Chapter 5 - The Ambush at the GymThe following afternoon at 4:00 PM, I returned to my private training gym in South Chicago to pick up my specialized kinesiology equipment and client schedules.
The gym was quiet, the sunlit windows casting long shadows across the blue wrestling mats and hanging punching bags.
As I reached into my locker, the heavy metal front doors of the gym slammed shut with a loud, metallic CLACK.
I spun around.
Standing near the entrance were Enzo and three broad-shouldered enforcers wearing dark coats, holding heavy wooden batons.
"Coach Gia," Enzo sneered, stepping onto the mats with a cold, mocking smile. "You should have stayed teaching fourteen-year-old kids."
I stood tall, keeping my feet shoulder-width apart, my body automatically dropping into a low, balanced wrestling stance. "Julian Vance sent you?"
Enzo blinked, surprised, but his sneer quickly returned. "Julian pays well. He wants you out of Chicago by nightfall. But first... we're going to make sure those hands of yours don't do any more adjustments."
The three enforcers stepped forward, raising their batons.
What they didn't understand was that they were standing on my mat.
The lead enforcer lunged forward, swinging his wooden baton toward my head.
I didn't cower. I didn't scream.
I dropped my level instantly under his swing, my hips shooting forward into a flawless double-leg takedown. My shoulders struck his midsection, my arms locking around his knees, driving his two-hundred-pound frame flat onto his back against the high-density mat.
BOOM!
Before he could gasp for air, I transitioned into a side-control pin, snapping his wrist back into an armbar lock until his baton clattered to the floor.
"AAGHH!" he shrieked in pain.
The second enforcer charged with a heavy right hook. I slid inside his reach, caught his sleeve, pivoted on my right heel, and executed a sweeping hip toss (O-Goshi), slamming him hard onto the canvas beside his partner.
Enzo’s eyes went wide as saucers as he backed toward the door, pulling a concealed pistol from his coat. "You crazy bitch—!"
Before Enzo’s finger could touch the trigger, the glass front doors of the gym shattered inward!
CRASH!
Four armored Cadillacs screeched to a halt outside the gym. Ten broad-shouldered guards in dark bespoke suits poured into the facility, carrying suppressed submachine guns.
Walking through the shattered entrance, wearing an immaculate black suit, his posture tall, straight, and unyielding, was Mateo Moretti.
Beside him stood Marcus Vance—his chief security officer—holding a tactical rifle aimed dead center at Enzo’s chest.
Mateo walked onto the mat in his leather shoes, his storm-gray eyes burning with an apocalyptic, soul-crushing fury that dropped the gym's temperature to freezing.
He didn't look at Enzo. He walked straight up to me, examining my face, his warm hand catching my chin with gentle, fierce protection.
"Are you hurt, Gia?" Mateo asked, his deep baritone trembling with raw concern.
"I'm fine, Mateo," I answered, breathing slightly fast, gesturing to the two enforcers groaning on the mat behind me. "They didn't touch me."
Mateo turned his head slowly toward Enzo, who was trembling violently, his pistol falling from his numb fingers onto the floor.
"Enzo," Mateo spoke softly, every word dropped like a block of glacier ice. "You came into my woman's gym. You threatened the person who gave me back my life."
"Boss! Please!" Enzo wept, dropping to his knees on the mat. "Julian ordered it! He paid us fifty thousand dollars!"
"Marcus," Mateo commanded flatly, without taking his eyes off Enzo.
May you like
"Yes, Don Mateo?"
"Take them to the docks," Mateo ordered. "And tell my stepbrother Julian that I will be sitting at the head of the boardroom table tomorrow morning... completely pain-free."
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