Silva

As I dragged in a breath from my cigarette, I tried not to overthink what I was about to do.

I focused on the nicotine buzzing through my veins, causing the tips of my fingers to tingle. My chest rose, filled with the fumes that lingered around the basement of Fenton University's student centre. The wisps of smoke danced around the half naked woman serving a bottle of whiskey to the next table over from where I was sitting.

Smoke was the very thing that killed my parents, yet here I was, taking a drag from my seventh cigarette of the day. If only my mother could see me now. She'd be having heart palpitations, warning me of what it would do to my body.

It's okay, I thought with a sadistic smirk. I wouldn't be around long enough for it to kill me anyways.

I exhaled, dropping the butt to the concrete floor before grinding it out with the heel of my boot. At this rate, I was going to have enough time to light another one. And maybe another bump.

Maybe two.

A crunch came from the caged fighting ring in the middle of the room. I dragged my gaze up, the heavy lights spotlighting the two men who were pummeling the absolute shit out of each other. The fight itself was taking a lot longer than any of us realized, and the act was beginning to get old. The electricity of the crowd simmered down about three rounds ago. The two rookies were putting on a half decent show, I'd give them that. But they weren't what these people showed up for.

I leaned back in my seat. The chair I was sitting on creaked under the pressure.

"Silva. You nervous for tonight?"

Vince's voice carried over the sound of skin meeting skin.

I turned my head to look at him, the edges of my vision blurring thanks to the combination of vodka and blow. He was sitting at the other end of the table, his still smoking cigar in an ashtray as he fiddled with a little pouch. His dark umber hair was slicked back with enough grease to fry an egg. His irises were just as dark.

My eyebrow rose at the question. What did he fucking care?

"Not even a little bit."

Vince's mouth quirked up in a venomous grin. The shadow of facial hair across his jaw made him appear that much more wicked. "I didn't think so."

The conversation fell flat when his focus returned to fixing the line of white powder in front of him with a blacked out credit card. Against the black stained wood table, the line of cocaine stood out like a nun at a brothel. Maybe that was the reasoning behind the all black furniture in the underground fight club. It would be a waste to miss a single granular.

Though Vince could surely afford all the cocaine he could even dream of using in his lifetime.

Vince Romano was a blessing for some. A nightmare to most. The underground fight club beneath Fenton university, known as the Pit, was his baby—the little bit of the pie his father, Lorenzo, allowed him to have. I'm sure it was all he trusted his fuckwitt of a son with. If I were the geezer, I would have done the same thing. Vince was a hothead. An unfiltered goon that burnt bridges faster than he could build them. The problem with that? It lead to a lot of rash decisions; kindling for fuck ups.

There's no room for error. Not when you're the successor to the largest crime syndicate in New York city.

I ran my fingers through my short blonde hair, praying that one of the fuckers in the ring would just K.O. already.

"Can I top you up?" The sugar in her voice had my gaze straying from the fight again.

The bottle girl slid her way into my lap, the weight of her causing the blood to rush south almost instantly. The perky pair of tits were the first thing I noticed. It wasn't my fault. They were pushed up so high I was sure I could balance my glass on them.

That got my attention.

The sultry smile she was wearing grew once she realized she had my undivided attention. "Like what you see?" she cooed, brushing her bottle blonde hair behind her shoulder and gifting me with a better view.

She must have been new around here. A fresh face like hers meant one of two things; she had major daddy issues, or she hadn't yet had to deal with too many of the Pit's regulars.

"Last one, sweetheart," I said to her as she began to pour a stream of amber liquid into my cup. "Gotta be in the ring next."

She cocked her head to the side, running her tongue across her plump bottom lip. "Well that's no fun. Guess I'll have to fill you up again afterwards?"

I scanned the length of her bare legs, appreciating how the low-rise skirt hugged her slender hips. "How about I fill you up?"

She giggled, sliding off my lap, but not before grazing my thigh with her talons.

"Quit thinking with your cock," Vince said, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "I need you to focus on killing Pierce in the ring tonight."

I heaved out a sigh, dragging a lighter out from my jean pocket. The metal lid flicked open with a click as I pulled another cigarette from the box that I had left half-hazardly on the table.

"It will get done," I said. "Don't worry about it."

"That's what you said last time."

My jaw ticked. I fucking hated looking weak. And that's what I felt every time I was in the ring with Lincoln Pierce. The guy was a boxing prodigy who fought for Fenton. Anyone who knew anything about the guy knew he was probably going to end up going pro. Hell, his scumbag of a father was probably salivating at the thought.

In a fair fight, I didn't stand a chance. But there was one major difference between Pierce and I.

I didn't mind playing dirty.

"A win against Pierce would put you in good standing with the family," Vince reminded me for the millionth time since I had started fighting for him in the Pit.

It fucking better.

I'd been doing grunt work for Vince since I was fourteen and still in high school. We met at a house party. Jesse Jones, my high school acquaintance turned housemate, had introduced us. His brother, Darian had been working for Vince for a few years at that point, doing the odd job to make some extra cash.

To two teenage boys, the few hundred dollars that Darian brought home every night seemed pretty intriguing.

Ever since that night, I'd been slinging dope and fighting at the Pit. On occasion, he'd call me in to rough someone up or pick up what was owed to him by some people around the city. It didn't come without its woes, but I'd be lying if I said I worked hard for the money I made.

But I wanted more.

Being higher up in the organization had its benefits; things like protection, power and respect. But above all else, the financial opportunities were endless. The first time Vince had brought me down to the Pit, he had told me that if I played my cards right, I could end up with my own lucrative branch of the Romano family.

"Did you get a new shipment in?" I asked as the bottle blonde that had been making goggly eyes at me early slipped into his lap. She placed the bottle she had been lugging around down on the table, her lips meeting the shell of his ear.

Vince paid her no mind as he scrolled through his phone with his free hand. "Tomorrow. Tell Jones as well. I brought in a bigger shipment. Midterms are picking back up. You should have no problem selling double what you normally do."

I puffed out another cloud of smoke. "Shouldn't be a problem. A couple of my regulars were practically foaming at the mouth for another day when I told them I'd run out. I had Jones come out and empty out the rest of his stash."

"You secured yourself a good little spot," Vince mused.

Having a monopoly of the Fenton campus proved to have its benefits when it came to pushing drugs. Especially when my main product was study buddies—an addictive stimulant that allowed college students to stay up all night studying and cramming for exams. Midterms was my most popular time of the year.

And no one in or outside of the Romano family dared take a slice of my pie.

The crowd that lingered around the ring exploded into a roar of cheers. That was my cue.

Vince had his head buried in the crook of the blonde's neck when I stamped my half-smoked cigarette out in the ash tray.

"Hey," I called out, throat dry. "Mind if I get another bump?"

Vince grinned at me, and without another word, tossed a small plastic pouch of white powder across the table.

author's note:

Hello!

I'm back with a new story! The good boys on the Fenton Falcons have been fun and all, but I missed writing a bad boy. And man, will Silva be everything and more. 

Fair warning, you might not like Silva very much at first. He will be a morally grey character, and he'll make some pretty fucked up decisions, but he will grow and hopefully, you'll warm up to him and see why he is the way he is.

I'll be trying to posted once a week (every Friday), while I work on edits for the next book I'm preparing to publish. Read ahead over on Ream.

Happy reading!