Atlas
Eight Years Ago
Iwas halfway through a rep when Alessio shoved through the gym doors like the building was on fire.
The metal rattled in its frame.Dust shook loose from the rafters.Somewhere behind me, a weight clanged to the floor.
“Bro,” he panted, hands braced on his knees, hair damp with sweat and nerves, “you are not gonna believe what just happened.”
I didn’t even look at him.I finished the rep slow and controlled, feeling the burn pull through my shoulders.
“Whatever it is,” I started, “I already regret hearing it.”
“No, no, listen.Marcello just told me I’m finally allowed on a mission.A real one.With guns.And people.And money.And?—”
I dropped the bar.
It hit the rubber mat with a thunderous crack that echoed through the gym.Alessio jumped like he’d been shot.
“No.”
He blinked.“What do you mean, no?”
I stood up, chest still heaving from the lift, sweat slick down my spine.“I mean you’re not going.”
“I am totally going?—”
“You’re not.”
“Yes I?—”
My hand came up and locked around the back of his neck.
Not rough.Not gentle.Just firm.Steady.The way you hold something you can’t afford to drop.
“You’re fast,” I told him.“You’re fearless.You’re also a disaster waiting to happen.You don’t think before you speak, and you don’t think before you move.That gets men killed in our world.”
He rolled his eyes.“I don’t need a lecture?—”
I tightened my grip just enough to make the point.“You do.”
Silence fell between us.
He swallowed.“Okay.Maybe a little.”
I released him and shoved him back a step.“You don’t go anywhere until you can take me down in a spar.”
His eyes widened with disbelief.“That’s not fair.”
“Exactly.”
He grinned like I’d just handed him a crown.“You’re on.”
And then he came at me.
All momentum and bad decisions.I sidestepped, caught his arm, swept his legs, and put him on his back before he even knew what happened.
He wheezed.“That didn’t count.”