? One Strike Held ?
On the other hand, Alex was still dealing with the storm in front of him.
Mira’s eyes narrowed, studying Alex intently as she wiped sweat from her brow.
"Your guard opened wide earlier… what are you going to do now?"
But he hadn’t moved.
Still turtled up, arms wrapped tight around his face.
Still hiding.
She remembered—her last right had slipped through that defense.
And still… not a single punch was thrown from him.
Nothing but clumsy tackles.
A flicker of frustration crossed her face.
Guess I gave him too much credit. All he’s got is a strong body.
With fresh heat in her step, Mira charged again.
Alex braced—tight guard, still shell-like—but this time, just a sliver of space left open. Enough to see.
Mira unleashed a series of sharp combinations.
Snaps to his open body.
Then she planted—feet firm, hips coiled—
And launched a full right aiming at his forearms guarding his face.
"Now!"
Alex saw it.
In that split-second, he moved.
His guard dropped just enough—
He thrust upward, tight and fast—
A clean uppercut shot from beneath.
Perfect timing.
He reached her first.
Mira’s eyes widened. A flash of shock.
But then—
Alex pulled it.
Mid-swing, his fist slowed—
He held back.
Her right landed clean, snapping his head sideways.
He stumbled.
For a brief moment, time seemed to hold its breath as their fists crossed—one landing hard, the other retracted.
Mira’s expression was a mix of surprise and something deeper—respect? Bewilderment?
Neither of them moved.
The fight held in balance, silent except for the pounding of their hearts.
Tonno breathed, worry etched deep in his voice.
“Mira!” Pinch called out, his concern evident.
Lino shook his head slowly, disbelief coloring his tone. “After getting mauled the whole fight… he still won’t hit her?”
Before anyone could respond, Alex’s head turned sharply to the side—not even looking at Mira. His eyes, heavy with exhaustion from the relentless beating, caught sight of something fast.
Zack.
Charging at him with a flying kick aimed straight for his face.
Alex barely managed to raise his arms in time to block, but Zack put his entire weight behind it, the force driving the caught off guard Alex backward... who was still recovering from Mira's strike that landed clean.
He crashed to the ground with a heavy thud.
Zack landed beside him, his expression deadly serious—no smile, no grin. “Don’t touch her,” his voice low and final.
Alex got back on his feet, steadying himself. The polite boy who had weathered every blow was changing. He’d been attacked or hurt by all of them—
Lino when he threw dirt in his face yesterday.
Tonno who wrestled him just before.
Mira who hadn’t let up during the fight.
Zack now.
And above all, the small Pinch who had stolen his precious birthday gift.
The peaceful look was gone. Genuine anger flared in Alex’s eyes.
Zack caught it immediately, a grin spreading across his face, hungry for the final round. The maniac face is back. But then Alex saw something else.
Dante was down on one knee, breathing hard, one eye swelling shut, knuckles bloodied.
“Get back here... we’re not finished…” Dante managed, but his voice betrayed his exhaustion.
“Dante!” Alex shouted, pushing past Mira and Zack without hesitation, rushing to check on his friend.
Mira’s fury deepened.
She called out, frustrated, “You pulled your punch! You could’ve hit me—why didn’t you?!”
Alex’s emotions broke free in a louder, rougher voice:
“Give me back my parents’ lucky charm — then HIT ME ALL YOU WANT !”
Mira flinched at the word 'parents'.
For a moment, silence fell.
She realized: she hadn’t even thought about why Lino, Tonno, and Pinch had clashed with Dante and Alex.
All she wanted was the fight. But this boy—who still wouldn’t hurt her after she’d messed up his face, who wasn’t angry at the punches but furious over something lost—had finally spoken.
Zack tilted his head.
“Lucky charm, huh? No wonder you’re stuck fighting me now—guess it was working until you lost it.”
But before the echo of his words faded, Mira lifted a hand—calm, sharp, deliberate.
Zack stopped mid-breath, frowning.
“…What?”
Turning sharply to Pinch, her voice calm but firm, like an older sister protecting her own, Mira said,
“Pinch… did you do it again?”
Pinch hesitated, fiddling with his pouch, looking up with big innocent eyes.
“It’s just a wooden token...” he said softly.
Mira’s mouth tightened into a hard line. She crouched down to Pinch’s eye level, steady but not harsh:
“Do you still have it?”
Pinch’s gaze dropped guiltily.
“I sold it...” he whispered.
Alex clenched his fists, pounding the dirt beside him in frustration and helplessness.
