E.W.E.W Copyright © 2012-2021 Marzy Opal (xXMopelXx) All Rights Reserved.

Chapter posted - August 28, 2021

Hi Queens! I hope you've all been well <3 I apologize for the long wait - most of you know I've been preparing for professionally self-publishing my novels so writing can be something more sustainable for me. These last ten months were crazy busy for me, but I'm pleased to announce that Ella and Cade's rewrite - TRAPPED WITH YOU - is now live for pre-order on Amazon, worldwide! This story has a piece of my heart. Thank you to everyone who's already purchased and continues to support this dream of mine. This book is truly dedicated to you, the readers!

You can use the link below to pre-order (or use the link in my profile):

https://linktr.ee/marzyopal

Trapped With You is a smutty, angsty, second chance, new adult romance. Ella is an alpha female and Cade, as I've said before, is a dirty-talking bad boy, signature Marzy style. (and yes, he's just as bad as Sam). xo

As always, if you're still reading and enjoying this story please VOTE (press the star button) and follow me on wattpad <3 xo

Playlist Song: Rihanna - Love on the brain

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{ Chapter 49 } : Baciami 

10 days before the fight.

"I see you haven't packed yet."

I glanced up from my computer screen, where I revised my term paper on feminism in the 20th century.

No, I haven't packed. Because I'm not fucking leaving.

"Sorry?" I replied to my mom, pretending I didn't hear her the first time.

She leaned against the doorframe. "Mine and Michael's bags are packed. The flight is in two days."

"I know." I resumed typing on my laptop, my glitter tips clicking obnoxiously. "But why would I pack when I'm not leaving? We've had this conversation before."

"Anna."

"I'll be staying with Tiffany and Sam for the meantime. I have my whole life here, Mom. My part time job at Amore, school—which I refuse to drop out of for the semester when we're nearly done—and, of course, my boyfriend. Again, this is my mess, too. I'm not leaving Sam to handle it on his own."

Isobel Sereno ground her jaw, huffed angrily, and twisted around to walk away...before she noticed the mess strewn over my bed. "What is all of this?"

Old notebooks filled with sketches of outfits and accessories were scattered over my bed, a mess amongst my rumpled satin sheets. Her eyes moved to the old mannequin stand I set up in the corner of my room. My sewing machine was hidden in my closet, but I would pull that out soon too.

"I'm going to apply to the fashion designing program at Vesta University in spring. I'm not going to switch out of the women's studies program. I'm going to do both and it might take me longer to graduate, but I think this is my purpose. I've always been passionate about clothing and style."

She stared at me pensively. "You haven't spoken about fashion designing since...your father died. I thought it was just a hobby you outgrew."

"I lost track of my dreams and ambitions for awhile," I admitted. "Yes, I enjoy women's studies, but I never actively pursued my true passion. But that's life, right? We find and lose ourselves constantly...It's part of our growth."

She hummed a little, surveying my room as if for the first time. I couldn't even remember the last time she'd been in here. My dad's the one who used to come over on a weekly basis with a big smile and two cans of Pepsi to plop down on my bed and catch up. He said it was to 'bother' me while I did homework, but I knew it was because he wanted to spend time with me. Our weekly conversations were filled with his wisdom and small lessons in Brazilian Portuguese.

My parents knew how much I loved getting dolled up. But it was my dad that used to call me his little fashionista growing up, supporting all my crazy attires throughout the years.

He always encouraged me to create the life I wanted because I had only one to live.

This was partly for him.

"I thought you were going to switch into nursing eventually. You love taking care of others," my mom mumbled, adding, "Like me."

"I do love taking care of people." I sighed, turning in my chair to face her. "But I only wanted to go into nursing because of you. I thought...I thought if I did... You'd finally give me the time of your day because we'd have something in common to talk about."

A sad look crossed her face. "Anna..."

Deciding I wasn't ready for another emotional talk, I waved her off. "Nursing is not my dream. Fashion and empowering women are, so I need to work hard towards my end goal. Which means I need to be here. No matter how uncertain the future remains, life will move on after Sam's fight. I need that mindset to keep on going."

She quietly observed me like she was learning me anew. If only she'd been present in the last two years.

Her eyes fell upon my ring finger and flared in shock. I didn't try to hide anything.

"Is that..." she arched an eyebrow, waiting for me to confirm her suspicions.

The 24k gold band, tiny zircons and massive pink morganite winked in the sunlight streaming through my open curtains.

I knew it looked like an engagement ring, judging by the size and caliber. "It's a promise ring. Sam gave it to me the night of his birthday."

My mom said nothing, staring at me blankly. Processing.

My stern expression melted. "Mom, I'm going to marry him someday. This promise ring, it's not his way of keeping me here. It's his way of promising me that we're in it for the long run. Just be happy for me, please. Don't say we're moving too fast."

She let out a martyr sigh, leaning more firmly against the doorframe. "I was never opposed to your relationship with him. I like Sam. He's a good guy. However, my children are my responsibility. I know I have a lot to make up for, but I'm doing the best I can."

