Chapter 246: "The Black Wolf"

Of all the responsibilities that came with fighting for Castellano Club, Aren was beginning to suspect that photoshoots were the most troublesome.

Several weeks had passed since her match against fifteen opponents at Cavallo Fight Club, and her earnings had risen considerably. Her popularity had brought more attention to Castellano the First than ever before, and Jeremiah had been delighted with the resulting profits.

Unfortunately, none of that success seemed to translate into an ability to pose for photographs.

Aren was slowly coming to regret agreeing to the promotional shoots at all, and the photographer’s expression suggested he was experiencing similar regrets.

He’d been circling her for the better part of the session, camera in hand, occasionally stopping to examine the results with a look of mounting despair. Now, he was doing it all over again.

"Turn this way a little, Miss Lombardi. That’s it. Now, smile!"

Snap!

"No, no! Smile gracefully! Don’t show all your teeth! You’re wearing a ballet costume, not posing for a Halloween advertisement!"

Snap!

"No, no! Too stiff! Still too stiff! Miss Lombardi, please, you’re supposed to be a beautiful swan, not a chicken waiting to be inspected at the supermarket! Relax your shoulders!"

Nearby, Jeremiah watched the proceedings with increasing bewilderment.

’...What exactly is she doing?’

He’d seen photographs of Ariana Lombardi long before the woman now standing in front of him had become his most profitable fighter.

Her social media accounts had been filled with elaborate portraits, glamorous outfits, and fashionable poses that seemed as natural to her as breathing. And yet here she was now, fumbling around as though she’d forgotten how to arrange her own limbs.

’Is she feeling unwell today?’

He stepped forward.

"Ariana, my dear."

Both Aren and the photographer turned toward him as he approached with a gentle smile.

"Are you feeling all right? Perhaps you’re a little out of sorts? We can always reschedule the photoshoot if you’re not feeling up to it."

"Mister Castellano," the photographer interrupted before Aren could answer, his frustration plainly audible, "with all due respect, it’s been months since her debut, and we still haven’t managed a single decent photoshoot with her! At this rate, everyone’s going to start watching the Black Wolf at the Second and forget all about the Swan Queen!"

The remark gave Aren pause.

"The Black Wolf?" she repeated, turning toward him with immediate interest. "At Castellano Club The Second? Who’s that?"

Jeremiah’s smile lost some of its warmth.

He directed a sharp warning glance at the photographer, but the man was already reaching for his phone, too absorbed in his complaint to notice.

"You haven’t heard of the Black Wolf?" he asked incredulously. "He’s the new fighter they signed at the Second! I’m telling you, the guy’s absolutely insane. He’s been pulling off some ridiculous fights over there lately. Here, why don’t you see for yourself?"

He scrolled through his phone, selected a video, and handed it to Aren.

The footage showed a large man fighting several opponents simultaneously inside a cage. Broad-shouldered and heavily built, he towered over most of the men surrounding him, but his size was hardly his only advantage.

He moved with practiced confidence, responding to attacks without hesitation and striking with devastating force. One opponent after another went down beneath his punches, some of which appeared powerful enough to knock teeth straight out of their mouths.

Aren watched the entire recording in silence.

Her attention remained fixed on the fighter’s movements until the footage ended. Then she handed the phone back to the photographer, her expression thoughtful.

"Is he a former operative?"

The question caught both men off guard.

The photographer blinked, while Jeremiah’s eyes widened slightly before he could conceal his surprise.

"You can tell?" Jeremiah asked.

"Well, it’s only a guess," Aren replied, looking at him. "He moves differently from the fighters I’ve encountered so far. And he has quite a few scars that look like they came from gunshots and specialized knives."

The photographer looked impressed.

"Actually, yes! From what I’ve heard, the man has a military background. I think he even served in a war somewhere in the East a few years ago. But can we please take a moment to appreciate how handsome the man is?"

He was already swiping through another collection of images. This time, the screen displayed professional portraits of the Black Wolf, taken during promotional shoots for Castellano the Second.

"I’m telling you, Miss, my cameras were blessed every time I went over there to photograph him! The man knows exactly how to pose, and the audience is going absolutely crazy over him. At this rate, he might even start bringing in more money than you do for the Young Boss!"

Jeremiah regarded the photographer with a smile that had become remarkably difficult to maintain.

For a brief moment, seizing the man by the throat seemed considerably more appealing than continuing the conversation, but he clasped his hands together instead.

"Now, that’s a wonderfully optimistic forecast, my friend," he remarked pleasantly. "I’m sure my parents would be positively delighted to hear it. But for now, why don’t we take a little break?"

He looked around the studio and signaled for everyone to leave. The photographer seemed reluctant to abandon his discussion of the Black Wolf, but he gathered his equipment and complied.

The makeup artists followed, then the hairstylist and the lighting crew. Soon, only Aren and Jeremiah remained.

Aren watched the door close behind the last member of the crew before turning toward him with a concerned expression.

"Jeremy."

Her voice was quiet.

"Is everything all right?"

Even now, Jeremiah remained something of a mystery to her. Whenever other people were present, his manner was almost impossible to read.

