I should have known their kind of fights wouldn’t be legitimate.

I knew jack shit about boxing, but the crowded basement I was ushered into, full of men trading money and the acrid odor of stale beer and piss, was far from a sanctioned facility—even I knew that. My ears rang as I was pulled across the room to a far door. Between the cloud of smoke and low ceilings overhead, I felt like I was suffocating.

Sal and two of his men led us back into a small room where a couple of fighters were getting ready. With a single flick of his wrist, the two men jumped to their feet and hurried from the room.

“Here are some shorts. Get changed and Sammy here can wrap your hands.”

I took the athletic shorts from him and began to undress mechanically.

“This short notice wasn’t ideal; I’ll give you that. After tonight, we’ll begin to train you. Next time you fight, it’ll be second nature.”

I wasn’t crazy about the concept of a next time, but if I had to fight again, training so I didn’t get my face bashed in sounded good. As soon as I was changed, one of Sal’s goons began to weave a long white wrap around my wrists, knuckles, and hands.

“Keep your thumbs here,” the man said, placing my thumb outside of my fisted hand. “Otherwise, you’ll break ’em when you hit. Make sure you keep your guard up and stay away from the ropes. The guys up front get carried away sometimes and play dirty.”

Great, so I was fighting an unknown opponent and an angry mob.

Sal ushered the guy out of the way and took his place in front of me. His face hardened so severely that I wondered if he had a split personality. The Sal I’d been talking to for the past hour was not the same man who stood before me. “The guy you will be fighting against is a fuckin’ rat,” he growled menacingly. “He spoke with the cops, and a lesson needs to be made.” His gray eyes bore into me, squeezing my lungs with their ferocity.

“Are you … telling me to … to kill him?” I choked out.

“Accidents sometimes happen in these matches,” he replied without an ounce of emotion.

“I don’t think I can do it. I can’t just kill someone.” Panic began to bubble up inside me, threatening to seize control of my thoughts and actions.

Sal’s eyes slid over to where my father stood helplessly watching our exchange. In an instant, one goon grabbed my father’s arms and yanked them behind him while the other pounded his meaty fist into my father’s face.

“Stop! Please, stop!” I cried out, now utterly terrified.

Sal glanced back at me and narrowed his eyes. “I don’t think you get it, kid. I’m not fuckin’ around here.”

“I get it. I get what you’re telling me, but I just don’t know if I can do it. I’m just a kid.” My words flew from my lips in a single breath—a pointless plea for mercy.