Brawler's Baby: An MMA Mob Romance (Mob City Book 1) by Holly Hart Page B
Authors: Holly Hart
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son.
"But I need to punish you, you understand that – don't you?" He continued. It was a technique, like everything with my father and his constant need to control and shape every aspect of the lives of those around him.
"Yes –," I stumbled as I signed my own warrant. I didn't have another choice. "Yes, father."
He smiled – a thin-lipped, vulpine smirk of victory. He'd won. He always did. "And I need to toughen you up. You know that too, don't you?"
"Do –, do you?" I stumbled.
"I need you to raise me a fighter, a warrior. And if you can't – I'll find someone who will."
"No, father, please! You can't take Eamon away from me. He's all I have."
My father shot me with an affronted glare. "You have the family, Maya."
I knew what he meant. He didn't mean himself – he couldn't have cared less that we were related by blood, other than for the fact that it meant he had a legitimate successor. No, he meant the family : his soldiers, and his brothers – the gangsters, all cogs in a criminal empire that spanned the entire city of Alexandria, and had tendrils that extended much further.
I lowered my head, cowed. "Yes, father."
"And besides, it's not your place to tell me what I can and cannot do…" He said, leaving the comment trailing in the air. It hung heavy between us, and I realized that I was walking a very fine line.
I nodded.
"No – he will head the family one day, and I can't have him weak like you. But then," he said, stroking his chin, "if I take you from him, will he resent me?"
I've never seen him like this. He’s letting me see how he controls, how he manipulates. What does that mean?
He doesn’t see me as a threat. I’m nothing to him.
"Dad, he's four! He's not a gangster, he's just a child. He's only just learned to tie his own laces."
My father shot me and irritated glare. "Don't be ridiculous, Maya – I'm not going to put a gun in his hand. Not yet, anyway. You're just like your mother." He said it without feeling – as though he could simply ignore the emotional baggage a comment like that carried with it. I couldn't. Wouldn't even if I could.
"I've had twenty years to mold you into something more than you are – and I failed. Perhaps I need to start earlier with the boy."
"Eamon," I corrected automatically.
"Eamon," he mocked. "What kind of name is that for a man, anyway?"
It's Irish , I wanted to scream. I knew I never could. I'd said I didn't know who the father was, but that had been a lie. The truth was, I wasn't the slut my father thought I was – I'd only ever given myself to one man. Conor.
"So here's how this is going to go." He continued, without waiting for an answer. "You're going to deal with this Irish fighter. You're going to spend every waking minute with him, if that's what it takes, but you're going to get him into tiptop shape. The next fight's in one month, and I'm going to put him in the octagon with a fighter he could beat in his sleep. And he's going to throw it."
"Why me?" I gasped.
"Because," he grinned. "Once he's made me my money, I'll have Sergei drive him to the outskirts of town and put a bullet in the back of his head. If you'd just kept your mouth shut in that room I'd have let him live. Hell, I'd have thrown him a hundred thousand bucks just to keep his lips sealed. But this works, too."
"I don't get it!" I croaked.
He leaned in so his face was pushed up against mine, the pungent aroma of his breath assaulting me. "I want you to live with your mistake, Maya. I want you to see what it means to have killed someone. I can't have Eamon growing up soft."
"Yes, father."
I turned to leave, my skin already crawling from having to spend so long in my father's presence. I despised him, and everything he stood for. I despised the fact that he corrupted everything he touched, and I despised that he still thought he could corrupt me as well.
"And Maya?"
I looked back to see my father's prideful, smirking face staring back at me.
"If you try to warn
"But I need to punish you, you understand that – don't you?" He continued. It was a technique, like everything with my father and his constant need to control and shape every aspect of the lives of those around him.
"Yes –," I stumbled as I signed my own warrant. I didn't have another choice. "Yes, father."
He smiled – a thin-lipped, vulpine smirk of victory. He'd won. He always did. "And I need to toughen you up. You know that too, don't you?"
"Do –, do you?" I stumbled.
"I need you to raise me a fighter, a warrior. And if you can't – I'll find someone who will."
"No, father, please! You can't take Eamon away from me. He's all I have."
My father shot me with an affronted glare. "You have the family, Maya."
I knew what he meant. He didn't mean himself – he couldn't have cared less that we were related by blood, other than for the fact that it meant he had a legitimate successor. No, he meant the family : his soldiers, and his brothers – the gangsters, all cogs in a criminal empire that spanned the entire city of Alexandria, and had tendrils that extended much further.
I lowered my head, cowed. "Yes, father."
"And besides, it's not your place to tell me what I can and cannot do…" He said, leaving the comment trailing in the air. It hung heavy between us, and I realized that I was walking a very fine line.
I nodded.
"No – he will head the family one day, and I can't have him weak like you. But then," he said, stroking his chin, "if I take you from him, will he resent me?"
I've never seen him like this. He’s letting me see how he controls, how he manipulates. What does that mean?
He doesn’t see me as a threat. I’m nothing to him.
"Dad, he's four! He's not a gangster, he's just a child. He's only just learned to tie his own laces."
My father shot me and irritated glare. "Don't be ridiculous, Maya – I'm not going to put a gun in his hand. Not yet, anyway. You're just like your mother." He said it without feeling – as though he could simply ignore the emotional baggage a comment like that carried with it. I couldn't. Wouldn't even if I could.
"I've had twenty years to mold you into something more than you are – and I failed. Perhaps I need to start earlier with the boy."
"Eamon," I corrected automatically.
"Eamon," he mocked. "What kind of name is that for a man, anyway?"
It's Irish , I wanted to scream. I knew I never could. I'd said I didn't know who the father was, but that had been a lie. The truth was, I wasn't the slut my father thought I was – I'd only ever given myself to one man. Conor.
"So here's how this is going to go." He continued, without waiting for an answer. "You're going to deal with this Irish fighter. You're going to spend every waking minute with him, if that's what it takes, but you're going to get him into tiptop shape. The next fight's in one month, and I'm going to put him in the octagon with a fighter he could beat in his sleep. And he's going to throw it."
"Why me?" I gasped.
"Because," he grinned. "Once he's made me my money, I'll have Sergei drive him to the outskirts of town and put a bullet in the back of his head. If you'd just kept your mouth shut in that room I'd have let him live. Hell, I'd have thrown him a hundred thousand bucks just to keep his lips sealed. But this works, too."
"I don't get it!" I croaked.
He leaned in so his face was pushed up against mine, the pungent aroma of his breath assaulting me. "I want you to live with your mistake, Maya. I want you to see what it means to have killed someone. I can't have Eamon growing up soft."
"Yes, father."
I turned to leave, my skin already crawling from having to spend so long in my father's presence. I despised him, and everything he stood for. I despised the fact that he corrupted everything he touched, and I despised that he still thought he could corrupt me as well.
"And Maya?"
I looked back to see my father's prideful, smirking face staring back at me.
"If you try to warn
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