LITMIR.BIZ

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Fulvio keeps him too busy to mope.”

      “Is Fulvio still mad?”

      “Your grandfather?” Ana blew out a breath noisily. “Who knows? He hasn’t said anything, but that’s Fulvio. You know what he can be like when he doesn’t get his way.”

      “I guess the silent treatment is better than the yelling treatment.” Though Bella wasn’t entirely certain that was true. They’d parted on terrible terms, and the guilt of storming out on him ate at her conscience. She loved her grandfather—he’d taught her almost everything she knew about fighting. But she couldn’t let him dictate her future.

      She asked after her brothers, and her mother went on at length about their various clients, fights and adventures in the gym. Bella was content to simply listen. She could tell Ana missed having her daughter around to talk to. She missed her mother, too. But Ana understood why she’d had to leave.

      “So, did you get your driver’s license yet?”

      “I told you, my bike is enough. I didn’t go through the trouble of shipping it here so that I could buy a car.”

      “No one in America rides bicycles. Some crazy idiot in an SUV is going to get you killed.”

      She thought about her encounter with Kyle and smiled to herself. “I’ll be fine. My apartment is barely a thirty-minute ride from the gym. I rode everywhere back home, and you never complained.”

      “You never heard me complain is all. Worrying about you took years off my life.”

      “I wear a helmet. Besides, I face worse every time I spar.”

      “Don’t remind me.” She sighed. “I realize this is your dream, Bella, even if no one here approves. But I want you to know I love you and all I want is for you to be happy and safe.”

      “I can promise I’ll be one of those things. But probably not both. Not by your definition.”

      “Bella...”

      “I’m taking all the precautions. I never do anything I don’t think I’m capable of. I was trained by the best.”

      After they hung up, Bella was restless. Her first day had been a paperwork and orientation kind of day, and while her brain was tired, her body wasn’t. She got dressed and went for a walk.

      She wasn’t too far from Bourbon Street, so she pointed herself toward the district. As she meandered along the famous strip, she was surprised by the number of people out on a Monday night. Weaving through the crowd, it was hard to imagine what the weekend would look like.

      She peeked into the bars as she passed, then walked into one that suited her—clean, classy, with modern furnishings and an extensive menu. TV screens showed sports highlights, a baseball game and, more importantly, an MMA fight.

      She parked herself at the corner of the bar closest to the screen showing the fight. She ordered a bottle of beer. She didn’t normally drink when she was training, but it didn’t seem right to order water.

      She nursed her drink as she watched the fight, studying the two lightweights’ techniques. She knew of one of them—Alessander Mortensen, an up-and-comer who specialized in judo. He’d trained briefly with her brothers in São Paulo. His opponent, Mike Bourne, danced out of the other man’s reach, striking and weaving, but not getting any significant hits in. The guy was afraid.

      “Oh, c’mon!” she yelled at the screen. The match ended to a round of boos. Bourne had let the clock run out, evading Mortensen as long as possible, scoring points with cheap kicks to the shins. Sadly, she couldn’t say that Mortensen was doing any better.

      “I didn’t know chicks watched this stuff.” A man slid up next to her. He smelled like uncooked ground beef. “Can I buy you a drink?”

      She barely spared him a glance. “No thanks. I already have one.”

      The man asked the bartender for two beers anyway. “What is it about these fights that chicks like? Two greased-up guys mounting each other? That’s pretty gay.”

      She turned cold eyes toward him. He might have been okay looking in a certain light, but the words coming out of his mouth spoiled any such illusions. “I like watching the fights because it’s what my family and I do for a living. And as for your homophobic comment, I won’t even dignify that with a response. Now take your cheap-ass beers and go away. I’m trying to enjoy the fight.”

      He slid closer. “Aw, don’t be like that. I didn’t mean—”

      “Read between the lines, asshole.” She raised her voice so everyone in the place would hear. “You insulted me. You blew it. Now leave me alone.”

      “Hey, buddy.” A presence as oppressive as a storm front pushed into her personal space from behind. The hairs on Bella’s neck rose. “Is there a problem?”

      The beefy-smelling man snatched up his beers and grumbled, “Dyke bitch,” as he shuffled off.

      “We’re good here,” she ground out, keeping one eye on the man. “Just giving this creep his walking papers.” She challenged him with a level look when he turned and glared, but his eyes canted to her protector and he moved on.

      “Were you planning on starting a bar fight here tonight? You don’t want to get banned before you’ve tried their shrimp po’boy sandwiches.” Kyle took the guy’s place next to her, staying close until the man made it back to his table.

      “If he started something, I would’ve finished it.” She took a long pull of her beer to soothe her nerves.

      “I don’t doubt it. But I’d hate to have to explain to your family why I had to bail you out of jail when you haven’t been here a week.”

      “Sorry. But I won’t pretend to be nice to jackasses for the sake of being polite, especially ones who talk to me like I’m a dumb piece of meat.”

      He chuckled. The sound was pleasant, even human. “I can see that. I think you made everyone in the room cup their balls.” His eyes shone with admiration and a bit of nervousness. “Do me a favor, and just say thanks for the rescue to salve my male ego.”

      She studied him carefully. He must’ve had a few drinks in him because he seemed a lot more relaxed. His shoulders weren’t hunched up around his ears, and the lines on his face weren’t so deep. He was actually smiling. As he was now, she could sort of see why Marco had warned her against his lady-killer reputation. “Thanks.” She toasted him with her bottle. “I owe you one.”

      He flagged down the bartender while she let her attention return to the match. She couldn’t concentrate on the commentary, hyperaware of Kyle’s elbow resting an inch from hers. She thought he was watching her, but she didn’t dare look. “What are you doing here?” she asked finally.

      “Besides protecting your honor?” He paused and nodded toward a booth. “I’m here with...friends.”

      She glanced at the table. Three petite coeds sipping cocktails with umbrellas in them chattered animatedly. Bella stifled a snort. “A little young, aren’t they?”

      He smirked. “A gentleman doesn’t ask a lady her age.”

      “You might want to, in case the cops come around asking for ID.”

      His lips tilted in a half smile. “Jealous?”

      She didn’t respond. She didn’t want to admit she’d been feeling kind of lonely since arriving in the States.

      “Hey...do you want to join us?” Kyle asked as if reading her thoughts.

      “No.” She shook her head emphatically. “I’m going to finish this and see where the fight goes, then head home.”

      “If you change your mind...”

      She waved him off. “Go on. The Powerpuff Girls need their juice.”

      He

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