“No!” he ground out.
Mira watched him—something stirring in her: guilt, yes, but also respect for how much Alex cared.
She stood up, dusting off her knees, turning to face Alex fully.
“You and your friend—go home. Rest up.”
Alex looked at her, uncertain.
Meeting his eyes with unwavering certainty, Mira said,
“I’ll get your item back. Tomorrow. Same spot. Same time.”
Silence followed.
Lino blinked. “Wait… what?”
Tonno squinted, genuinely baffled. “Why does it sound like you’re apologizing?”
Zack took a step forward, scowl sharp.
“Mira. What the hell are you doing?”
But she didn’t flinch.
Didn’t look at them.
Didn’t explain.
Her eyes stayed locked on Alex—steady, quiet, firm.
Her face wasn’t hard. It wasn’t soft either. Just… sincere. Like she wanted him to believe her. Like she needed him to.
She meant it. All of it.
And she wasn’t going to say it again.
For a long moment, Alex just stared, reading her sincerity.
Then he nodded slowly, exhausted but hopeful, helping the exhausted Dante up.
“I’ll hold you to it,” he said quietly.
Without another word, Alex supported Dante and they walked off down the alley, leaving the Wolves in heavy silence.
Mira watched them disappear into the shadows, a hard, determined look settling over her face.
Alex and Dante moved slowly through the dim streets, Dante leaning heavily on Alex’s shoulder, each step measured beneath the weight of their battered bodies. Alex’s face was a map of bruises and tender skin, swollen but mercifully unbroken.
Dante’s voice broke the silence at last, low and tired.
“Sad state, huh?”
“Don’t speak,” Alex replied quietly, tightening his grip. “I’ve got you. We’ll look at those bruises back at the apartment.”
Dante chuckled weakly. “What, you a doctor now?”
Alex smiled through his pain. “My father is one. Come on, you’re not dying. Just a few bandages and you’ll be fine.”
A pause hung between them. Dante’s voice dropped, bitter.
“That damn lunatic… he didn’t hold back one bit.”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Alex’s brow furrowed, unease settling in. Something about Zack had felt wrong—off in a way he couldn’t yet place.
Dante glanced sideways, hesitant. “Are we going back tomorrow?”
Alex’s tone was firm, but calm. “I’ll go alone. Don’t worry.”
“Like I’m leaving you alone,” Dante scoffed, but there was worry beneath the bravado. “What I’m really asking is—do you trust her?”
Alex looked ahead, jaw set. “I don’t have a choice... but she looked sincere.”
They walked on, shadows lengthening around them, silence folding over the question like a veil.
the Wolves returned to their hideout. The air hung thick with exhaustion and unspoken tension, shadows flickering against the rough walls.
Tonno’s voice, soft and uncertain, broke the fragile silence.
“Mira…?”
Lino, leaning casually against a beam yet eyes sharp with concern, raised a single brow.
“That’s your whole week’s stash.”
Mira, seated on a battered crate, counted her coins methodically without looking up.
“Yeah. I’ll need it. Just in case. The men at the market won’t simply return what they buy, and they are certainly not selling without an interest.”
Tonno’s brow furrowed deeply, while Lino said nothing, watching her with quiet attention.
Pinch stood apart, caught between Mira and a broken crate, a small, pilfered trinket clenched tightly in his hand—modest, yet enough to weigh heavily on the moment.
Mira’s voice turned stern, slicing through the thick air.
“Pinch. What did I tell you about stealing?”
Pinch lowered his eyes, guilt pressing down upon his small frame.
“You all always… share food with me… I don’t do anything for you…”
A gentler expression softened Mira’s face as she crouched low to meet his gaze.
“You’re our little Pinch. Our little brother, even if not by blood. We take care of you. That’s our duty.”
A shadow of doubt flickered across Pinch’s face.
“But…”
Mira’s voice hardened, firm and unwavering.
“I don’t care about whether stealing is right or wrong. We are all poor here. But last time you got caught, you nearly got beaten to death. I don’t want to see that happen to you again.”
Pinch bit his lip, nodding silently, unable to meet her eyes.
From behind, a voice cut sharply through the stillness.
“Care to explain what this is about?”
Zack stepped forward, his expression one of guarded curiosity.
Mira rose, dusting her knees as she squared her shoulders.
“I’m going to buy it back. If I have to.”
Zack frowned, incredulous.
“I don’t get it. Why would you do that?”
Her eyes met his, steady and unyielding.
“I lost. Fair and square. That token meant something to him. So he gets it back.”
