Chapter 137: "What’s Rightfully Mine"

Nazario let out a leisurely yawn as the eight men lunged at his brother all at once.

In truth, he had arrived in this high-ceilinged section of the chain-link maze long before revealing himself.

He had remained hidden in a distant corner, leaning casually against another stretch of fencing while watching his brother brawl with the men — just as he continued to do now.

There had been no point in joining the party too early.

Jordan was bigger than he was, with heavier muscles and greater endurance. The smartest strategy wasn’t to challenge Jordan at his strongest, but to let others wear him down first before lifting a finger himself.

With that plan firmly in mind, Nazario settled more comfortably against the chain-link fence. The faint smirk never left his face as he watched the blurred silhouettes collide violently in the darkness.

Throughout it all, Jordan never loosened his grip on the coin. He clutched it tightly in one fist, using the added weight of the brass disk to drive savage punches into his opponents’ faces.

Blow after blow landed with crushing force.

The soldiers absorbed brutal kicks and bone-rattling impacts that left them staggering, coughing blood, and barely able to remain standing.

Yet the astronomical sum Natalia Porto had promised them outweighed broken bones. Not one of them dared abandon the task.

Five minutes stretched into ten.

Ten became fifteen.

Gradually, Jordan began to feel the relentless toll of the battle.

Under ordinary circumstances, hours of brutal combat would never have troubled him, but he had already endured two punishing falls from nearly ten feet above.

Now, he was fighting eight highly trained opponents who attacked without pause.

Inevitably, his movements began to slow. The punches that had once landed with bone-breaking force no longer carried quite the same devastating power.

Nazario noticed the change almost immediately. The smirk tugging at his lips slowly widened.

Still utterly unhurried, he pushed himself away from the chain-link wall and began stretching.

He extended both arms, interlocked his fingers, then slowly twisted his torso from side to side, looking less like a man preparing to enter a fight than an athlete leisurely warming up before a morning jog.

Finally, he lowered himself into a sprinter’s crouch. His eyes narrowed in the darkness as he waited for the perfect moment.

The instant Jordan drove a powerful front kick into one soldier’s chest to create space, Nazario moved.

Driving off his trailing foot, he exploded forward in a fast sprint, shooting straight into the heart of the melee.

Swoosh!

Jordan sensed the disturbance instantly.

He twisted his shoulders just in time, narrowly avoiding Nazario’s fist as it whipped past his cheek.

Of course, the attack didn’t end there.

Nazario specialized in relentless combinations.

In the very next instant, his hips snapped around. His knee rocketed upward, crashing brutally into Jordan’s abdomen.

THUD!

"Gotcha, brother," Nazario mumbled, somehow still sounding sleepy.

The impact folded Jordan over as the air burst from his lungs.

"Hurgh—"

Even through the searing pain, Jordan tightened his core, seized Nazario firmly by the shoulder, and drove an elbow straight into his brother’s jaw.

THWACK!

"Finally stopped being a coward and brought your face here for me to smash, huh?" Jordan muttered.

Nazario failed to avoid the elbow completely. The strike clipped his cheekbone, splitting the skin and drawing blood.

Rather than angering him, however, both the pain and Jordan’s taunt only seemed to excite him further, wiping away every last trace of sleepiness.

"HA HA HA!"

Laughing wildly, Nazario hurled his entire body forward, driving Jordan backward until his brother’s back slammed hard into the chain-link wall.

CLANG—RATTLE!

"Tch... you mad bastard!"

With a curse, Jordan grabbed Nazario, spun them around, and slammed him into the fence instead, his fist shooting forward.

Whoosh!

Nazario ducked in one fluid motion, leaving Jordan’s knuckles to smash painfully into the steel mesh instead.

Before Jordan could recover, Nazario shoved him violently backward once again.

From that point onward, the fight descended into complete chaos.

The two brothers tore into one another like feral beasts in the darkness, hurling each other into one chain-link wall after another.

Every collision sent metallic shrieks reverberating throughout the chamber while the eight soldiers scrambled frantically out of the way, terrified of being caught in the crossfire.

"Oh, come on, brother!" Nazario laughed. "Is that all you’ve got to call yourself the heir?! Show me all that undefeated champion bullshit!"

His head slammed squarely into Jordan’s nose.

THWACK!

Blood sprayed from Jordan’s nostrils.

"Fuck you, Nazario!"

