Amore: The Fated Series, #3

By HL Packer

Tia

I'm drowning.

Barely keeping my head above water.

The weight of expectation is dragging me down as I attempt to break free.

One moment of selfish weakness haunts me, anchoring me to this life.

And now he's here. My weakness; tempting and delicious.

 

Cian

My fists are all that keep me going; all that keep her safe.

Fighting is all I know.

But when those fists take me away and thrust me into another world surrounded by enemies who are pretending to be friends, I falter.

When fate intervenes and my heart is on the line, which one will I choose?

• Language: English
• Publisher: HL Packer
• Release date: Jul 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201935535

HL Packer

H.L. Packer is, quite frankly, a busy bee. An avid reader as a child, her love for all things written waned into adulthood, the excitement of real life things taking over. But when her life slowed down as she finished her office job for maternity leave, her husband purchased her an e-reader, and that obsession was rekindled. Quickly she went from reader to reviewer, and then from reviewer to blogger; street teams and promo tours galore. When she began collating her own book boxes over at Romance Readers Book Box UK and had the opportunity to include her own words and worlds, the characters began talking. Those cheeky characters quickly found themselves written down on the page, and her first series was in progress. When she is not coordinating her worlds, you can find her running around after her free-spirited three children, and husband, or tending to the dogs, bearded dragons, and snakes that also reside with them. A break can be found soaking in a bubble bath or enjoying a glass of wine, often still with a book in her hand. H.L. Packer is, quite frankly, a busy bee. An avid reader as a child, her love for all things written waned into adulthood, the excitement of real life things taking over. But when her life slowed down as she finished her office job for maternity leave, her husband purchased her an e-reader, and that obsession was rekindled. Quickly she went from reader to reviewer, and then from reviewer to blogger; street teams and promo tours galore. When she began collating her own book boxes over at Romance Readers Book Box UK and had the opportunity to include her own words and worlds, the characters began talking. Those cheeky characters quickly found themselves written down on the page, and her first series was in progress. When she is not coordinating her worlds, you can find her running around after her free-spirited three children, and husband, or tending to the dogs, bearded dragons, and snakes that also reside with them. A break can be found soaking in a bubble bath or enjoying a glass of wine, often still with a book in her hand.

Book preview

C1 Cian

The electric tones of Godsmack’s, ‘ Crying Like a Bitch,’ ring out, their echoes bouncing off the bare concrete walls as they scream of the hurt I’m about to rain down on this unsuspecting victim. My arms are held out wide and my head down under the black silk robe as we march, the security team flanking me.

The music can barely be heard over the screams, the tang of blood thick in the heavy, humid air as the spotlight tracks me to the poorly erected cage. My opponent squares his shoulders, cracking his neck as he waits, bouncing from foot to foot.

The official checks my gloves and mouth piece, and gives me a once over before I nod to my team, their words of encouragement pouring through me as the door slams closed behind me.

The crowd quietens as the ref pulls my opponent and me both in, our foreheads to his, arms wrapped around our shoulders as––in turn––he looks us both in the eye.

The rest of the room disappears, and it’s just the three of us here, preparing for war.

I want a clean fight, boys; don’t fuck this up.

My nod is barely perceptible, my gaze locked to the bright blue orbs of my opponent, but he feels the movement against his own before he claps us on the shoulder and we step back.

Your ass is mine, Ryan, my opponent snaps at me, slamming his foot on the mat between us.

All I see, all I taste, is his fear.

His bark is much worse than his bite as he attempts to knock me off edge. Fool.

His breathing is already heavy, his eyes tracking left to right, never resting on anything long enough to see it properly. He’s nervous, agitated, riled up and ready to go. Easy pickings.

In the blue corner, we have Arlo the Monster Ricci, the speakers announce as the crowd roars. And in the red corner, we have Cian the Killer Ryan.

If the crowd were raucous when they called his name, they are obscene when they hear mine. Throwing back the black hood, I lift my head, sliding it from my shoulders as I parade in the cage for them. The king preening to his masses as they eat it up.

I toss the robe over the top of the cage, adjusting my mouth guard as I shake my muscles out, the ring emptying around us.

The ref calls us back to the centre. Bump.

As he steps back, the bell rings out overhead. And fight.

We both bounce back, circling the matt as I watch for weaknesses.

The adrenaline courses through me as my pulse races and my focus tightens. He tests a few jabs in my direction, both missing their mark as his muscles stretch and contract, me swiping out of the way at the last minute. Left-hander.

