Chapter 2 The Souvenir

Maya almost crashed to the hard tiled floor but was swiftly caught by a hand that instantly wrapped around her waist, followed by an intoxicating scent that enveloped her; the stranger's expensive cologne. But beneath that enticing fragrance was an unexpected heat radiating from his body, almost fever-hot against her cool skin.

Then her eyes met his cold and alluring green eyes, the finest she had ever seen in her life, making her gasp. His features seemed carved from marble – sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, and full lips set in a stern line. To say the cold-looking man was handsome was an understatement; he was mesmerizingly hot and sexy. And the strong arms that held onto her were like steel bands, making her athletic 5'8" frame feel almost delicate against his towering height. Despite years of boxing training that had toned her body into lean muscle, she felt oddly vulnerable in that brief moment.

The man gently pulled away from her, though his hands seemed to linger for a fraction longer than necessary.

"Be mindful of your surroundings next time," was all the man's deep, compelling voice said before he adjusted his perfectly tailored black suit and strode away, his face expressionless with no readable emotions.

"I-I'm sorry," Maya whispered, finally coming to her senses. She looked at the man's well-defined back in his black suit and unconsciously licked her lips, tasting the mint of her lip balm. His aura was intimidating and yet captivating. The scent of his cologne still clung to her skin, making her head spin slightly.

Maya couldn't help but wonder why his body was scorching hot, like touching a flame that didn't quite burn.

"Hey, we made a bet," Vicky shouted, pulling Maya out of her daze.

"On it!"

They rushed to the hospital parking lot, their footsteps echoing off the concrete as they ran, giggling like the schoolgirls they'd been when they first met fifteen years ago.

The black Sentra wasn't much – a 2018 model with a few scratches on the bumper – but it was better than the hour-long bus ride to the fighting venue.

As expected, Vicky got there first, so Maya had to take the steering.

"You seemed so lost back there and your face is so damn red. Don't tell me that you're falling for a stranger?" Vicky teased, buckling her seatbelt. The overhead parking lot lights reflected on her amused expression.

"Not a chance." Maya cringed at the thought, absently running her fingers through her red and gold hair. Her calloused knuckles, evidence of countless hours in the ring, caught slightly on the silky strands. "I just felt some kind of serious heat from his body. It was so hot, like he was burning up with fever."

"Well, he's in the hospital for a reason, right? He will get treated." Vicky chuckled, the sound bouncing off the car's interior.

"Oh, that's right," Maya agreed while laughing, though something in her gut told her this wasn't a simple case of fever. She flexed her hands on the steering wheel, feeling the familiar texture of worn leather under her fingers.

Their laughter was interrupted by Vicky's phone blaring "Sweet Home Alabama" – Mark's ringtone. Maya's heart jumped to her throat as Vicky checked the screen.

"Relax," Vicky said, declining the call with a casual swipe. The screen's glow disappeared, leaving them in the dimness of the parking lot. "What's he gonna do? We're already out. Besides," she added, connecting her phone to the car's speakers with a series of soft beeps, "I think this calls for some driving music."

"Why the hell did you use his ringtone for your phone?" Maya glared at Vicky.

"To scare you, of course," Vicky shrugged.

Maya shook her head in disbelief. "You're crazy."

"I know."

As they pulled out of the parking lot, the opening notes of their favorite song filled the car, vibrating through the seats. The hospital's imposing structure grew smaller in the rearview mirror as Maya navigated through the evening traffic.

Maya watched her best friend – more like a sister really – bobbing her head to the beat, her short brown hair swaying with the movement, and felt a surge of gratitude. Since they were five years old, sharing crayons and secrets in kindergarten, Vicky had been her constant. Through every hospital visit, every family crisis, every triumph and failure, they'd faced it together. The setting sun painted the sky in shades of pink and gold, reminiscent of Maya's own unique hair colors, as they drove toward another night of necessary violence.

"Are you ready to kick their ass?" Vicky suddenly screamed through her singing, her voice mixing with the music.

Maya rolled her shoulders, feeling the familiar pre-fight tension building in her muscles. "Hundreds of them!!!"

*********

Pedro Delgado walked into the office of his doctor friend with measured steps, his Italian leather shoes silent against the polished floor. The sterile hospital smell mixed with the faint scent of lavender air freshener did nothing to calm his growing irritation. He brought out his phone and dialed a number, his expression darkening with anger as he heard her annoying voice.

"I give you 30 seconds to walk down to your office, or else you will regret being alive," he threatened before ending the call.

He walked over to the chair behind her desk and sat down.

As he waited, his mind wandered to the woman who had collided with him earlier. She had been a vision of contradictions – delicate yet strong, her body fitting against his for that brief moment like a missing puzzle piece. Her captivating ocean-blue eyes had widened in surprise, framed by long lashes, and that unusual hair – red fading into gold – had caught his attention. Even now, he could recall how soft she had felt against his chest, her subtle floral perfume lingering in his senses.

"Argh..." A low pain-filled groan escaped Pedro's mouth, his hand moving to unbutton his black shirt further until a round fire-like wound that looked like a tattoo on his chest was visible.

That was the souvenir his late wife, Helene, had left him with her death – an unending pain. If he had known that her death would bring him so much agony as a consequence, perhaps he would have handled the situation with more restraint. But as a mafia boss who loathed betrayal, the only language he understood was torture, torment till... she took her own life. Now, her curse on him was all that was left behind.

Pedro's eyes fluttered closed as he leaned his back against the chair, mouth slightly parted, and let out a breathless sigh. The ache was scorching, making him uncomfortable, and seemed to travel to every corner of his body.

The pain was always more unbearable at night and manageable during the day, but he couldn't understand why it was suddenly acting up at that moment – like something had stimulated it.

This was truly hell on earth!

"I'm here!!!" Dr. Alex announced as she practically ran into the room, her white coat flaring behind her like wings. Her curly brown hair, usually perfectly styled, had come loose from its clip, falling in waves past her shoulders. She leaned forward, placing her hands on her knees as she caught her breath, her chest heaving up and down. She had learned long ago that keeping the mafia boss waiting was never wise, regardless of their friendship.

"If you're going to keep coming to my office, can you please inform me on time or book an appointment so I won't have to constantly outrun my shadow this way?" Alex asked as she slowly raised her head. But to her surprise, the man she was talking to wasn't looking good at all. He was literally breathing hard with sweat coating his forehead, his usual commanding presence diminished by obvious pain.

"What is wrong, Pedro?" Her voice was instantly laced with concern as she rounded the mahogany desk to go closer to the aching man.

"DO NOT TOUCH ME!" Pedro commanded even without opening his eyes, his deep voice reverberating off the walls. The doctor froze, her manicured hand halfway to his face, trembling slightly in the space between them.