Ghost walked through the door, meeting an uproar and an arena filled to its brim. Dressed in his usual black suit, he slid his hands into his pockets, stopping for a second. His hawk eyes searched the place. There was nothing odd. It was just another underground fight.
He began walking, squeezing through bodies as he headed to where he supposed Don Carianno would be seated.
The referee was announcing the fighters and Ghost was sure to listen. There wasn't any one of the Brotherhood fighting tonight. Why the hell had Don Carianno insisted he came down here?
The year he showed up in Sicily and joined the family was the only year he got into the ring. After winning all the fights for half a year, and leaving his victims permanently marred, Don Carianno had granted him the Capo position. It was the last time he ever participated in underground fights. Nor came in here.
Being the most dreaded Capo made him barely at home. He was mostly visiting countries, playing enforcer, establishing casinos and hotels, and guarding their shit in their stash houses. Or taking care of the authorities when they try to be tough. He was always on the roads. Don Carianno had said he shouldn't be concerned with smaller things.
So why was he invited in here, all of a sudden? Underground fights were the smallest thing on his list. Ghost was confused. It had to do with his gut feeling, warning him that something was about to go down. Something he wouldn't like.
"Hey, bro." A hand patted his shoulder. Ghost looked up, taken aback by the Asian standing in front of him.
"What's up?" Ghost shook his hand with his gloved ones. He knew the man. One of the prominent underground fighters for the Asian Mafia. It was a brief greeting and they headed their own way.
What the fuck were they doing here? Ghost let his gaze sweep around the arena again. A lot of Asian faces. English men. Motherfuckers who had the coolest money in the business. Russian made-men of the Carianno family. They never came down here except it was fucking necessary. Spanish drug dealers. High-ranked. Pakhans. Top shot callers of other Mafias. An underboss of the Asian Mafia. It was half of the most powerful crime syndicates in the world gathered here. What the fuck was going on?
Uneasiness crept up his spine and his hands fisted in his pockets. He took the small stairs to the stands where Don Carianno was.
Scar grabbed him from behind, shushing him before he could say a word. "Don't sit next to Viper. He's gonna have his eyes on you all night."
"I don't understand." Ghost was whispering, glancing at the front row. Don Carinano was seated, and then Sergio, and then an empty seat that should be his.
"You might get pissed by what's going on tonight. And Viper would wanna feast on your outrage. So don't get too close to him."
"Why would I get pissed?" The announcer declared the names of the fighters. An English fighter and the most dreaded Russian fighter. Ghost was shocked. Those two never fought until the price was something really valuable. "What the hell is going on?"
Scar was gonna say something but the whistling from behind got both their heads turning around. It was Don Carianno.
"Son. Come over." He gestured at Ghost, with a burly smile.
"Whatever happens, try to remain calm." Scar tapped his shoulder, disappearing into the crowd. Ghost had no time to question him any further.
Strutting through the bleachers, Ghost felt the echo of Scar's words in his head. What was he talking about? But then, he had already gotten to Don Carianno so he wiped off the crease of worries splattered on his face.
"Ghost, my boy." Don Carianno pulled him Into a quick hug. "I've missed you, son."
"Me too." Ghost managed a smile. His glare skimmed through Sergio's frame and back to Don Carianno's face. "What's going on?"
"Have a seat." Don Carianno pointed at the empty seat after Sergio. "I'll tell you all about it."
"I'd rather sit here." Ghost gestured at the empty chair next to Don Carianno. "If you don't mind…" he added, to make it seem like a plea.
Don Carianno hesitated slightly. "I was having a conversation with Ferguson. That's his chair."
"Ferguson is here?" Ghost was shocked. If the Carianno Mafia wanted to do a massive explosion, Ferguson was the man for the job. He was a pro in explosives and shit like that. Last he checked, Ferguson was off to a mission in Spain. How the hell is he here?
"Yes, Son. But don't worry about him. You can have his seat." Don Carianno patted the empty chair.
Ghost settled in the chair but he was restless. Impatient and intrigued, he turned to Don Carianno, repeating the same question.
"What's going on?"
"I made an offer. It was tempting and brought the better half of the Mafia world down here." Don Carianno announced smugly, staring at the two men about to start fighting in the ring.
The cage was down and the bell went off. It brought another uproar from the spectators.
"What kind of offer?" Ghost dared to ask. It had to be something fucking big to have pulled down the low-shot callers from the triad. He just spotted a few of them.
"Let me ask you again, son. And please, be fucking honest. 'Cause the real shit is about to go down." Don Carianno said, adjusting his coat.
"Sure." Ghost nodded.
"Do you wanna fuck that girl?" Don Carianno had his eyes buried on him, watching and trying to pick up his reaction.
Ghost froze. Two weeks later and he's being faced with the same question. The last time he was asked, he could boldly say no and not feel too much like a fucking liar.
But spending the last two weeks having wet dreams of her. Fantasizing about smashing her pussy and delving deeper than was humanly possible into her. Imagining her face and her body and jerking off to his thoughts. The question was impossible to answer right now. Because he couldn't lie so smoothly about it anymore.
He looked over Don Carianno's shoulder and found Sergio's eyes pinned on him. Just like Scar had warned. He was watching him to get a reaction. Don Carianno too. They both were watching him.
"Why are we discussing that bitch right now? I bet she's long dead." Ghost said, sounding as nonchalant as he could. It was another way to find out if she was really dead too.
"No, son. She's not dead." Don Carianno chuckled. "Not yet."
Ghost was lowkey ecstatic and he wasn't sure why. It wasn't supposed to matter if she was fucking dead or not. But his heart seemed to have a mind of its own, getting giddy over the news.
"Where is she?" He asked again, gulping down the strain in his voice. Sergio was watching him. He wouldn't wanna give himself away.
"Over there." Don Carianno gestured with his head.
Ghost followed his gesture, scanning the crowded arena until he was staring at a frame, at the farther end of the arena, tied to a pillar and clad in just panties and a bra. She was gagged too. Her shiny skin was covered in dirt. Bruises. Gashes. Fuck him, but she was a miserable mess. But at least, she was alive.
"You asked why these people are here?" Don Carianno began quietly, taking out his vape from his pocket. "They're here for her."
"I don't understand…" Ghost still had his eyes on her. He couldn't look away. Even though he should. Sergio was still watching him.
"She's the offer. The winner goes home with her."
"What?!"