Claiming The Prize (2 page)

Grace ran the microfiber padded mop up and
down the length of the navy and gray wrestling mats covering much
of the open floor.
Street shoes were not worn outside the locker
room except in the entrance and upstairs offices, for they
introduced unwanted bacteria along with more dangerous threats to
health.
Trainers and students kept slide on sandals to move about
the gym's interior, but on the mats, nothing was allowed but bare
feet.
Grace moved silently across the surface and, finishing the
task, retreated to her office, welcomed by a steaming bowl of
minestrone left by her father.
Usually they shared a quiet lunch,
but, this day, Guy was in with Ike and the Friar, decidedly serious
conversation seeping through the closed door.

* * *

Tuesday evenings the members of team
Anto-Engage ordered in and discussed business, evaluating their
trainees, voicing concerns, and planning strategy.
Internal affairs
being concluded, Guy broke in.

“
We need to make a decision on the
Zadrovec issue.”

All sitting around the table quieted
momentarily before Yves Friarsson, the Friar, spoke up.

“
Anto, you've seen the footage of the
Slovak's legs.
He's got a death-kick for chrissake!
He's blown
through all competition in his own country and handled all the WOMA
has thrown at him.
He's experienced.”

“
But he's twenty-seven years old,” St.
Clair broke in.
“He's got ten years left in him.
And that's
assuming injuries remain at bay.
I'm not saying we shouldn't take
him on, but can he make a successful transition into the AMMAO with
the skills he has?”

The Friar answered, “With Anto's training,
this guy will wreak havoc on the light-heavyweight division of the
AMMAO.
St.
Clair, you keep saying you want a striker that's quick
and has one punch knockout power.
This is your guy.
His weakness,
if he has one, is in his jujitsu and ground work, and Ike and I can
improve that facet of his game remarkably.”

Guy listened to his team in silence, his
decision already made but wanting the feedback they offered.
Back
and forth the discussion went until Ike broke his silence.

“
He's coming over to the AMMAO whether
we take him or not, Anto.
He's sought us out first, and we've got
Khaler to consider.
Zadrovec will at the very least be a good
partner for him with superior kickboxing and striking.
And Khaler
will help the Slovak's jujitsu and ground game.
It also adds
another team member for us in that weight class.
I can't see any
advantage in turning him away.”

Grace didn't offer an opinion, but looked
over to gauge her father's reaction.
He had been the world
kickboxing champion of the heavyweight division in the WOMA at the
pinnacle of his career.
At that time, the AMMAO hadn't existed.
It
was now the premier fighting organization, combining the skills of
all martial arts, and it showcased the best of the best.
If the
Slovakian, Zadrovec, was half the kick-boxer the reports claimed,
she felt certain her father would indeed bring him into
Anto-Engage.

“
I agree with Ike on this,” Guy stated.
Zadrovec will arrive next week unless there is someone here with
serious opposition.”

But there was none.

“
I'm meeting him at the airport next
Monday.”
And with that, the close knit group indulged in lighter
discourse.

The terminal at Philadelphia International
Airport teemed with bodies scurrying up and down the causeway to
their anonymous destinations.
From that central hub branched the
labyrinth of off-shooting hallways, each topped with color-coded
arrows and descriptions.
Guy stood stoically, allowing Grace to
methodically eliminate avenues until her eyes alighted on the
correct path before they strode toward the international arrivals
gate.

Passengers disembarking from the latest
flight flooded in through steel doors and were greeted at once by
awaiting family and friends, except for the obvious businessmen,
who navigated the chaos with purposeful precision.
Zadrovec's
flight was scheduled to arrive within the half-hour, and an
animated crew of avid fans waved Slovakian flags.

The thick bands of white, blue, and red
behind the red shield and yellow double cross were held proudly as
an expression of support.
On the periphery of these, Grace noticed,
were gathered starry-eyed females, most in provocative dress,
hoping to attract the fighter's interest for a photo, a touch, or a
coveted invitation.
That their imaginings of glamorous club hopping
and expensive parties were far removed from the majority of
fighters struggling to scrape by while waiting for their big break
gave Grace a peculiar pity for the unknowing women.
There were
those fighters, who upon great success did live that existence, but
many more fought not only in the ring, but simply to stay in the
game.

A few photographers hovered around Guy to
snap a quick picture for sporting columns, and Grace made a mental
note to avoid the cameras.
Her dislike of the public eye had begun
early in her college career when photos of her and one of her
father's trainees showed up in a magazine with speculative comments
as to whether a romance was ongoing.
The two had simply exchanged a
hug after finding out good news, but Grace Antolini had been
mortified in knowing that around any corner her actions could be
captured by unseen persons and twisted to appear in another
light.