Couldn't she just say congratulations first?

I scrubbed a hand over my face. "You're not wrong for wanting to ensure mine and Michael's safety. I get it, but I'm an adult. Sam's my family, too, Mom. This ring isn't a ploy to keep me here. It's just a reminder of the love we have for one another."

"I suppose." She crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm happy you're happy."

But she wasn't happy that I was refusing to go with her.

I waited for her to say more, but it became evident that she wouldn't. She'd probably call Tiffany now and they'd both gossip over this proposal, I was sure.

"I need to finish up over here. If that's all...?"

My mom nodded and left without another word. I knew this conversation wasn't over. Scotland would come up again. But my room being a mess was my indirect way of showing her I was staying here and not cleaning up my life to leave with her.

Seconds later, my door tipped open and Michael stuck his head inside with a boyish smile. Ever the gentleman, he asked, "May I come in?"

"Of course, sweetie."

His smile bloomed into a grin and my heart hurt. I only had a few days left before he was gone. And while I loved Sam, Michael was also my little sanctuary on earth.

"I brought my homework, too." He beamed proudly, holding up a handout and some crayons.

I made room for him on my work desk then hauled him into my lap because I only had one chair. He cackled when I tickled him and pressed kisses into his curls. Soon enough, I revised my paper again while Michael colored and practiced writing small words. I kept an eye on him to make sure he wasn't making any mistakes.

"Is mommy mad at you?" he asked after he finished practicing a row of words.

I tensed under him. "No, baby."

He blinked big eyes at me. "Then why are you not coming on vacation with us? I told her I don't want to go if you don't go."

I cupped his cheek, stroking softly. He leaned his head against my chest and gazed at me upside down. "Michael, I have school and important adult things to take care of here. I can't go with you and Mommy. You're going to have so much fun in Scotland though. I promise."

"I want to stay here with you and Sammy."

"You can't."

He pouted and went back to working, his posture sagging.

I hugged him tighter. "It'll only be a few days. You'll get to see beautiful castles, eat yummy treats, and no homework." Well, the last part was a lie. He'd probably take his work with him, but anything to get him excited for a trip overseas.

"I want to see beautiful castles, eat yummy treats and do no homework with you there." His clapback was filled with cheekiness.

"Hey, don't parrot my own words back at me."

"Hey, don't parrot my own words back at me," he copied.

I gasped jokingly. "What did you say to me?"

"Nothingggggg."

I tickled him until he squirmed. Then I spun him around in circles in my chair and he squealed with glee.

I wanted to remember this sound when he was gone and I was here, missing him.

* * *

"Good girl."

I jabbed harder.

The punching bag strained under the forces of my hit. I poured every bit of frustration into my synchronized movements, hitting harder and harder every time, using the power of my hips to propel me.

Nate stood beside me, monitoring my session, with his arms crossed over his barrel chest. The bullet wound on his right arm was puckered and gnarly, marring the beautiful tribal tattoo running along the entirety of his limb and curving over his shoulder blade. I wondered if he was still in pain. He'd have a scar forever to commemorate that alley fight. I couldn't stop starring at it.

That and well, the twin silver barbels decorating his nipples. As attractive as I found that, my breast screamed no.

"Kick. Jab. Jab. Kick. Keep going."

I was training with Nate, because my boyfriend decided to 'disappear' for some reason.

If I didn't know better, I would say Sam was avoiding me.

He bailed at the last second and said Nate would replace him. He had a fight tonight—not the fight—so at least I'd see him then.

"Take a five," Nate instructed. He bent at the waist and retrieved my water bottle from my duffel bag.

He shot it at me and I caught it quick. I guzzled down half of the water's contents, before wiping my chin and my damp ponytail. I was sweating like a pig. "Will you," I wheezed, running my hand over my mouth. "Will you be able to fight soon?"

Nate cracked his knuckles and stared at a random spot by our feet. "The wound is healing, but Richie doesn't want me to push it. He's forcing me to take a few more weeks off until my arm is fully recovered."

I never saw Nate fight, but I heard enough whispers to know that he was just as vicious, just as ruthless—if not more—than Sam in the cage. He was, after all, Richie's fighter with the most fights and wins under his belt.

"That's understandable." I wiped my face with a spare towel. "I'm really sorry again. It looks painful."

"I'm okay." He lifted his palm and absentmindedly ran it over the ruined flesh. "It'll get better soon."

Sam mentioned it was killing Nate slowly.

His two passions were art and fighting, but the latter was in his blood. His father too was a fighter back in the days with a notorious reputation that rivaled the guys Richie trained. Nate was restless to get back in the cage.

"It will."

Nate smirked, but his blue eyes were sad.

* * *

The energy laced in the crowd tonight was infectious, gyrating with adrenaline, excitement and thrill. The center of attention in the underground club was a huge cage, its outskirts swarming with debauchery. A mosh pit for rowdy fans, wads of Queen Sheets, and a note of beer in the air. There was a light haze surrounding the premise like a dark cloud.

I never knew before how hot the underground fighting scene was in this city until Sam.