He’s broader than me, but the extra couple of inches height I have gleans me that extra bit of reach. Waiting for the right moment, I step into his space, the bone crunching as my fist connects with his jaw, and he half stumbles back but quickly returns two to my torso.

Uppercut for Ryan and a chest shot to Ricci, the announcer calls, his voice a melody of the brawl playing out before him.

He lands a couple more as I test the weight behind him, his strength and power knocking the wind from me. Breathing through as we circle, the blood pounds through my body as I fake a right and land a solid punch to his left shoulder.

And that looks like it hurts, the announcer sounds as Ricci attempts to work out the pain radiating through his left side.

He’s practically vibrating with anger, his fury white-hot and ready to be unleashed in my direction. Childs play. I smirk at him, gesturing for him to bring it as the crowd goes wild.

Cocky; undefeated.

I’m not cowering back from anyone in this ring or any other, not tonight, at least.

He swings and misses, the jab landing shy of the extended distance between us as I snake back at the last minute. The roundhouse kick he throws lands but misses its mark, catching me on the hip rather than my thigh or my midsection; his anger making him sloppy and miscalculated as he bristles to land something… anything… desperation seeping from him.

It’s not looking good for Ricci here, all attempts at bringing down the Killer are failing to hit their mark.

My smirk is wider, eyes alight as I dance the floor, continuing to play to my crowd, the audience that came to see me fight. It might be smug, but I don’t really care, I’m here to win and that’s what I’m going to do.

He stumbles forward, attempting to wrap his arms around my neck and pull me to the mat as I shrug out of his pathetic hold. Rearing back, I jab to the right, opening his eyebrow as blood seeps from the wound. An uppercut knocks him backwards and the front kick to his solar plexus has him stumbling back, breathless.

Watch out, buddy, here he comes, the announcer taunts.

Allowing me the time and space to get momentum was his mistake, one that he will pay dearly for. I close the distance between us, dropping my elbow down on his exposed shoulder as his arms release his chest.

Gasping for breath, he lands on his knees, the ragged cry of pain pouring from him as I circle behind him. Time to finish this. The crowd goes wild, the blood in the air and the finish in sight.

Dropping to the mats, I wrap my legs around his torso, my right arm pushing his head away, holding it in place with my thigh as I grip his damaged left arm. Pulling it in close, I lift my hips as he taps furiously against my leg.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

And the fight goes to Cian the Killer Ryan, the announcer confirms, the ref raising my arm in the air as Arlo gasps his way back to his team.

The whoops and hollers from the crowd are deafening as he releases me back to my team, the robe falling back around my shoulders and over my head.

The cage fills with bodies; his team and mine, women and commentators, all vying for their moment in the limelight.

A flurry of blonde hair appears in front of me. And how does it feel to take yet another win, Mr Ryan?

Ah, yeah, it’s good, I reply, rubbing my hand along the back of my neck. But no-one thought I was going to lose, right? I chuckle into the outstretched mic, the cheeky twinkle of my eye catching hers.

No-one who was expecting to go home with their money, no, she flirts back, her fake tits pressed high and tight in a low-cut top as she leans towards me. Her palm traces across my sweat-soaked skin as she slaps my chest playfully, a mischievous gleam in her eye.

I’m the motherfucking Killer, I roar, throwing my arms in the air as my coach bands his arms around my chest. I throw a wink in her direction as he guides me from the cage, making our way back to the dressing room, crew in tow.

The locker room door bangs back as we pour through, riding the high from the win. The celebration is rowdy as I sink onto the bench, the adrenaline still pumping as the doc unwraps my hands, checking the tapes as he does. He prods and pokes, testing the muscles and my responses for bruising before declaring me fit to see another day.

Forty thousand pounds, Aidan grits out, squeezing his hands against my head, forehead to forehead as he jumps on the spot. Forty fucking thousand pounds, baby. The excitement pours out of him and spills over into the room. My team, coaches and support are all here, whooping and hollering; celebrating, the win as much theirs as it is mine.

Your welcome, jackass. I chuckle, heading into the adjoining room to run the shower and strip off, leaving the rest of them to revel in the moment, needing a second to ground myself before heading back out into the foray.

The door clicks behind him before he continues. He was a beast, Cian, you should have seen some of his other fights, a fucking beast. And you took him down like he was nothing, he rambles aimlessly as I wash up.

