ACCIDENTALLY MARRIED TO THE BILLIONAIRE SINGLE DAD (Gabrielle and Damon) novel Chapter 142

DAMON’S POV

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO

[Content Warning: This chapter contains sexual assault (non–explicit), violence, identity stripping and trauma. Reader discretion is advised.]

I walked after Father as he led us to the best seat, right beside the owner of the fight club.

He’d claim that coming to Italy to see the underground fighting ring would be a great gift for my eighteenth birthday.

The air inside the warehouse was thick with sweat, blood, and cigarette smoke.

Men shouted from the stands, waving money in the air as two fighters circled each other inside the steel cage below.

The owner stood when Father approached, his smile wide and eager.

“Gravari,” he said, extending his hand. “It’s good to see you after all these years.”

Father shook his hand. “Don’t act like you missed me, Bellini.”

Rocco laughed and gestured at Father to take a seat.

Father sat and leaned back in his chair.

I took the seat beside him watched him suspiciously. He’d never done anything kind without punishing

me for it later.

I turned back to the fight.

One of the fighters slammed the other’s face against the fence and blood sprayed across the metal.

The crowd roared.

“Today is my heir’s eighteenth birthday,” Father said. “I brought him here to see the fight.”

“Eighteen, huh?” Rocco asked, looking at me with interest. “He looks stronger than an eighteen–year–old.”

Father didn’t respond.

His eyes stayed on the cage below.

Inside, the injured fighter staggered backward, blood running down his face as the other man advanced.

The crowd pounded against the railings, shouting for him to finish it.

Rocco leaned closer to Father, lowering his voice slightly. “So,” he said, “what brings you here after all these years? You never liked this place much.”

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Father’s lips curved faintly. “I don’t. But it serves its purpose.”

Rocco followed his gaze to the cage and nodded slowly. “That it does. I don’t have to ask, though. You’d tell me the purpose if you wanted me to know.”

“I’ll tell you in a bit,” he said, beckoning to his PA. “I’ll have my accountant write you a cheque, Rocco. I want the winner of this fight.”

Rocco let out a dry laugh. “I don’t sell off my fighters, Gravari. You know that.”

“But you’d make an exception for one of your best friends, wouldn’t you?” Father asked. “Especially if he has what it takes to make you the Don.”

Rocco turned sharply, his interest piqued. “I suppose I can. We’ll talk business in the privacy of my office.”

Father nodded and turned back to the fight.

The fighter lifted the injured man and slammed him down, driving his elbow into his chest, and killing him.

The crowd cheered the winner’s name.

“Rocco,” Father said casually, “how much does it cost to put someone in there?”

Rocco blinked. “Well… that depends. Is this person trained?”

Father’s lips curved slightly. “No.”

Rocco let out a small chuckle. “Then they won’t last very long against my fighters.”

“That isn’t a problem,” Father replied and for the first time since we arrived, he turned to look at me, his gaze cold. “Is it, Stench?”

I could feel that familiar chill crawling up my nape at the name ‘Stench‘. I placed one hand over the other, pressing my thumb in an attempt to ease my anxiety.

I couldn’t.

Ever since that night I helped Rhys escape, Father would whip me relentlessly, demanding I say my name until I broke and muttered Stench.

It was the name he had chosen for me.

In his own words, he hated who I was and wanted to strip away the person I thought I could be.

He turned back to Rocco. “I caught my heir making dinner in the kitchen with his mother yesterday.”

My chest tightened painfully.

I hadn’t realized Father had been watching us. Which meant he’d been waiting to punish me the whole time.

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Father smiled humorlessly at me. “I keep thinking you’d get it by now but you haven’t. You’re a pathetic boy but I will change that. You’ll go into the ring and fight.”

Dread formed in my stomach.

“You’re really going to sacrifice your only son just like that?” Rocco asked, raising a brow. “Especially now that your bastard is dead?”

Rhys was rumored to have died a few months after running away. His mother hadn’t heard from him and his trail had gone cold.

A timid fourteen–year–old with no money and survival skills didn’t have the power to hide that well.