Nico and I shouldered our way through the mass to get a better look. He kept an arm around me as he guided me forth and barked at a guy whose elbow almost took out my right eye. "Watch it, you piece of shit."

"Thank you!" I yelled over the raucous, plastering myself to him.

"Move those legs faster," he grumbled, then looked down at me. "Did you have to wear heels?"

"Yes." It was a no brainer. My thigh highs were an extension of me.

Oleg trailed behind us, watchful gaze darting around for anything out of the ordinary.

There was already another fight happening between two fighters I didn't recognize, but I could see which one belonged to Richie, based on the way he was yelling out instructions and waving his cane.

"Is Sam coming soon?" I hollered to Nico, staring at the digital clock mounted high on the ceiling.

He returned, "Nate texted me earlier. Sam's just getting tapped in the backroom."

Sam hadn't replied to any of my texts, but I knew he'd seen every single one of them. He had a lot of his plate today—a finance quiz this morning and a fight tonight—so I was giving him the benefit of the doubt.

From across the room, my eyes landed on Daniel. He was standing against the wall on the other side of the cage, barely watching the fight itself. He was here to keep an eye on Sam. His usual stoic expression fell a little as he gave me a chin nod. I waved back at him.

Beside him was a girl close to my age. Pale skin like Danny's, long straight black hair with front bangs that flirted with the ends of her brows. Her eyes were lined black and her lips painted red. She wore a faux fur coat that was absolutely to die for.

"That's his sister," Nico said.

That surprised me. "I don't think I've ever heard Danny or Sam mention a sister."

"Stefania's her name. I've seen her around a couple of times. Really pretty, but truthfully, she kind of scares me."

I almost laughed.

Stefania Ivanova carried herself like a high born, educated woman. She had a lazy look in her eyes as she perused the crowd from beneath her black fringe. A half smirk crossed her plump lips, as if she were telling the world she'd seen enough and wasn't impressed.

That look-but-don't-get-too-close aura that hung around Danny also bled onto her.

Her eyes fell on me and we held eye contact. I didn't back down.

She broke away first and went back to eyeing the fight with mild interest.

"I'm going to go bet on Sam. You good if I leave you for a few?" Nico asked.

I nodded since Oleg was close behind. I watched my best friend shoulder his way through the throng. He pulled out a couple of twenties and handed them over to a guy.

The fight between the two guys came to an end. Loud cheers rang through the club.

Soon the crowd started chanting Raider, Raider, Raider.

It was Sam.

The busy bodies around me blurred into one big abstract and the chants turned to white noise as everything around me slowed. My heart rate increased as the object of my affection broke through the mass. Looking like a sinful fallen angel, a tortured warrior. The crowd welcomed him with deafening recitations. A hunter entering the Lion's Den.

Sam marched forward with Richie and his personal bodyguard flanked behind him as he shrugged off his black satin robe, revealing himself for the crowd. With a clenched jaw, burning eyes and an impenetrable barrier surrounding him, he entered the cage with an agility that made me blush.

I noticed the females around me going wild, yet I felt no envy.

This one was mine.

Mine.

Mine.

All fucking mine.

That golden, inked body roped with muscles from years of fighting and playing, settled into position as he faced off his opponent. I registered nothing except him, for I only had eyes for my Beer Boy. The referee said something and, with a whistle that was practically drowned by the people's roaring, the fight began.

I held my breath, forcing myself to watch as his opponent stroke first. Sam dodged it masterfully, before hitting him with a series of his own uppercuts. The room went crazy as Sam gave his opponent no leeway, backing him in a corner and going at it like the powerhouse he was reputed to be. I flinched but never strayed away from my beautiful fighter.

This was Sam's passion and I would whole heartedly support him if it made him happy.

Every move he exerted was orchestrated so swiftly, so viciously, that he knocked out his opponent in a short amount of time. Frenzy rose around us and I too cracked a smile, the infectious energy seeping into me.

Richie stepped forth to give Sam water and pat him dry. He didn't lose focus as another opponent entered his cage. This may be the Lion's Den, but it was Sam's dominion and he was an excellent hunter.

The referee whistled and both men went at it with vengeance. The first fight was child's play to Sam and I suspected this one too would be the same.

I realized watching Sam in his element was beguiling. This was where he thrived. This really was his calling. Ironic how the man before me was fighting like a brute, but he was the same man who, behind closed doors, showered me with tender kisses and unconditional praise.

In the middle of his fight, I felt a new presence beside me.

I could no longer concentrate as the figure partially obscured the sight.

Recognizing him as Sam's half brother, I schooled my expression. His name was Damiano...I think. His name was an afterthought though, because I was distracted by the fact that he looked so much like Sam. He wasn't the exact shade of blonde and his eyes were twin pools of blues, but it was the features and the demeanor. Big, bold and brash.

I maintained my cool as I glanced away from him like I was already bored of this exchange. "Thought you left the city?" I quipped.

The overly appreciate once-over he gave me had my gritting my teeth in annoyance. "Couldn't leave without catching such a beautiful woman's name. Seeing as my brother