The area swelled with additional newcomers to
the fray, and when the double doors opened, loosing the latest
arrivals, the band of Slovakian patriots raised their cheers.
Midway through the stream of travelers, Drago Zadrovec emerged.
Aware of the eager fans, he approached the young flag wavers and
shook a few hands.
Raising his hand in thanks, he turned, passing
the ogling women with only a cursory nod and headed directly for
Guy.

“
Thank you for greeting me here,” he
said, offering his hand to the older man.
“It is
appreciated.”

“
Glad to do it, Zadrovec.”
Guy shook
his hand enthusiastically.
“Welcome.”

Blinding flashes from several cameras
exploded in unison, the photographers hungry to capture the
friendly welcome.

“
If your intention of joining
Anto-Engage was unknown before, consider its announcement made,”
Guy joked dryly.

Drago's lip curved up in humorous
agreement.

“
Gracie, navigate us out of here, would
you?”
Guy requested.

Drago noticed the petite, dark haired beauty
coming to Guy Antolini's side, the striking resemblance between the
pair suggestive of their familial connection.
His eyes lingered to
make contact with hers, but Grace was occupied in finding her way
out of the terminal.
So instead, he studied her.

Dressed in loose fitting denim and navy suede
boots, Grace was outfitted casually.
She did not have a coat, he
noticed, but donned a knit cap over her shiny, dark locks and
wrapped a matching smoky hued scarf around her neck.
Drago watched,
intrigued at her unaffected and natural movements, and he could not
help but appreciate her beauty.

“
Forgive me,” Guy laughed at seeing the
look on the Slovak's face.
“This is Grace, my daughter.
She usually
keeps my manners in check, but neither of us enjoy crowds, and in
our shared bid to escape them, we sometimes shed all
decorum.”

“
It is nice to meet you,” Drago greeted
as they continued down the corridor.

She laughed, turning to look at him.

“
It is nice to meet you, too.
You must
think we have terrible manners.”

She lingered on his eyes a bit longer than
she intended, thinking that although dark and intense, they had a
depth she liked at once.

“
Not at all.
I do not care for crowds
myself.”

The eyes she had just thought dark and
intense softened as the smile that lit his face crinkled them at
the corners.

“
Grace is my right hand.
She handles
many aspects of my business, so be prepared to meet with her to set
up training schedules, equipment needs, and most importantly for
strategy sessions,” Guy spoke up, interrupting Grace's
thoughts.

“
I understand, sir,” Drago stated as he
watched Grace's cheeks flood with color at her father's open
praise.

Easy dialogue flowed on the two-hour drive
toward the outskirts of the Lehigh Valley area, and Drago's
curiosity kept conversation moving.

“
Have you always lived in this part of
the country?”
Drago asked.

“
I was raised here.
Got my start in
wrestling here,” Guy offered with a bit of pride in his voice.
“The
Lehigh Valley produces some of the best wrestlers in the country.
Colleges scout the districts around here heavily.”

“
Is that why you started your gym in
the area?”
Drago questioned further.

“
That's a long story,” Guy chuckled.
“My brother and I loved this area.
It's a great place to recruit
from, with the deep wrestling roots, but it's also a great
location.
We're close to Philadelphia, Allentown, and Harrisburg,
but we still have the country setting.
Plus, we're not far from New
York and New Jersey.
I'm not much for city life, and here, I can
have the best of both worlds.”

“
But Drago, you live in a large city,
don't you?”
Grace asked, recalling the information she had read
about him.

“
Yes, I do.
Bratislava is my home.
But
we also have easy access to rural areas, and I enjoy the country
very much.”

“
Well, it's country you'll get at our
place.
I've got eighty acres of peace and quiet.
You're going to
enjoy it!”

“
I want to thank you, Mr.
Antolini, for
offering me the use of your guest house.”

“
You'll be staying in the house then?”
Grace questioned.

“
He will,” Guy broke in.
“There's no
sense in spending money on a hotel when we've got the house sitting
empty.
And, Drago, please call me Guy, or Anto.
I'll never live it
down if you start calling me Mr.
Antolini!”

Grace and her father laughed at the thought,
and Drago allowed himself to relax and laugh with them before his
thoughts returned to weightier matters.