Nazario refused to give him even a heartbeat to recover.

Palm strikes.

Elbows.

Low kicks.

Every attack targeted a vulnerable point with terrifying precision — the throat, the groin, the temples — not blows meant to overpower, but blows meant to cripple.

Jordan fought desperately to keep up.

He managed to drive a heavy knee into Nazario’s chest, but Nazario answered immediately with another vicious kick buried deep into Jordan’s core.

Jordan staggered back several paces.

His knees trembled.

’Damn it.’

’At this rate I’ll get stuck here forever fighting him.’

’I’ll only end up losing all my strength and my coin.’

He clenched his teeth.

’No.’

’I’ve got to find Ariana now.’

’She might be in danger.’

’I can’t stay here forever.’

The decision came instantly.

Dodging Nazario’s next strike, Jordan abandoned the fight altogether.

He pivoted on his heel and sprinted back into the chain-link corridors, racing toward the brighter section of the maze and the route leading beyond.

Nazario recognized his intention to flee at once.

’Fucking coward.’

A manic grin spread across his face as he shouted toward the watching soldiers.

"Come on, you losers! What the fuck are you standing there for?! He’s running away! Catch him!"

At his command, the men finally snapped out of their daze. One after another, they surged after Jordan.

"Yes, sir!"

"Get the Young Boss!"

"Stop him!"

They threw themselves at him from every direction.

Jordan slipped past some of them, but others crashed into him head-on, slamming him hard into the chain-link wall blocking his path.

One man yanked him backward by the collar.

A heavy boot crashed into the back of his knee, forcing him down onto one leg.

Before he could recover, two men seized his left arm and wrenched it painfully behind his back while a third drove a brutal elbow into the center of his spine.

THUD!

"Hurg—"

Jordan let out a choked gasp as the combined force slammed him face-first onto the cold concrete.

"That’s right, you suckers!" Nazario’s voice rang out above the chaos. "Hold him there! Don’t let him get up! Strip him of that coin now!"

Instantly, all eight men threw their full body weight onto Jordan, piling atop him like a mountain of iron and muscle.

"Give us the coin, Young Boss!"

"Open your hand! Open your fucking hand!"

"Pry his fingers back!"

Heavy boots pinned his legs.

Thick arms locked around his neck.

One man yanked his right arm into the open while another forced it flat against the concrete and held it there.

They immediately began prying at his clenched fingers, trying to force them open and seize the coin.

Crushed beneath the combined weight of eight grown men, Jordan locked his jaw.

"OVER MY DEAD BODY! YOU DON’T STEAL MY FUCKING COIN!"

Every muscle in his body strained. Veins bulged violently beneath his skin as his fist tightened around the brass coin with every ounce of strength he possessed.

Nazario stood nearby, the smirk slowly returning to his face as he watched his brother pinned helplessly to the floor.

Lazily, he strolled over and sighed.

"Move aside, fellas. You’re not doing it the right way."

The men prying at Jordan’s fingers obeyed immediately.

"Yes, sir."

They stepped back, returning instead to restraining Jordan’s thrashing body.

It took Jordan only an instant to understand Nazario’s intention.

His entire body tensed.

"No! Nazario, you coward! Don’t you dare!"

Nazario merely shook his head. One boot rose slowly into the air, hovering directly above Jordan’s tightly clenched fist.

"Ah... what can I do?" he said, sounding almost apologetic. "You’re simply too stubborn... and I’ve simply run out of patience."

His boot came crashing down.

STOMP!

"Aaargh!"

Again.

STOMP!

"Haaaaargh!"

Again.

STOMP!

Jordan’s screams echoed through the chamber as boot after boot slammed mercilessly onto his hand.

His knuckles split.

His fingers bruised and bled.

Still, he refused to let go.

Nazario didn’t stop.

STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! STOMP!

"Come on, brother! You stubborn idiot! Give me what’s rightfully mine!"

Growing steadily more frustrated, Nazario shifted his footing ever so slightly before bringing his heel crashing down onto Jordan’s wrist instead.

STOMP! STOMP! STOMP!

"HAAAAAARGH!"

That impact finally broke Jordan’s grip.

His fingers loosened by the slightest fraction, and Nazario seized the opportunity instantly.

He stomped on Jordan’s hand again, forcing the remaining fingers apart until the brass coin slipped free and tumbled across the concrete.