The warm water soothes the ache building in my muscles as it pours over my head, blocking the continuous drone of his voice. Switching off from the epic win as my adrenaline comes down, the rapid thrum of my heartbeat returns to a normal level.

Shutting the water off, I step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my waist and heading back into the main room, Aiden’s voice still rambling away behind me...

What the... I start, looking at my formerly boisterous teammates now stood stoically still, all eyes focused on one man.

Mr Ryan? he asks with a cock of his eyebrow.

Yeah.

My name’s Mario. I need five minutes of your time, he demands, looking around the room at my team, waiting for them to leave.

I’ll be out in five, guys.

Everyone apart from Aiden scurries out of the room, avoiding eye contact with the sharp-dressed interloper in the doorway. Roughly I dry off, throwing the towel in the basket before searching out my clothes.

What can I do for you? I ask sharply.

Well, Mr Ryan––

Call me Cian.

"Well, Cian, it is more a question of what I can do for you."

I’m listening.

How would you feel about coming to work for my boss?

I already have a boss, I dismiss.

Indeed, I am aware.

I slide the shirt over my head, settling the fabric as I fasten the button of the dark-wash jeans and turn to face him.

What the hell do I need another boss for? Don’t think Mr. McCarthy is going to like that too much, do you, Aiden?

No, Cian, I don’t reckon he would, Aiden confirms, his arms crossed over his body as he warily watches our new friend.

Perhaps Mr. McCarthy and my employer could come to some kind of arrangement? he suggests.

You’d need to discuss that with him, Mario, I have no idea how any of this shit works. I’m just the muscle, remember?

I slam the locker door closed, already over this business bullshit. I’ve just finished a fight, I want a drink and a fuck, and not necessarily in that order. He hands a black card to Aiden, leaving one on the bench between us.

Here’s a number, ask him to get in touch. It could be very lucrative for us all, I’m sure.

He nods once to us both before leaving silently, the same way he came in, no doubt. No bodyguards, no muscle, this guy wasn’t the boss, he was a message and money talks.

I pocket the card. Get that handed over, Aide. Let McCarthy work out what he wants. Like I have any say in this shit anyway.

He slings my bag over his shoulder as we head out and into the corridor, the rest of my team littering the space, excited and reverent at my barely scratched exterior. A blonde and a brunette slip under each of my outstretched arms, nestling against my body as they look up to me with stars in their eyes.

Let’s get this party started, eh, ladies?

C2 Tia

"O h yes, I heard you just fine, get out of the damn way," I growl.

I’m sorry, Miss, this space is booked for a private event. You could try again in an hour, perhaps?

I’m sure I could, I mutter under my breath, squaring my shoulders before continuing. But I need to get in there now. So, if you could kindly get out of the way, I’ll just get what I need and get out of your hair.

Just let her in, mate, she isn’t going anywhere, Anton calls from the doorway.

Exactly how long were you going to make me wait out here? It’s fucking cold, you know.

It’s a damn reception, Tia, you’re inside.

I know that. It’s still fucking winter out there though. I shiver, brushing past him.

T, he’s in a meeting, he starts, rushing to catch up with me.

I don’t care, I want a fucking bottle of wine and I’m not waiting for housekeeping to piss around for it when I can get one right here and right now.

The room falls deathly silent as I breeze through to the bar.

I’ll take a bottle of Rose and a bottle of Pinot please, now, I ask the bartender, refusing to make eye contact with anyone else in the room.

Do you need some glasses for that, T? Or you just gonna neck it from the bottle, classy like? my cousin asks, settling in at my side as the guy scurries away in search of the wine.

Fuck off, Anton.

Family. You can’t choose ‘em and you’re sure as fuck stuck with ‘em. In my family you are anyway. The bartender returns with the two opened bottles and four glasses.

You need a hand with those, Tia? a dark voice rumbles from the table behind me.

That would be very kind of you, Carlos, thank you.

Anton, give her a hand, he orders. And don’t go plying Soph with your cheap crap either, I’ll be up shortly.

Un fottuto inferno, Anton grumbles in my direction. No problem, Carlos. He grabs a bottle of wine, sliding three glasses between his fingers as he marches back the way we came.

An awareness prickles at my back, heat erupting from my neck and tracing down my body as someone’s gaze burns through me. Sliding the room key from my bag and picking up the remaining glass and bottle, I head back out, leaving the boys to their business.

