In the Ring: A Dario Caivano Novel Read online

  “So, you were cheated on. Is that what I’m getting?”

  Chanel nodded her response.

  “And you stayed with him?”

  “Yeppp,” she said, hanging onto the word for a bit.

  “So you were in love?”

  “I wasn’t in love. Shamefully, I think I was infatuated with the ‘celebrity’. We’d known each other in college, but were just friends, and then he got drafted. We didn’t see each other for a few years and then when we did, things just happened.”

  “And so your son—”

  “My son isn’t his. Was he around for some of his life? Absolutely. But when the relationship was over and he let our demise impact my son and essentially left my son hanging . . . yeah, that’s when a thousand levels of dislike happened. That’s the one thing that I can’t ever forgive.”

  “You mean someone doing something to your son.”

  “Yep. Unforgivable.”

  “So, this is the guy from the other night, right?”

  “Right.”

  “He’s clearly still trying, judging by his actions.”

  “Yeah, but he knows it’s a lost cause.”

  “You really think he knows?”

  “I know that he knows. If he doesn’t, then something is very wrong with him.”

  I laughed at her straight-faced delivery.

  “And so you said that you don’t feel that all athletes are bad, but do you feel that we all cheat?”

  “Pretty much,” she responded quickly. “Why wouldn’t you? There’s women everywhere, in every town, every country, every city. Like, okay . . . how many women are you juggling right now?”

  “I don’t juggle women, Chanel.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “Really, I don’t. I date when I feel like it or when I have time. Outside of that, I’m very upfront with my intentions when I’m dealing with a woman . . . or women. Very upfront. So, there’s no juggling.”

  She winked her eye and formed a thin smile. “Women . . . I caught that. Plural. Shows you’re not a singular type of guy.”

  “Now that was what I call corny, Miss Norwood.”

  “It was, huh?” she said, followed by laughter. “But you got what I meant.”

  “I got it. But you still got me wrong. I’m no cheater. When I decide to settle down with a woman, it’ll just be with her. I don’t have time to handle a multitude of women. I have too much going on to add drama to my life. Nah, can’t do it. Your species can be something like crazy.”

  “My species? Oh my God!” she laughed out loud again, drawing attention from the people sitting near us. “My species? We’re the crazy ones?! Did you guys hear that?!” she asked the couple next to us.

  “I heard it,” the woman offered, laughing. “Not that I was listening to you guys or anything, but I did hear that. And I tell my man all the time that they’re the ones.”

  Chanel and the woman fell into girly chuckles. I watched her in amazement. She was seriously a beautiful girl. From her laugh, to the way that she loved her son, to her candor, to her friendliness. She was likeable and genuine.

  “Okay, okay,” I said. “You guys tired yet of making us the butt-end of your man-joke?”

  “I was just defending myself,” Chanel blurted through laughter. “You started it with the whole ‘species’ comment.”

  “Yeah, okay! Surrre he did!” the woman’s guy shouted out.

  For the next hour we ended up in mutual dialog with the couple. We learned that their names were Shanda and Roderick, and that they were new to the Bay Area by way of Phoenix, Arizona. Before we parted ways, we’d not only exchanged numbers with them, but Chanel had also invited them both to Suite 713.

  It was an eventful time, to say the least.

  CHAPTER 15

  Chanel

  After leaving Sol Restaurant, we had talked so much and so long that it took me a while to realize that we made the whole trip to Oakland with nothing but conversation between us two. There was no music or anything needed to create a buffer. It was just us. As we made the drive, I even found that I was paying detailed attention to the beauty of the Bay Area’s lights; that was something I rarely got to do, since I was always the one in the driver’s seat doing all the things that made my days seem longer than the seasons.

  I had enjoyed myself more than I thought I would and despite Dario being someone that I said I’d never date again, I was game for our next date. Aside from what he did for a living, I liked his personality, and prided myself on judging people based on that.

  “I guess you can tell that I’m not in a real hurry to get you back home, huh?” Dario asked me, breaking my trance as I stared out the front window of his Range Rover. We parked in a spot that sat high up in the Oakland Hills, above Lake Temescal. The view was intoxicating. We were up so high that it looked like we could reach out and touch the stars in the sky. If I had a pair of binoculars, I might have even been able to see my house from where we sat, since it was somewhere in the cluster of homes that sat on the lower level.

  “I kinda figured,” I responded bashfully.

  The truth of the matter was that I wasn’t ready for him to take me home yet. I hadn’t been on a real date in over a year and it was refreshing. What started as me agreeing to go to show gratitude, had actually turned into an enjoyable time. Dario was really nice, down to earth, and really easy to talk to. He was all the things I expected him not to be.

  “You object in any way?” he asked.

  I turned my attention away from the stunning city view to look over at him. “Not at all. You’re good company,” I admitted without missing a beat. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

  “Yeah, what’s up?”

  “What made you want to beat up people?”

  Dario’s eyes grew a bit before he dove into a hearty guffaw. “It’s never been put to me quite like that before! You’re funny.”