"NO! NO! NO!" Jordan roared the instant he felt the brass leave his hand. "FUCK YOU, NAZARIO!"

His desperate cries did nothing to stop his brother.

Crouching leisurely, Nazario picked up the coin and held it beneath the dim crimson glow, slowly turning it between his fingers as he admired its serrated edges.

"Oh dear..." he mused. "All that heroism... all that stubbornness... just to cling to this stupid thing so I could end up with it anyway."

His smirk widened.

"So much like you, brother. And that’s precisely why you deserve to be a loser."

"You..." Jordan growled through clenched teeth, pain, rage, and utter helplessness twisting every word. "You fucking bastard. I don’t have a brother like you! You’re not even worthy of calling yourself a Marchetti!"

Nazario shook his head.

"Ah... I wouldn’t be so sure about that last remark." His smile broadened. "In fact... I believe I’m more of a Marchetti than the other four of you idiots combined."

Without warning, he tossed the coin casually into the air.

Before it had even begun to fall, he spun on one foot and lashed out with a savage kick aimed straight at Jordan’s head.

THWACK!

The impact was brutal.

Jordan’s head snapped violently to one side.

White exploded across his vision before dissolving into darkness.

’No... I can’t black out.’

’I’ve gotta go find Ariana...’

’I’ve gotta...’

His mind fought desperately to stay conscious.

Nazario gave him no chance.

Another kick came.

THWACK!

This one erased the world completely.

Jordan’s consciousness vanished.

The last trace of resistance drained from his body as every muscle went slack beneath the eight men restraining him.

Entirely satisfied, Nazario lowered his leg.

"There," he said with a click of his tongue. "Finally, my brother’s stopped spewing bullshit for a while."

Even the men pinning Jordan down winced at the sheer brutality of the two kicks.

"Please, Mister Nazario... easy on the Young Boss."

"You don’t want the Young Boss accidentally killed in here. We’d all be in serious trouble."

Nazario merely yawned.

"Just those two kicks won’t kill him. He’s tougher than you suckers."

A vicious smile slowly replaced the yawn.

"Besides... I’ve got to keep him alive so I can prove I’m better than him again in next year’s Trials... and every year after that."

The words sent chills through the eight grown men.

Before any of them could find a reply, Nazario raised a brow.

"What are you waiting for? Tie him up."

The men exchanged puzzled glances.

"Tie him up, Mister Nazario?"

"But with what? None of us brought any rope. That net over there barely looks strong enough to hold someone as huge as the Young Boss."

Nazario rolled his eyes so dramatically he looked ready to fall asleep from their stupidity.

He jerked his chin toward the chain-link walls.

"Are you even fucking mafia? Learn to improvise. What do you think those wire-mesh walls are for? Tear one down and roll my brother up in it. That should do."

The suggestion sent another chill through every man present.

Being wrapped inside a cage of torn steel mesh...

If Jordan struggled even slightly after regaining consciousness, the razor-sharp severed wires would bite into his ribs and rake across his flesh.

The thought alone made several of them go pale.

Still, none dared object.

Once Jordan recovered, they would have no hope of restraining him otherwise.

Several men immediately abandoned their positions and rushed toward the chain-link walls. They hammered repeated kicks into one section until the fastenings finally gave way.

Then, using brute force, they tore a wide sheet of steel mesh free, the links shrieking as they ripped apart.

With painstaking care, they rolled Jordan inside the metal sheet as though wrapping a carpet.

The jagged, severed edges curled inward, snagging his clothes and pressing dangerously close to his skin until his entire body was cocooned inside a cage of twisted steel.

Nazario watched the entire process with growing boredom.

Once Jordan had been rolled into what looked like a human-sized bundle of razor-edged wire, he finally pushed himself away from the wall.

"Alright. My job here is done."

He glanced lazily toward the others.

"The rest is yours. Go ahead and do whatever you want with that Lombardi woman. Just don’t let my brother escape before the horn sounds. Understood?"

The men answered immediately, one after another.

"Got it, Mister Nazario."

"We’ll split up. Four of us will go find her. The other four will stay here and watch the Young Boss."

Nazario clicked his tongue dismissively.

"Tch, do whatever you please. I don’t really care. Just don’t fuck it up."

With that, he turned and strolled toward the nearest corridor leading out of the maze.

"See you lot outside," he called, lazily tossing the coin from one hand to the other. "I’ve gotta go submit this stupid coin and take a nice little nap before the final round."