Vicki Essex - In Her Corner

“Of my brothers, my cousins or my grandfather?”

“Of you,” Liz said with a light laugh. “But of your whole family, too, of course.”

Bella kept her smile modest. She couldn’t walk into a mixed martial arts gym and introduce herself without getting a lot of oohs and aahs over her lineage. The Fiores were like royalty in the MMA world.

“Liz, please show Ms. Fiore around. I need to make this call.” Kyle barely looked at her as he strode away.

Bella watched him go, chewing on her lower lip. Apparently, Mr. Three-Time Olympic Gold Medalist didn’t have to use his manners. But her oldest brother, Marco, had said Kyle Peters was one of the best wrestling coaches around. He’d helped a lot of MMA fighters, including the current UFF welterweight champion, Dominic Payette, for whom the gym was named, climb to stardom. That he was willing to make time for her in exchange for her working at the UFF gym was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up.

Liz gave her an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Kyle’s kind of a bear before his first cup of coffee. And he hates having his morning routine thrown off.” She rounded the counter. “Let me give you the fifty-cent tour.”

Bella had seen photos of Payette’s, but they didn’t do the state-of-the-art facility justice. The place was enormous, big enough to fit a full-size MMA cage and a boxing ring on the same floor with room for universal machines, free weights and other fitness equipment. The second floor housed a separate multipurpose martial arts studio covered in thick rubber mats. Mirrors lined one wall. Six men of various sizes worked on the heavy bags chained to the exposed metal beams. One of them looked up and shouted across the room to where a man slouched against a pillar reading a magazine. They both came at Liz’s beckoning.

“These are our senior coaches,” Liz said as they approached. “Tito’s our physical therapist and Muay Thai instructor—” Bella shook hands with the stouter of the two “—and Orville’s our judo teacher. Boys, this is Bella Fiore.”

“I trained with your cousin Robert a few years ago in New Jersey,” Orville said to Bella, a big grin splitting his face. “When I heard a Fiore was coming here, I thought it was going to be him.”

“Sorry, you’re stuck with me.”

“Oh, I don’t mean—”

She waved him off, giving him an understanding smile. She didn’t mean to sound defensive or self-deprecating, but she knew what everyone was thinking: Why on earth was a Fiore training outside of a Fiore-run gym?

“Rob devotes most of his time to teaching at the family studio in Dallas now,” she said. “I’ll tell him hello for you.” There was no need to explain herself further. No need to get into the details of her break from the family, though people would probably hear about it sooner or later.

Liz led her back downstairs and showed her the ladies’ locker room. “I’ll let you get changed while I pull the paperwork together. Feel free to explore, use the equipment, warm up. This’ll be your gym, too, for the next six months.” She glanced toward the office at the end of the room, her lips pursed. “Kyle’s probably going to be in his office for a bit.”

“A bit” wouldn’t hurt, Bella decided. She needed time to get her head into the game and figure out what Kyle Peters’s problem was.

* * *

“BELLA FIORE, EH?” Kyle pictured the president of the UFF, Hadrian Blackwell, sitting back in his executive office chair. With his thick, dark hair and perpetual five-o’clock shadow, the man looked and sounded like the real-life Fred Flintstone. “A perfect 6-0 record, with three KOs and one submission. She’s got talent, that’s for sure.”

“She does.” Kyle had a YouTube video of Bella’s most recent fight running on mute on his laptop. She’d dominated her opponent in the three-round matchup in April. She had a mean right hook and delivered a devastating roundhouse kick to the other woman’s head that made Kyle wince. “But it’s not as if she has a lot of competition in her weight class.”

“She would if she dropped ten pounds. The women’s 145-pound weight class has got some serious contenders and lots of up-and-comers.”

“You’re watching girl fights now?” The UFF president had once infamously said that women’s MMA was an insult to the sport and that no woman would ever enter a UFF cage unless she was in a bikini and holding round numbers.

“MMA’s my business. I watch everything that has to do with my world.” Hadrian said it so sharply that Kyle’s humor shriveled. “And speaking of business, what’s going on with my gym?”

Kyle had been anticipating this conversation. He took a deep breath. “Economic downturn. People just aren’t signing up for memberships.”

“According to the numbers, people are leaving Payette’s. None of the other gyms are losing business. What gives?”

Kyle’s throat felt tight. “We’re working on a new campaign strategy. I’ll be forwarding details to you soon.”

“I don’t give a crap about ads and handing out free passes. The reputation and quality of the trainers speaks for itself. You’ve got what should be the crown jewel with all your heavy hitters. So what’s the problem?”

Kyle dug his thumb into the knot of stress between his clenched jaw and his ear. “I can’t say, sir.”

“Can’t say? Don’t know? Don’t care?” He let out a frustrated huff. “Shit, Kyle, I expected to hear a better excuse than that. Does it have anything to do with that thing that happened with what’s-her-face?”

“No, sir.” He clutched the edge of his desk. “She has nothing to do with it.”

“And you’re behaving yourself?”

“Yes, sir.” Kyle’s cheeks burned. He took a deep breath to still the quivering in his gut, then exhaled, trying to purge the impotent anger gathering inside him.

“Anyhow, that’s in the past. Let’s look forward, all right? You have a Fiore in your gym now—you know they don’t teach a lot outside of their tight little circle of friends. So don’t screw this up.”

“Yes, sir.” Kyle hung up and sat back, attempting to regain his calm as he stared at the screen. YouTube had queued up another video about Bella, this one a cheaply produced feature with shots of her training at the Fiore Brazilian Jujitsu Studio in São Paulo, Brazil. He unmuted it. The video stuttered, the music was cheesy and the transitions rough. He watched it while fuming over Hadrian’s humiliating dressing-down. As much as he respected him, the UFF president was the least sensitive man he knew. Next to his father, of course.

He pushed away from his desk and yanked his damp T-shirt over his head. He’d never gotten used to the humidity in NOLA. He applied another layer of antiperspirant under his arms and hung his street clothes in his private office locker to air, then pulled on a black T-shirt with the Payette’s UFF logo printed on the breast. The heavy cotton grew damp at his touch and chafed his skin. He knew he should have gone with the more expensive moisture-wicking uniform tees, but he’d already had a thousand of them printed. It felt like a waste not wearing them.

Liz knocked and stuck her head past the door. “You decent?”

“What’s the point of asking if you’re going to come in anyhow?”

The receptionist bustled in, a cup of coffee and a clipboard in hand. She put them both on his desk and went around the room, drawing the blinds open so he could see out and everyone could see in. “Wayne’s at a dentist appointment this morning. Root canal. We shouldn’t expect him back at all today.”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “He’s such a baby.”

She didn’t comment. “I shuffled his clients between Tito and Orville. I’ve also got five potential members scheduled for tours.”