  “Well, that’s what it is, Mr. Undefeated.”

  I watched in curiosity as Dario turned his glance away from me, and to the view outside. His mood appeared to simmer from what it was seconds earlier. It was almost somber-like. It hit me at that moment that I had seen something inside of Dario’s eyes when we first met. Sadness lived there. Why, I didn’t know, but his sudden sink into quietness when I asked that question confirmed my suspicions. As I waited patiently for him to respond, I couldn’t help but notice that he had an almost boyish look to him. He had a particular innocence to his face when there wasn’t a smile present. But as my eyes traveled down to his neck and his shoulders, a boy was far from what I was met with. He was for sure a stunning sight dipped in the best vanilla sauce.

  “I needed to release frustration,” Dario responded after a lengthy pause. “And boxing was there to give me the outlet that I needed.”

  “Frustration?”

  “Yeah.”

  “From what?” I asked curiously.

  “I was a very angry teenager.”

  “I don’t understand. I thought you said that you had a good life growing up.”

  “I did. But later . . . things got a bit dark.”

  Dario pressed a few buttons on his steering wheel and the lights from the stereo lit up the panel into beautiful blues and turquoises, and then began to pour out music from Sirius XM.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “No. It’s cool,” he said, turning back to face me. “My cousin . . . he . . . yeah, he . . . uhhh . . . he died in my arms when we were teenagers. He . . . was shot.”

  “Shot?! Oh my God!” I gasped loudly, before I even knew my reaction had hit the air. Tears stung the back of my eyes, and I choked up as my hand flew to my mouth in shock. “I’m so, so, sooo sorry, Dario. Oh my God.” With my free hand I reached over to grab onto his forearm. “Dario, please forgive me.”

  “It’s okay, Chanel. You didn’t know. When you asked me why I wanted to beat up people, you were closer than you know. It’s not why I signed on, initially. I signed on to release
the hurt and pain and redirect my energy. But once I did get all the way into the game—especially in my early years in the ring—things were brutal. Each time I fought, I saw the face of the person that took my cousin from me. I had the chance to punish him over and over again. Early on, I almost got disqualified a few times because I’d have these moments where I’d black out and go for death. It was more like street-fighting than professional boxing.”

  Dario blew out a huff of air, and leaned his head back into the headrest. It was as though he’d never spoken those words and was relieved that they had finally emerged into life.

  “That’s understandable, Dario. I get it. That had to be . . . I don’t even know the words to say.”

  He turned to me and smiled. “It was a long time ago and I’ve gotten to avenge my cousin’s death a hundred times. So, I’m good.”

  “Okay,” I said to him. But I wasn’t sure that I believed he was good. I had seen the sadness in his eyes before I knew what the source was. Something in me wanted to hug him until he told me to let go. I wanted to come to his rescue like he had come to mine. My heart and my soul went out to him and I felt responsible for the tension that was now lingering in the air. “So, what made you choose Sol for our date?” I asked, making an effort to lead us back to a healthy place. The last thing I wanted was for him to blame me for any foul mood at the end of the date. “I mean, what made you decide on Puerto Rican cuisine?”

  As silence loomed over us, and Dario’s eyes bore into me, my intuition alerted me to what was next. My body warmed, small flutters went stir crazy, my heart raced. I knew. That knowing brought a jumble of nerves with it. Right when my nerves kicked in, and I was about to repeat the question, Dario’s hand was on the back of my neck and pulling me toward him. It was too late to object to his lips, to his kiss. My eyes closed with ease to receive him. I hadn’t even realized that I wanted him to kiss me until the softness of his tongue touched my own and began a slow, seductive drag inside my mouth seeking, searching. My hands found the sides of his face and I joined him in a kiss that was so sensual it made me want him. There was something in his kiss; I had never longed for a man off of that alone. Yet, this intimate exchange between Dario and me . . . on this hill, brought about a sense of urgency that I couldn’t explain, but that I wanted to explore further.

  Maybe athletes were my thing, after all . . .

  CHAPTER 16

  Dario

  Per the family tradition, I was headed to my parent’s house to celebrate my latest bout. Usually, I was there the day after I got back, but this time my parents had chosen to take a mini vacation to Coronado Island at the same time, so our schedules had been clashing.

  When I got inside, I trekked down the long corridor in the direction of all the voices. As I neared the threshold, I peeked inside and spotted my mother across the large room, but she wasn’t facing me. A friend of hers smiled in my direction and I put my finger to my lips, motioning for her to not announce anything. My goal was to try sneaking up on my mother while she was mid-conversation, but I wasn’t quick enough.

  “Hey, my superstar son!” she exclaimed as she came rushing toward me. “You kicked somebody else’s ass, I see,” she noted. A filter was not something that this petite woman was equipped with. She was a little package of a person, standing an even five feet; she packed a big mouth—a mouth that totally contradicted her form. “I used to be so afraid for him to fight,” she continued in her address to the room, “for fear of seeing somebody beat up my child. But, it seems I never had anything to worry about. I think it might even be a nice gesture for me to send that poor man’s mother a sympathy card and some flowers.”