Zack’s disbelief deepened.
“Well, I won my fight! You see me handing out gifts?”
“And how did you lose ? Your face is clean ! He didn’t land a single hit !”
Mira turned to him, her voice cold and resolute.
“It’s my money. My decision. My fight. Zack. Stay out of it.”
A charged silence fell between them. Zack clenched his jaw but said no more.
Turning back to Pinch, Mira beckoned quietly.
“Come on. Let’s move—before it’s gone for good.”
Without hesitation, she led the way, Pinch scrambling to keep pace behind her.
Zack watched them disappear into the gloom, a flicker of anger still burning in his eyes, yet he remained rooted in place.
Behind him, Lino and Tonno exchanged a glance, unspoken understanding passing between them—quiet, sheepish, but tinged with respect.
And as Mira’s silhouette faded into the shadows, a solemn silence settled over the hideout.
The Marcetti estate was a skeleton of its former self. Chandeliers hung dim and dusty above an echoing hall stripped of furniture. Marble tiles clicked under Dominick’s boots as he walked with measured calm through corridors once crawling with guards and laughter. Now there was nothing. Just silence—and the faint scent of stale tobacco.
Enzo Marcetti sat in the main salon, slumped in a high-backed chair like a discarded marionette. The ashtray on the table before him overflowed, surrounded by crushed cigarette packs and the faint, dry stench of smoke. He hadn’t touched the liquor cabinet—untouched, unopened. The decanter glimmered behind its glass prison, as if mocking him.
He didn’t even lift his eyes when he heard Dominick enter.
A thin, cracked laugh escaped his throat.
"Came to end it?"
Dominick didn’t sit. He stood with his coat still on, hands in his pockets, his expression blank.
"You never stop disappointing me," he said coolly. "Every time I think maybe you’ve learned something… you prove me wrong."
“Ending you ? That will make you a hero out there, ‘Enzo Marcetti never quit till the end, so Dominick had to end him himself’ they will say.”
He stepped forward, slow and steady.
"I gave you chances, Enzo. Dozens. But you thought power came from muscle and yelling. You thought fear could keep a leaking ship afloat."
Silence stretched between them like old drapes—heavy and moth-bitten.
Enzo exhaled through his nose, the cigarette trembling between two fingers.
“We, the Marcettis, were the strongest. The most connected. The family with the deepest roots,” Enzo said slowly, the words thick with bitter pride. “We had everything. Your three dons only held out because they stuck together.”
He leaned forward—fists trembling.
“Then they took in two teenage brats, thirty years ago…”
His voice darkened.
“You. And that ghost, Vince.”
He slammed the table—CRACK—his chair creaking with the force.
“You finish school, start showing up at their mansions like stray dogs—and you ruin everything. Every ambush. Every deal. Every trick—”
Dominick cut in, voice calm. “Most. Not all.”
Enzo sneered. “Whatever.”
A pause.
“I just wish I’d found you first,” he muttered. “Not them.”
Silence fell, long and cold.
Then, slowly, Dominick adjusted his hat.
“Believe me,” he said softly. “That would’ve been worse… for you.”
"I’m done here." He looked down. "Just give me the audacity—" he choked a dry laugh, "—to tell this old man how he lost."
His voice turned pleading.
"Who betrayed me? Was it Giovanni? Was he with you this whole time? Or Robert?"
“It’s Robert, right ? You played him somehow… Giovanni wouldn’t do that…”
“And Frank… we bribed him… how did you sniff him out…”
“What about the other stuff… the lawyers… the other bartenders… the shipments…”
He looked up, desperate now.
"Please… I deserve that much, don’t I?"
Dominick said nothing.
Enzo stared. "Hey—come on. Please. Tell me."
Dominick stepped a little closer.
Enzo leaned in, slowly—eyes searching his face, desperate for clarity, for closure. For something.
Dominick’s voice was quiet. Cruel.
“You want answers?”
He leaned in slightly—just enough.
“…Then live long. And wonder.”
Enzo stared at him, paralyzed. No understanding. Then—confusion, fury, disbelief.
His jaw clenched. His breath caught.
And then—
He laughed.
Hard. Loud. Empty.
A laugh without joy, or air, or meaning. The kind that cracked something inside a man when there was nothing left to defend.
Dominick stood still, watching a moment longer. Then turned without a word and walked away.
Enzo’s laughter echoed behind him like broken glass rolling across stone.