He smiled readily, spoke with effortless charm, and maintained such a pleasant disposition that Aren often struggled to determine whether he was genuinely pleased or merely pretending. But the more time she spent alone with him, the more she began to notice small differences.

Sometimes his voice would change almost imperceptibly, becoming a little smoother or quieter when something displeased him. At other times, his smile would remain unchanged while his words acquired an edge that hadn’t been there before.

She was fairly certain she’d heard that edge when he spoke to the photographer.

"I’m just annoyed by that fellow," Jeremiah admitted.

He glanced toward the door with lingering irritation, but his expression softened when he looked back at her.

"What about you, Miss Lombardi? You don’t seem particularly comfortable with today’s photoshoot."

"Oh..."

Aren raised a hand to her face and cautiously touched the long, thick false eyelashes the makeup artist had applied earlier.

"These eyelashes feel very heavy," she explained, frowning slightly. "And the lipstick feels strange on my lips, too. My whole face feels... uncomfortable."

Jeremiah studied her.

The foundation was heavy, the eyelashes considerably more dramatic than necessary, and the lipstick had been chosen to make her features stand out under the studio lights.

She was still touching the lashes as though she wanted to pull them off, but wasn’t quite sure how to do so without ruining the rest of the makeup.

"Have a seat, Miss."

He pulled a chair closer and gestured toward it, then reached for a bottle of makeup remover and a cotton pad.

"If you don’t like this heavy makeup, we can try something else."

Aren looked puzzled by the suggestion but sat down anyway. She watched as he poured a little remover onto the pad and began gently wiping the makeup from her face, taking care around her eyes.

"Shall we try something lighter instead?"

Aren looked up at him in surprise.

"You know how to do makeup?"

"I’m better than most," he replied with a smile. "You’ll see."

He carefully removed the heavy false eyelashes, much to Aren’s relief, then finished cleaning away the remaining makeup. Rather than reapply the thick foundation, he left her skin largely untouched.

He selected a soft pink lipstick, dabbed a little onto his fingertips, and blended the color lightly across her cheeks to create a natural blush.

Then he picked up a lip brush.

"You have pretty lips," he remarked as he began applying a thin layer of color.

"Thank you."

Aren accepted the compliment without giving it much thought. Her attention had already returned to the video she’d watched earlier.

"You didn’t tell me about the new fighter."

Jeremiah’s brush paused briefly before he resumed his work.

"I didn’t see the point of troubling you with unnecessary information," he answered simply. "I’d rather you keep your mind clear and focus on your own fights."

Aren considered that explanation.

It was reasonable enough, although she didn’t entirely agree that information about a potentially formidable opponent was unnecessary.

In fact, the more she thought about the Black Wolf, the more interesting the possibilities became. She remained quiet for another moment before lifting her eyes to meet Jeremiah’s.

"How much do you think we’d make if I challenged someone like him?"

The lip brush stopped moving.

He held it suspended near her mouth as he studied her expression, searching for some indication that she was joking, but Aren looked perfectly serious.

By now, he’d learned that she wasn’t particularly inclined to tease him. At least, she hadn’t yet become comfortable enough with him to indulge in that sort of exchange.

"Look at you," he murmured, finally returning the brush to her lips. "Have you started turning into me?"

"I simply thought it might make you a lot of money," Aren explained matter-of-factly. "He seems like a very strong opponent."

"And a dangerous one," Jeremiah added, his tone more cautious now. "If what my brother Hezekiah has been boasting about his background is true, then our dear Wolfie has experienced a level of combat that very few of us playing mafia here in Borgata can honestly claim to understand. As capable as I know you are, Miss Lombardi, I’d strongly advise you to abandon the idea of testing yourself against someone like him."

Aren didn’t look entirely convinced, but Jeremiah had finished applying the color and was already returning the lip brush to its holder. He reached for a nearby handheld mirror and held it up in front of her.

"There. All done."

He watched her expectantly.

"What do you think?"

Aren leaned forward slightly to examine her reflection. A delicate flush of pink warmed her cheeks, while her lips carried a light, glossy rose color that looked much softer than the lipstick she’d been wearing earlier.

Her eyes brightened.

"...Whoa. Such pretty colors."

She turned toward Jeremiah with genuine appreciation.

"You’re very good at this. Thank you, Jeremy."

A small smile appeared on his face.

"I simply have a thing for beauty."

He set the mirror aside, quietly satisfied both with the result and with her obvious pleasure in it.

"Just focus on this photoshoot for now, Miss Lombardi. A swan princess like you isn’t going to be overshadowed by some military wolf so easily."

Knock. Knock.

Two firm knocks interrupted them.

Both turned toward the studio door as a familiar voice called from the other side.

"Uh... Young Boss? It’s Marco. Are you in the middle of a photoshoot?"

"Sort of," Jeremiah replied.

He frowned slightly, noticing the unusual hesitation in his club manager’s voice.

"What is it?"

Marco didn’t answer immediately.

There was a brief silence, long enough for Jeremiah to suspect that whatever had brought him here was not particularly welcome news.

"Well... the thing is, Young Boss, we have some unexpected visitors," Marco finally explained. "Not just one, either. There are several of them, including your brothers, Lady Lucilla, and that new fighter everyone’s been talking about... the one they call the Black Wolf."