  I shook my head as laughter escaped from my belly and my mother high-fived me.

  “No, that wouldn’t be cool at all because they might see that as taunting and it might very well end up causing a street fight.”

  As I watched a shadow cast over my mother’s blue eyes, and as her entire mood shifted from happy to sad, I immediately regretted my choice of words.

  She looked at me with a pleading stare. “Yeah, and we don’t want any of . . . those,” she said.

  Even though it had been years, the burn of losing Lucas was always with us, and my mother being both his aunt, and his Godmother, was deeply affected whenever any instance of the tragedy came up.

  “I’m sorry, Mamma,” I said to her. But even after I’d apologized, I knew it was too late and it hurt because I had to see her hurt. The only thing I could do right then was to wrap my arms around her and pull her into a protective embrace. When I did, she snaked her arms around my waist and held on tight for a few long minutes, while the room remained still.

  “It’s okay, son,” she said, pulling back slightly and looking up at me. She reached up and rubbed her hand against the side of my face. “I’m fine now.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” she said, with a forced smile. “Now, go and grab a plate and get it piled up with some of this food made just for you.”

  “Hey champ!” my father exclaimed in his baritone voice upon entering the room just in time for the dark cloud to pass. I met him halfway to greet him with our regular hug and kiss to each cheek.

  “Hey Papà, how’s it going?”

  “It’s going. Good to see you after all this time,” he joked.

  “You guys were the ones living it up in Southern California. That wasn’t my fault. I would’ve been by yesterday. But I got to hear you guys’ voices, so that counts.”

  “Hmm, I’d be more understanding if us not seeing you, involved a woman, right Antonina?”

  “Yes, my love; a woman who’s in the running to bring us an heir into the world,” my mother replied from across the room. “In a world full of men, it might even be good if it was an heiress! I’ll take either . . . even a pair!”

  “Mamma!” I exclaimed, shaking my head. She would never give up on her quest to make me a father. In a perfect world, she would love for me to trade the gloves in for fatherhood, but I just didn’t see that happening anytime soon. Boxing was still going to be a presence even after retirement. My life was as it was because I’d chosen it that way. As far as a woman coming in to change that, I didn’t see that immediately happening.

  “How’s your dating life, son?” my father asked me when everyone had finally taken their attention off of me and my mother’s back and forth banter.

  Looking at Giuseppe Caivano, it was clear where I got my features from. My dad towered over my mother’s five-foot frame with his six-foot-four stature. He stood a firm two inches taller than me. His skin tone was the same fair-olive tone that mine was, his eyes were the same blue-green that mine were and our square jawlines were identical. The only thing that I could see inherited from my mother was her dark blonde hair. My father’s hair, with the exception of a few silver strands, was almost jet black.

  “I’m only asking because I’m still expecting you to show up here one day with a woman on your arm,” he continued. “I already know you got good taste because you take after your Papà,” he boasted. “I mean, look at your Mamma. That woman is as fine as Tuscany wine!”

  “Dad . . .” I laughed. “Yeah, no. Too much.”

  “What?” he teased. “My woman is the most beautiful girl breathing air. So, I’m just sayin’ that I know your taste in women—”

  “Capisco, Papà. And to answer your question, I can’t complain. The dating life is fine—when I get the time to do it.”

  My dad grabbed me around the back of my neck and yanked me close. “But even when you’re not dating, I know you’re taking a few beauties to bed, right?”

  “For sure. I’m pretty busy, Papà. You have no worries there.”

  My father and I had always talked sex since I was a young boy. It was one of the many things we bonded over. When Lucas was alive, he gave us both “the talk” and we ran with it. Not only did he give us “the talk”, he schooled us on the seduction of women and all of that. Lucas’ dad, my
uncle Christoph, is a cool guy, but more on the conservative side, where my dad just isn’t.

  “That’s my boy! Now, let’s go eat, drink, and be merry before your Mamma throws a fit.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Dario

  “I wish Lennox could come to live at our house,” my younger cousin Freddie hinted, as we sat watching an episode of The Originals on the giant screen inside my movie room. I had brought Freddie home with me when he begged to leave as I was leaving my mother’s house. There wasn’t a time that he wasn’t wrapped up in my dog, Lennox. Lennox was a beautiful Doberman/German shepherd mix that I had gotten when he was just eight weeks old. Freddie was obsessed with Lennox and was really good with him. In fact, it was pretty normal for Lennox to climb under Freddie as he did me because they’d formed such a strong bond. I looked over at the two sitting like best friends, then turned back to the television and released a light chuckle.

  “Now, Freddie, you know that you wouldn’t take care of a dog if you had one. That’s why Zii Veronika and Christoph won’t allow it.”

  “No! I would, Dario. Like, for real, I would! If you talk to them they’ll let me. Or, I could see if Lennox can come with me when you have to go out of town for your fights.”

  “Not the second part, dude. Not at all. Lennox is more than a handful and you can’t do it.”

  “I can,” he stated, rubbing the top of Lennox’s large head. “And Dad would help me.”