heads up in Chicago again.

"Isabella likes strong men, doesn't she?" Matteo sneered, lowering the gun. "And they haven't officially announced an engagement yet, have they? Go. Get me every elite hitter we have. I want to see how a dead man competes with me for a woman."

"Yes, Mr. Harris." The lieutenant took the order and slipped out quickly.