Next day in the morning
The city lay hushed beneath the early morning light, golden rays filtering delicately through the cracks between weathered buildings. A stillness hung in the air, broken only by the faint creak of a broken fence near an old lamppost. There, standing side by side, were Alex and Dante—two figures, with bandages on their cheeks, noses and foreheads, waiting.
Alex’s eyes flickered down the empty street, restless fingers twitching as he fidgeted. Dante, arms crossed and brows furrowed, glanced at him with skepticism.
“She’s late,” Dante said, voice low and doubtful. “I told you it was dumb to trust her.”
Alex said nothing at first, eyes fixed on the far end of the street. “She said she’d come,” he murmured.
Dante snorted softly, “You’re too trusting, buddy. I say let’s leave before that old man Harris fires you for being late.”
Before more could be said, a silhouette emerged from the shadows—walking with measured calm, flat cap pulled low.
It was Mira.
She approached without a word, her footsteps steady and sure. When she reached them, she stopped, eyes hidden beneath the brim of her flat cap, and from inside her coat produced something small. Without hesitation, she placed it into Alex’s outstretched hand.
The lucky charm.
Dante leaned in, wary. “Is that the same one?”
Alex turned the token over between his trembling fingers. Recognition softened the lines of his bruised face, relief settling quietly in his eyes.
“Yeah,” he whispered, voice barely audible, “It’s really it.”
He lifted his gaze to Mira, gratitude clear in his eyes.
“Thank you.”
Mira’s response was a mere tilt of the head, inscrutable and calm. Then, breaking the silence, her voice came low and focused.
“How did I lose?”
Alex blinked, startled by the unexpected question.
“You beat me,” she continued evenly. “I want to know how. So I can get better.”
He hesitated, scratching the back of his head with a faint blush of humility.
“But it was just one hit... and you were winning for most of the fight.”
Mira’s eyes narrowed, silent as she awaited his answer.
“I’ve got a glass chin,” she said simply. “You would’ve knocked me out. Tell me how you planned it.”
After a long hesitation, seeing how deep and sincere her tone was,
Alex exhaled slowly, gathering his thoughts.
“I couldn’t get close to you. I couldn’t catch you.” He shrugged, a little embarrassed. “But I noticed your punches to my body didn’t hurt as much as the ones to my face.”
He paused.
“You didn’t leave any openings, but I thought maybe... if I didn’t fight back, you’d get impatient.”
Mira’s gaze sharpened, silently appraising the insight. Alex’s cheeks flushed faintly.
“Honestly,” he admitted softly, “I just got lucky.”
For a brief moment, a small smile touched Mira’s lips—fleeting, almost imperceptible.
Dante scoffed, stepping forward. “You came at him like he was just another punk—that’s where you slipped.”
“And next time,” Dante added, “don’t bring a damn lunatic with you if you want a friendly match. That guy’s a ticking bomb with fists.”
Mira regarded him for a moment, wordless and unreadable, though her gaze lingered a heartbeat too long, as if searching his face for reassurance.
Her coat shifted in the morning breeze, the brim of her hat dipping low as she began to walk.
“Wait,” Alex called—quietly, gently.
She stopped. Turned just enough to show one eye.
He lowered his eyes. His fingers curled around the token, warm from her hand.
“...Why did you get it back for me ?” he asked softly. “Just because you lost?”
A pause followed. Mira didn’t move. Then, almost too quietly for the wind to carry, she replied:
“Hold on to it. Not all of us have parents.”
Alex looked up at her, the dim light catching the faintest edge of something unspoken in her eyes.
For a moment, the world seemed quieter — The words struck like a hidden blow.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
But deeply, irrevocably real.
He felt it in his chest—like something knocked loose. He didn’t speak.
Even Dante, who’d stood quiet through it all, shifted slightly beside him, the line hitting with unexpected clarity.
But Mira was already turning again—silent, composed, vanishing once more into the city’s breath.
“Don’t pull your punches next time,” she said over her shoulder, voice calm and certain.
And just like that, she melted back into the awakening city streets—cool, composed, hands in her pocket, and gone before another word could be spoken.
Dante watched her retreating figure, then glanced back at Alex with a wry smirk.
“…Even the queen of the wolves can bleed, huh?”
Alex held the token tightly in his palm, a quiet conviction in his voice.
“She’s not a bad person.”
He smiled then—soft, genuine, full of gratitude.
“Amazing that she cares about getting better more than winning.”
His voice dropped to a whisper, clenching the wooden token.
“…Really glad it’s back.”
A pause
“Dante?”
“Yeah?”
“Um… what did she mean by 'glass chin'?”
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