Claiming The Prize (31 page)

Drago resettled his wife and son in
the bedroom, lighting the second heater to ensure the room was warm
enough.
Once he had taken care to fill the other and checked the
house, he returned to them.
Facing one another, their son swaddled
between them, Drago and Grace gazed lovingly at him, and at one
another.

“
Oh!
I almost forgot,”
Grace sighed, tired but eager to question.
“What is our son's
name?”

He smiled at her shining
face.

“
Antoline Mihovil
Zadrovec.
After our fathers, Grace.”

His voice broke at speaking his son's
name aloud, at speaking the name of his long deceased father, and
he and his wife shed bittersweet tears knowing that Mihovil and
Sarai Zadrovec would not meet their grandson in this
life.

* * *

By mid-morning the next day, the
blizzard had lost its biting force, and the process of digging out
began in earnest.
Guy and Drago plowed the Antolini drive, buried
beneath twenty-seven inches of snow and added inches of ice.
Grace
telephoned Dr.
Haviland from her father's phone, and he promised to
get there as soon as he was able.
The roads were not yet cleared,
and Grace informed him that the baby was doing fine and that they
would go to the hospital as soon as the roads were passable.
For
now, she relished the peace of the cocoon of home about her and her
son, thankful that he had arrived healthy and safe amid the
tumultuous circumstances of his birth.

* * *

Antoline Zadrovec was introduced to
the world of family and friends on Orthodox Christmas.
After
worshiping together, the Zadrovecs, Khalers, and Guy returned to
the brick colonial in high spirits.
One by one, the First Strike
members drifted in, arms piled with presents for the little
ones.

“
Where is the little man?”
St.
Clair interrogated Drago as soon as introductions were made and
coats had been hung.
“I sure hope he takes after
Gracie!”

Drago grinned.

“
He looks like a newborn,
St.
Clair,” Drago said wryly, leading the boxing trainer and his
latest love interest to the living room.

“
Moja
ž
ena, show off my son,” he stated
proudly.

Grace laughed, rolling her
eyes.

“
I'm glad you made it
Saint!”

She stood and kissed him on the
cheek.

“
I'd like you to meet
Lita,” St.
Clair introduced his date.

“
Merry Christmas,” Grace
acknowledged the woman warmly.
“It's nice to meet you.
I'm Grace,
and this...,” she beamed, offering her son to St.
Clair, “...is
Antoline.”

St.
Clair gently gathered the bundle
into his arms.

“
Gracie, he's a fine
looking boy!”

“
Oh, Saint!
Don't go on
too much.
I'd like my husband to be able to fit his head through
the doorways.”

Grace laughed amiably,
inviting the couple to sit down.
Grace couldn't remember a happier
time in her life, and she committed the day, its emotions and
images, to her memory to recall them during the days ahead.
Her
husband would be training at a consuming pace in preparation for
his rematch with Elian Souva, and the countdown to the fight also
marked the countdown to their return to Slovakia.
Grace decided not
to think of that now.
She wanted to live each moment where she
was.

After dinner, the conversation slipped
into familiar territory around the dining room table.

“
Souva will face Dean
Murdoch in a few weeks, and I'm telling you – that Brazilian is
going to come away with the belt,” Ike said confidently.

“
I see it playing out that
way, too,” St.
Clair agreed.
“Souva will run a clinic on
Murdoch.”

Heads bobbed in unison at the
statement.

“
Submission in the first
round,” the Friar placed his wager.

“
I call a knockout in the
second,” Ike cast his lot.

“
Either way the Brazilian
ends it, Drago will be fighting for the belt come May,” St.
Clair
reminded.
“We're going to have crazy cardio days to juice up for
this fight.
Five rounds, baby!”

Guy broke into the
discussion.

“
Stephen DuFois called me
the other day.
He wants to put together a “Fight For Autism” on the
card.
I was going to bring it up at Tuesday's meeting, but since
we're all here, I'll lay it out now.
He wants the AMMAO to donate
ten percent of ticket sales to the Foundation for Autism Research,
and he's asking the fighters to donate a percentage of their payout
as well to the DuFois Fund.”

Lita, who had been sitting quietly for
most of the evening, asked, “What's the DuFois Fund?”