"Grazie mio amore, a presto," I offer, saccharine sweet. Without sparing him a glance, my heels click against the marble floor as I make my way back out and up to my room. Busy my arse. Fucking men.

Anton is holding the elevator for me when I eventually make it there, his dark stare boring through me. I don’t know how he moves so damn fast.

Come on, T, I haven’t got all day here.

Yeah, yeah, quit your moaning. What’s that all about anyway?

Just something to do with a fighter Mario saw, he hedges, watching the numbers impatiently on the elevator wall as we slowly ride upwards.

Way too much testosterone in there for me.

Uh-huh. Don’t go getting into any trouble tonight, T.

Wouldn’t dream of it, Anton, wouldn’t dream of it.

I roll my eyes as the doors pull back, striding down the corridor to my suite and knocking it with my elbow. Come on ladies, open up!

Coming, coming, Cassidy mutters, opening the door to me, Anton lagging behind as he meanders down the corridor. For someone so keen to get rid of me, he certainly isn’t rushing along now.

What took you so long? I ask as he continues to drag his heels.

Don’t know what you mean, he sulks, pushing past me and heading down the corridor to the living room.

Nice to see you, Anton, Cassidy calls behind him. What’s up with sour puss?

No fucking clue, babe, no fucking clue.

She closes the door, the lock automatically snicking into place as we follow him down to the suite’s living room.

Hand it over, Faith says from the chair, wiggling her fingers at Sophie gleefully.

Fine, fine, you win, she concedes, handing cash over to her sulkily.

Huh?

Sophie didn’t think you’d get in and get the booze, she was prepping to get the order in with housekeeping if you weren’t back in ten minutes, Cassidy explains with an eye roll.

What? Do you have no faith in me? I ask, raising my eyebrows.

"I have faith in how much of a stubborn ass your brother is. That was a closed meeting, he even told me to stay out," Sophie replies.

"You’re preaching to the converted here, hunny. I’m well aware of how stubborn he is, but he also knows better than to piss me off."

Tia Mariotti, kicking ass and taking names since nineteen-ninety-five. Faith chuckles loudly.

Ah, that’s nineteen-ninety-eight thank you very much, I correct.

Oh, Jesus. I’m like the damn mummy here to keep you all in line, Cassidy groans, dropping her head into her hands.

Well, if you’ve got all the booze you need for the next half an hour, I’m gonna leave you guys to it, Anton interrupts from the doorway.

Yes, yes, how much longer do you think he’s going to be anyway? I ask.

No idea, but he isn’t going anywhere without Sophie, so don’t worry about. He’ll be here when he gets here, and don’t think for one fucking second about going out, T. Don’t make me chase your ass down in the middle of the fucking street again.

"So pissy, Anton. Vaffanculo ci vediamo piú tardi."

His boots stomp down the corridor, the sound of the door slamming echoing around the silent space as the girls look to each other before bursting out into laughter.

What the fuck was that?

Oh, I just said I’d see him later, I reply.

Not that. She chuckles. Chase you down the street?

Again?

What the fuck have you been up to now, Tia?

She’s a dark horse this one, Soph.

They chatter away as I retrieve the other bottle and glasses Anton left in the kitchen, lining them up and filling them on the coffee table as we get our evening underway.

Come on then, Tia, what was he on about? Faith asks, plucking a glass of Rose from the table.

He told me I couldn’t go out to the shop on Monday. I shrug. So, I waited until he wasn’t looking and fucked off out. I needed tampons, I wasn’t about to ask him to go buy them, was I? Jesus, I thought he was having a heart attack when he finally caught up with me.

They all fall about in hysterics again.

I can just imagine the look on his face when he realised you’d gone.

"Well, I didn’t think I was going to get that far. I didn’t sneak, the door slammed pretty loudly. Maybe the elevators fucked him or something? I dunno? I gave the guy downstairs a wave, so it’s not like I was completely alone. Even so, he was not impressed."

Oh, I can hear him now, Tia. Cassidy chuckles. "Get back here, T, come sit down, T, where the hell you going, T?"

You should have seen his face when I started picking out tampons in the store. I bought a six month supply just for the pure horror.

Fucking hell, Tia, only you, Faith says between giggles as the rest of us pick a glass of wine and make a start on our last evening together.

Here’s to making them work for it!

To making them work for it! they chorus.

c3 Cian

"S ix months? McCarthy huffs, swirling the vodka in his glass. Let’s start at two million."