Six weeks ago, the invitation to fight Matt
Harrison had come from AMMAO owner and president Derek Sloba.
Drago
had climbed the ladder of victory in Slovakia quickly in his
professional career, transitioning into the WOMA six years ago at
the age of twenty-one.
His solid record of seventeen wins and two
losses had caught someone's attention.
An opportunity like this may
not come again, and Drago intended to grab it with both hands.
But
in order to secure a coveted five fight contract in the premier
organization he had to defeat Harrison.
Drago was determined to do
so decisively.

Turning into the blacktopped lot of First
Strike gym, Guy announced, “I'll introduce you to my team and give
you a tour of First Strike today.
With that out of the way, we can
get down to business tomorrow morning.”

“
I am looking forward to it,” Drago
responded.

“
Afterward, we'll take him to Maria
Therese's.
What do you say, Gracie?”

“
Do you like Italian food, Drago?”
Grace asked.
“Maria Therese's has the best gnocchi, and their
homemade sauce is very good.”

“
Italian food is a favorite of
mine.”

“
We'll make this short and sweet,
Zadrovec.
I'm sure you're tired and hungry after traveling,” Guy
assured him, leading the way into the gym where Drago would spend
the next six months training.

* * *

“
The best Italian fare around,” Guy
informed Drago as he slid into the booth.

Grace sank down opposite him, unthinking, as
normally it was only her and her father for dinner.
Realizing her
error, she thought to move to her father's side, but Drago slipped
in beside her, settling the issue.
Something about his presence
left her acutely aware of herself, and she wavered between being
beguiled and unsettled.

Standing an inch over six-feet tall, Drago
hovered around two hundred-twenty pounds naturally, but cut weight
to fight in the light-heavyweight division at the lesser two
hundred-five pounds.
Kept in military fashion, his closely cropped,
dark hair faded to a short finger cut on top, and his deep set eyes
shone like liquid onyx.
There was a ruggedness about his face,
enhanced perhaps by the long flight.
His Eastern-European heritage
was evident in the prominent nose and hint of squareness at his
jawline.
Wide cheekbones broadened his face somewhat, and his lower
lip was fuller than the top, giving his mouth a hard countenance
that served him well in his profession.
But Grace noticed that it
softened when he smiled.

They shared a basket of bread over their
salads and dinners while Grace listened to the two men discuss the
industry, finding Drago's voice entirely pleasant, its deep timbre
sending tiny chills up her arms.
He listened more than he spoke,
seeming to weigh his words carefully.
He was neither animated nor
monotonous, but calmly confident, and when he spoke, it was with a
certain authority Grace had not encountered outside her father.
She
became more intrigued as the meal progressed.

“
Please, would you care to order
coffee?”
Drago asked.

“
Absolutely for me,” Grace chimed
in.

The conversation switched to more general
interest about his homeland, and Grace was fascinated with his
descriptions of daily life in the far off country.
Having a degree
in history gave Grace a good grasp of the political upheaval the
area had endured for some decades before gaining its independence.
Drago was astonished at her knowledge of the former Czechoslovakian
state and gladly related the latest news on political issues the
nation faced.
Coffee gone, Grace sadly realized that it was time to
go home.
She had enjoyed Drago's company greatly.

The trio rode to the eighty-acre Antolini
compound, and with good-nights exchanged, Guy led Drago down the
lane.

Alone in the rustic stone and log guest home
situated on the Antolini property Drago unpacked his bags, knowing
immediately that six months in the guest house was going to be much
more comfortable than the efficiency apartment he would have
rented.
The mission style bedroom furniture rested on tightly woven
tan Berber which covered the floors except in the kitchen,
bathrooms, and entryway.
Stone fireplaces in the living area and
bedroom were fueled by natural gas, and Drago realized that with
the flick of a switch, fire roared to life.
Experienced with fire
building, the convenience was not lost on him.
Quietness enveloped
the rural setting, allowing his ears to hear the faint cry of wind
cutting through the black night.
It was eerie and peaceful all at
once.

Deciding to shower while the fires banished
the damp chill from the air, he opened the closets and found stacks
of white towels and washcloths.
Bone tired from traveling and
having his hunger sated, showering was the final luxury he craved
before collapsing into bed.
The heated water soaked its warmth into
weary muscles, and his body relaxed as steam filled the air.
Tomorrow would begin the most intense training of his career, but
tonight he would welcome the empty thoughts and bliss of sleep that
exhaustion would bring.
Lying in the queen sized bed under the down
comforter and thermal lined fleece, Drago drifted into slumber, his
last thoughts of the soft spoken beauty whose company he had
enjoyed this day.