I had tried to save him.

And somehow he still ended up dead.

Father shook his head. “Until I see a body, I don’t believe the bastard is dead.”

Rocco’s eyes were on me. “My men won’t take it easy on him because he’s your son. They fight to kill.”

“I’m counting on that,” Father said. “But he won’t be your fighter anymore once I buy him from you. And

he won’t kill the son of his new boss.”

Rocco studied him, understanding slowly dawning on his face. “That’s cruel, Gravari. Especially on his birthday.”

Father smiled faintly. “Cruelty is necessary if you want to raise a man.”

The cage door screeched open below us as the men dragged the dead body out. The winner stood in the

center of the ring, his chest heaving.

Rocco leaned closer to Father. “What exactly do you want him to do to your boy?”

Father didn’t hesitate. “Break him.”

A chill crawled up my spine as they casually discussed ways to make me suffer in front of me.

Rocco let out a low whistle. “That’s… excessive. I’ll tell them to go easy on him.

“No, don’t,” Father said as he looked at me again. “You helped the bastard escape, you stay in the kitchen, you keep running off with that Selene bitch. You always choose weakness. If she wasn’t the daughter of a friend I’d have killed her a long time ago.”

My hands and legs trembled, anxiety swallowing me whole.

“So tonight,” he continued calmly, “you’ll learn what weakness costs.”

Rocco motioned toward the cage and two men immediately began walking toward me.

My body went rigid.

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Fear twisted in my stomach but I kept my face blank. Showing fear only made things worse.

They held me up and led me to the ring.

The commenter on the speaker was asking everyone to make their bets before the match started. The fighter eyes settled on me and he frowned. “I’m not fighting no kid.”

“You better,” one of the men holding me said. “His father owns you now. Fight him but don’t kill him.” Then they shoved me forward, my knees slamming against the hard floor of the cage.

The crowd erupted.

Up close, the fighter looked even bigger and more intimidating. I knew I didn’t stand a chance in a fight against him.

Someone outside the cage shouted something I couldn’t hear over the noise.

The fighter’s jaw tightened, then his fist came out of nowhere.

Pain exploded across my face and my head snapped to the side. The world spun violently as I crashed into the metal fence.

The crowd roared louder.

I barely had time to lift my head before another blow landed.

-Stars burst behind my eyes.

Through the ringing in my ears, I heard Father’s voice from somewhere in the stands.

“Don’t hold back.”

The fighter hesitated for only a second.

Then he grabbed me.

I was lying on the bed in the room Rocco had reserved for me.

The sheets were soft, the room was warm and everything around me screamed luxury.

I was the only odd object in the room.

Every part of my body hurt.

My ribs ached when I breathed, my jaw throbbed and even lifting my head felt like trying to move a stone.

I closed my eyes and thought of anything else, trying to pretend that being thrown in the fighting ring had just been a nightmare.

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But then, the door opened and Father stepped inside.

He looked perfectly calm, as if nothing unusual had happened. “You know I hate it when you sulk.”

I didn’t answer.

He poured himself a drink from the crystal decanter on the table. “In time,” he continued, swirling the wine in his glass, “you’ll thank me for this.”

I could tell he was in one of his somewhat good moods, but I couldn’t trust it.

Father was too unpredictable.

“You’ll thank me for making you stronger,” he added as he took another sip before setting the glass down and studying me. “The ring was only practice, and pain is a good teacher. You’ll keep fighting him until you learn how to beat him.”

A cold knot formed in my stomach.

“What if I die?” I whispered.

The question left my mouth before I could stop it.

“A dead heir is better than a weak one,” he replied flatly.

My anxiety picked up again, my heart racing so fast and loud I thought he could hear it too.

“And if that happens,” he continued with a careless shrug, “I’ll simply have your mother make me another son. Maybe two.”

The words landed heavier than the blows from the ring, reminding me that I was disposable to him, and alive by his grace.

I wanted to ask him why he hated his family so much, but the words died on my tongue. I’d already spoken too much, I didn’t want to push my luck.

He poured another glass and held it out to me. “Drink.”