I was thinking, one million and five percent of the profits.

Now why the fuck would I do that?

What’s to say he is going to even fight for me, hmm? What’s to say he isn’t going to throw every fight once he is transferred to me and not make me a penny?

Well, that wouldn’t be right now, would it?

No, Mr McCarthy, it wouldn’t. So, one million and five percent.

How about two million and twenty-five percent?

The dark-haired guy breathes slowly down his nose, narrowing his eyes at McCarthy as he ponders his next move.

Perhaps we meet part way?

Perhaps we fuck off right now? McCarthy slams the glass down, the sweat pouring from him despite the tiny movement.

If you want to go, the door is there. I’m not holding you hostage. But you know just as well as I do how profitable this could be for you.

McCarthy huffs and puffs, looking to me and then back to the slicked-back dude in front of him. The guy is cool and calm despite his earlier irritation, a far cry from the agitated exterior of my boss.

Partway? he ponders. How about one-point-five million and twenty percent?

I’ll give you one-point-five million and ten percent, and you have a deal.

McCarthy leans into Aiden, whispering God only knows what as he nods along.

Ya got a deal, son. Six months, Mr Mariotti, and I want him back with a full bill of health, yeah?

Salute! he exclaims, raising his glass in a toast with a nod.

Sláinte!

One of his guys looks in my direction. Get your bags packed, son. You’re going to Italy.

This Mr Mariotti turns in his seat to face me, the first time he has deigned to level his gaze with the asset he just purchased, or leased, I suppose.

I’m flying home on Thursday and I want you on a flight in a week. Say your goodbyes before the airport and get ready to work. I have somewhere to be, gentlemen. Thank you for your time.

And without waiting for a thank you, fuck you or goodbye, the dick gets up and walks out, half a dozen black-suited bodyguards filing out behind him. What an arrogant prick.

What the fuck was that? I ask, throwing my arms out wide as Aiden glares at me.

Remember where you are, Cian, he growls.

That, my son, was a six month holiday. You’re gonna go and see what’s happening over there and then report back to me, McCarthy states, glowering at me.

This isn’t the solid stare of a dangerous man, this is the wobbly stare of someone unhinged with no morals. One side glance and I’d be on my arse in here, despite my size and reputation. This is the stare of someone who knows they’re going to get what they want, and they aren’t going to have to lift a finger to fucking get it.

I grit my teeth. I have no moves to play here, no cards hidden away at my disposal. If I have to go to fucking Italy then that’s what I have to do. I nod once. I might have to go, but I don’t have to be fucking happy about it.

Come on then, Cian boy, let’s go celebrate, Aiden calls, jumping up from the table and wrapping his burly arm around my neck in an attempted headlock.

Get off, you fucking goof. I laugh, shucking out of his piss-poor hold. You couldn’t keep jack with that.

His hand comes down against my shoulder as he guides me back out of the room and away from the explosion waiting to happen, McCarthy staring daggers in my direction as we go.

The marble floor gleams back up at us as we head in search of cheap drinks and easy women. And in central London, both of those things are easy to find.

Where to then, man? What we in the mood for tonight? he asks as we wander seemingly aimless through the streets.

Dunno, just somewhere we can have a drink. I can’t be arsed with pussy tonight. It took me forever to get rid of those fucking twins last night, Jesus Christ.

Good were they?

Fuck yeah, you should have seen the tits on them. The memory alone is enough to have me adjusting my jeans. But they had no fucking clue when I told them to do one.

Clingers?

Hell yeah, I had to practically throw them out. Nothing sours a good night like a chick that doesn’t know when to fuck off. How about here?

"Club Indigo, fuck it, let’s do it," he confirms, slamming through the double doors with a nod to the bouncers.

Aiden stands, charming the woman on the desk; blonde hair, full pouty lips, laughs like a fucking hyena. No thank you. Leaving him to his business, I take the offered wristband and head straight for the bar.

Two Staropramen and a sambuca, please, I ask the red-head. Her eyes drag lazily over my face and down my arms, categorising my tattoos, the light stubble across my jaw and the mischievous twinkle in my hazel eyes.

She nods twice, a small smile playing on her lips as she twirls on the spot, heading to find wherever the fuck they keep the beers in this place. The lights flicker and swirl––reflected in the glass behind the bar––the dark outline of myself a stark contrast to the rest of the place.

Tell me you got the beers in, man? Aiden asks, his hand slamming onto