The way to the restroom was crowded with people, all dressed to the nines, floating around. The first fight at the Shangri La was touted to be a big event after all. Lucien Delano’s famous club, a one-of-a-kind exotica, was noted for its amazing views and the exotic food served in the restaurants.
Now Bianca pushed her way to the corridor leading to the Ladies’, quaintly called the powder room, s she noticed in her hurry, and managed to enter. Choosing a booth at the end, she sank onto the toilet led, breathing hard.
She was upset, ashamed and hurt. That stupid man had ruined her evening by announcing to all and sundry, that she was…just a glamorous wh*re, servicing two men at the same time. She had seen the look on St Just’s face as he tried to stop her from fleeing but she pushed past him.
Breathing hard, she shut her eyes. She sat for a while, finally, regaining her control.
Slowly, the fighting spirit in her surfaced.
“I haven’t come to this fabulous place to hide in the toilets and weep,” she thought fiercely. Scrubbing her face, she stepped out, her eyes glinting, ready to do battle. But the restroom was, strangely enough, deserted; save for a woman, a little older than her, who was in the well-lit area outside the booths.
Ignoring her, Bianca made her way to the sinks, which had gold-plated fittings and she splashed her face.
“Bianca?” said an uncertain voice and she spun around, her fists clenching, ready to do battle. But the blonde woman standing there had a soft look in her grey eyes. She looked familiar and with a sudden stab in her heart, Bianca thought, is she one of the Don’s children???
The resemblance was there, but the features were softer and when she smiled, she looked a lot like the gorgeous Proserpina Delano.
The woman beamed, revealing a pair of small dimples as he said,
“Hi. I’m Tara. Tara Delano Lord.”
Stepping forward, she added,
“I always come to watch the fights when Claude is in the ring, to give my brother moral support.” She chuckled at some secret joke as she went on,
‘You met my brother, that dumbo, Claude, right?” And coming closer, she said with a charming frankness,
“You’re beautiful, Bianca. Gawd I wish I had hair like yours!”
The door behind them opened tentatively and the plump-faced Russian woman came in. Looking contrite, she reached out and took Bianca’s hands in both hers.
“Sorry …my husband, he sometime stupid,” she said in a thickly accented voice and Bianca had to smile.
Tara snorted.
“Most times, you mean, Kat,” she said darkly and then she made the introductions easily.
Linking her arm in Bianca’s, Tara went on as she led the younger girl to the door,
“Mumma was pretty upset and she called me,”
Karina, as the Russian woman had introduced herself, hastily opened the door and the three of them sailed out, with Bianca in the middle.
“Luckily, I was in the accounts office upstairs, helping Ria.”
The names and information went over Bianca’s head but the light-hearted chatter and the relaxed manner in which the woman spoke, made her feel better.
“C’mon, you don’t want to miss seeing your man getting hammered, do you?” she grinned, her eyes dancing wickedly and Bianca laughed inspite of herself.
*
When the Swede walked in, large and hulking, the crowd roared, and Bianca almost dropped her glass of champagne in her shock.
The Don’s family had arranged themselves on both sides of the front row and Bianca saw, in astonishment that it was a considerably large group. “We are ten, ten kids,” Tara said conspiratorially and Bianca slid a look of surprise at the beautiful, gracious Proserpina to her side, elegant and alluring as ever.
The Don had her hands in his one large paw and Bianca sighed, biting her lip. The man might be a brute, but his love for his wife was evident.
Liam O’Grady walked in, rolling his shoulders, his black eyes set, his expression grim. He flicked a look at the people outside the ring, but all he saw was Bianca’s face. She smiled, a slow smile and he felt his heart lift.
The skimpily clad card girls were prancing on the stage, holding up signs but neither O’Grady nor the Swede bothered to look their way. Across the ring, Bianca saw the hard-faced partner of the Swede, as she screamed encouragement at her man,
“Kill ‘im, baby, GO FOR IT!” she shouted.
Lucien Delano made a derogatory remark and his wife turned her face into his shoulder, murmuring.
The bell rang and the fight began.
Bianca wanted to shut her eyes and pray but some force of nature held her stock still, eyes fixated on the two men dancing around lightly, flinging punches at each other. The Swede was aggressive, going in for strikes and O’Grady danced to left and right, feinting, parrying.
The Irishman jabbed with his right hand, taking the Swede by surprise. But the big man recovered and flung a hook at O’Grady, targeting the side of his head.
Bianca sat up, almost jumping up in distress but St Just held her arm.
O’Grady reared and threw a powerful, straight punch, a cross, as St Just explained, causing his opponent to stagger back.
Another break and then, once more, the two men were at it, continuing to hit out, to hammer blows on each other.
Bianca shrank as the sound of fists on flesh rang out, making her wince.
S Just, sitting on her right, leaned in and whispered,
“O’Grady’s a southpaw.”
She hissed, unable to take her eyes off the man in the ring,
“What’s that?”
St Just growled,
‘The way he uses his hands and feet, see?” he indicated as he went on softly,
“His left hand is dominant, the right one, he uses it for punches.”
She squealed as her lover slammed his fist into the other man’s chest and the Swede staggered back, snarling.
St Just was smiling grimly as he watched his brother.
“GO for it, bro,’ he said softly. But the referee rang the bell.
“Two rounds are done,” said St Just and rose to go and speak to O’Grady, whose face was bruised and battered, sweating profusely as he sank down and gulped water.
Bianca sat, her hands squeezed in her lap, her eyes on O’Grady. The trainer and a couple of men, including big Claude, had rushed to speak to O’Grady. Her eyes went to the big Swede.
The bell rang. The one-minute break was over. Both the fighters rose and Bianca shut her eyes and prayed.
Lucien Delano glanced at his Woman. She had only come because he had insisted. Now her large, soft wounded eyes were on O’Grady.
“Will he win, Lucien?” she asked piteously, turning to look at her lover,” His love…that child looks terrified.”
The Mafia Don swooped down to kiss her head.
“Shut the f*k up, wh*re,” he grunted and she blushed as his eyes trailed over her face, sliding down to her soft breasts. He had insisted that she not wear any undergarments and she knew that her nipples had peaked under his scrutiny.
The Don had been sizing up the fighters and knew immediately who was about to be the victor. The sight of his lovely Woman had him thinking of ways to f*ck her already.
“There’s a little cloakroom on the way,” he growled, his eyes on her and she felt her face go warm.
His intention was clear. They would be going there, where he would make rough love to her.
“After this, please,” she murmured and he nodded.
“The Irishman will win,” he added, allaying her fears, threading his thick, calloused fingers through hers and Proserpina sighed happily, leaning her head on his shoulder.