Chapter 132: The Weight of Defeat
Dani never stood a chance.
That was the truth of it. She was good—quick, fluid, deceptive—but Vera Duvall was something else entirely. Dani had realized it too late. And by then, it didn't matter.
She had tapped out.
And Vera had kept going.
The crowd roared, but I barely heard it. My eyes were on Dani's still form. Vera had finally released her, letting her collapse onto her hands, her body convulsing slightly before she slumped forward, unconscious. Foam dribbled from her lips, her breathing shallow.
Her team moved fast. Not to stop the fight—no one had dared to interfere. They had simply waited, motionless, as Vera squeezed the life out of their fighter. And only once Vera turned and walked away did they rush in, one of them immediately pressing down on Dani's chest, another forcing back her lips to ensure she didn't choke on her own spit.
They knew this would happen. They expected it.
And worse, they accepted it.
I glanced around the arena. The spectators weren't horrified. If anything, they were entertained. To them, this wasn't some brutal, unforgivable display. It was sport. I caught Vincent Giovanni's expression—mild amusement, nothing more. This was a man who had seen worse. A man who had ordered worse.
My stomach churned.
The brutality of the fight hit me harder than I expected. Watching someone nearly die in front of me, their body crumpled and their breath ragged, made the air in the arena feel heavier. I could feel the weight of the moment pressing against my chest, but I didn't dare to let my face betray any of it. If I showed weakness now, I'd never survive this place. But inside, it was different. How many times would I have to watch people nearly kill each other before I became numb to it?