"Let's get this over and done with," Marcel commanded with a hint of impatient.
"You are right," Ren replied before turning his head. "Lance, get in the ring."
A man stepped forward, pulling down his hood. Gasps rippled through the crowd. Anyone who followed MMA knew that face. Lance Marino, a retired heavyweight champion. But what was he doing here, tangled up with scumbags like Ren?
Ren clapped a hand on Lance's shoulder. "Beat him, and the debt you owe me—poof, gone."
"Yes, sir," Lance said, his voice low and obedient.
Ren patted him once more, and Lance climbed into the ring, slipping between the ropes with practiced ease. He looked at Marcel with cold indifference. "Try to tap out early. I have more important things to do."
"Who would have thought a legend would fall this far?" retorted Marcel poking the bear with no reservations.
That barb hit home. Lance's face twisted with fury. "You are so fucking dead," he snarled.
Marcel rolled his shoulders, his lips curling into a smirk that only seemed to enrage his opponent further. Lance towered across from him, his frame still imposing despite the years of indulgence that had dulled his edge.
The bell rang. Lance moved first, his fists heavy, his stance wide. Marcel ducked under the initial swing, his speed a sharp contrast to Lance's sluggish power. The audience roared, Ren's cronies shouting venomous insults, their voices cutting through the air like knives.
Marcel slipped away from Lance's grip again and again, his movements fluid and evasive like a fish darting through water. Every time Lance tried to corner him, Marcel twisted free, countering with sharp jabs that snapped Lance's head back.
But Lance's experience showed. He adjusted, reading Marcel's rhythm, his eyes narrowing. He noticed the way Marcel favored his left leg, guarding it instinctively. A cruel smile spread across his bloodied face.
Marcel didn't see it coming. Lance's kick slammed into his left leg, pain exploding through his body. His vision blurred, the world tilting. Before he could recover, Lance's fist crashed into his face, black spots dancing across his sight.
Ren's voice thundered from outside the cage. "Finish him!"
The noise became distant, muffled, Marcel's ears ringing. He staggered back, his leg screaming, his balance faltering. Lance surged forward, swinging again, confident the end was near.
Archie and the others shouted from the sidelines, panic in their voices.
But Marcel's instincts flared. At the last second, he ducked, slipping past the incoming strike. His body moved with a burst of speed that defied the pain. His fist shot upward, connecting squarely with Lance's jaw.
The impact was brutal. Lance staggered, his massive frame swaying before crashing to the mat with a thunderous bang. Blood pooled beneath him, the silence that followed deafening.
Marcel stood, his left leg barely able to bear weight, balanced on tiptoe. His chest heaved, his face bruised, but his eyes burned with defiance. Miso's face twisted with rage as he watched his champion crumpled on the mat. He couldn't accept it. His hand darted into his jacket, pulling out a knife. Ren's eyes widened. He wanted to stop this idiot, but it was already too late.
Miso rushed into the ring, blade flashing under the harsh lights. He swung wildly, but Marcel moved with instinct. His hand shot out, gripping Miso by the neck. With a brutal motion, Marcel slammed him to the ground, the knife clattering uselessly across the canvas.
Ren's men reacted instantly, weapons drawn, the metallic clicks echoing through the room. But they had forgotten whose territory this was. Marcel's men raised their own guns, the atmosphere thickening into a deadly standoff.
"Let him go," Ren barked, his voice sharp.
Marcel's eyes narrowed. "Lower your weapons first," he commanded.
Ren clenched his jaw, frustration etched across his face. He hadn't wanted things to escalate this far. If his brother found out he would get into trouble. He was about to smooth things over when the doors opened.
A group of men in suits strode in, their polished shoes clicking against the floor. At their head was a man with three of his shirt buttons undone, chest exposed, confidence radiating. He clapped his hands slowly. "Brother, you have been busy."
Marcel's grip loosened, and Miso scrambled away, scurrying back to his uncle's side as though granted amnesty.
Ren's face hardened. He took the opportunity to slip away. "Since you are busy, I will take my leave." He gestured, and his goons dragged Lance's unconscious body from the ring, leaving a trail of blood behind them.
Marcel's jaw tightened, his teeth grinding as he glared at the newcomer. It was Luis Verrochi, his half-brother. They shared the same father, and the sight of him made Marcel's blood boil.
When Ren and his men were gone, the tension didn't fade. Guns remained raised, the air electric.
Luis smirked. "Brother, what's wrong? Aren't you happy to see me?"
Marcel's voice was cold. "I have no business with you or your family. Why are you here?"
Luis tilted his head, his smile sly. "Come on, brother. I missed you. Is that so hard to believe?"
Marcel turned, limping as he stepped out of the ring. Archie moved to help, but Marcel brushed him off. "Get lost," he muttered, walking away.
Luis's voice cut through the air like a blade. "Don't you want Thalia's ashes?" The room froze.
Marcel's steps faltered, his body freezing mid-motion. His fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms, sharp pain grounding him in the storm of rage. He spun around sharply, snatching the gun from one of his men with a speed that startled even them. The barrel leveled at Luis and Marcel's eyes burned with fury.
Thalia was his deceased mother. Her death had been ruled a suicide, but Marcel had never believed it. By the time the news reached him, she was already gone, her ashes vanished, her belongings erased as though she had never existed.
He had begged for her remains, for something to remember her by, but his grandfather dismissed him coldly. She was Varcano, not Verrochi, the old man had said, cutting Marcel out of his own mother's memory.