“
It helps families of
autistic children connect with resources in their communities and
offers financial support for those in need,” Grace explained.
“Both
Stephen and Beth DuFois are devoted to this cause.”

“
What kind of percentage
are we talking about?”
Ike questioned.

“
DuFois said he'd leave
that up to us – if we were interested.
He's contacted Souva's camp
as well.
Sleep on it.
We can talk numbers on Tuesday if we decide
we're in.”

Guy Antolini leaned back in his chair
at the head of the table.

“
Which brings me to
another point of business.
We have, after speaking at length with
my son-in-law, decided to officially merge Anto-Engage with
Spar-Slava.
We've all been in this game for many years together,
and I'd appreciate your support before I go public.
It's a
strategic move to gain ground in the WOMA.
Right now, the AMMAO is
on top, but it's good business sense to establish ourselves firmly
in both organizations, gentlemen.
Who knows what tomorrow will
bring?”

“
Drago has built a strong
team and profitable business within the WOMA.
His connections could
promote our gym, help us establish a team within the WOMA, and feed
our team in the AMMAO.
I think it's a wise move,” the Friar
stated.

He had known of the men's plan and had
endorsed the decision wholeheartedly.

“
You have my support,
Anto, Drago,” Ike volunteered, nodding his head toward one, then
the other.

St.
Clair parroted his
answer.

“
Welcome to team
Anto-Engage-Global,” Guy gestured, and the men shook hands around
the table.

“
Carson,” Guy continued,
“shake with us.
For you will continue with Yves for sparring work,
but you're the new cardio trainer at First Strike.
St.
Clair has
too many irons in the fire, and I need him to work full time
teaching boxing.
You're ready for this position.”

“
I am, Anto,” Carson
replied.
“Thank you.”

The group chatted on, sharing stories
of the gym and prospecting on the future.

“
Well, I wish you all a
Merry Christmas.
It is time Grace and I took Antoline home,” Drago
said at last, pushing from the table.

Goodbyes were long and many before the
couple could depart for the peace of home.
Grace settled the baby
in his crib, then stole away to soak in a hot bath before bed.
Adjusting to motherhood hadn't been too difficult in the month
since little Anto's birth, but she valued the hours of her sleep
like precious jewels.

“
There you are,
milovany.”

Drago lit up upon finding her and
settled beside the bath.

“
Will you be much
longer?”

“
No, not much.
Why?”

“
Just wondering,” he lied,
knowing Grace knew it as well.
“See you when you come
out.”

She leaned back in the tub, but
curiosity and excitement won out quickly, urging her to abandon the
bathwater and seek her husband.
She found him relaxing in their
bed.

“
Are you ready for bed,
love?”
she played along, waiting for him to reveal his
hand.

“
Actually,
ž
ena, I have a gift for
you,” he confessed, sliding a long, slender box from under his
pillow.
“Merry Christmas.”

Grace opened the velvety,
black case to find a silver charm bracelet with two shining circles
dangling from its dainty chain.
Each disk bore an inscription on
either side.
The first was inscribed ~ 20 October ~ and on the
reverse ~ moja nevesta,
my bride
~ and the second ~ 17 December ~ and on the back
~ Dakujem,
thank you
.
The simple words, their marriage date and the day of their
son's birth, together on the beautiful bracelet moved Grace to
tears.

“
It's lovely,
Drago.”

Her eyes shone brightly, her tears of
happiness sparkling in the dim lamplight of the room.

“
Clasp it for me, please,”
she said, eager to wear the charms he had gifted her.

He affixed it around her slender
wrist, and encircled her with his arms.
Grace molded to his body,
savoring his love and strength about her for precious moments
before she moved.

“
I have something for you
as well.
But my gift isn't nearly as good as yours.
You've bested
me, love.”

He laughed softly in her
ear.

“
That would be a first,
milovany.”

Reaching under the bed, Grace drew out
a medium sized box wrapped in golden foil paper.

“
Open it,” she
encouraged.

Inside was a pair of compression fight
shorts.

“
I hope you like them.
They are the first piece of gear I designed with the new
Anto-Engage-Global logo.”

“
You designed these?”
he
asked in surprise.
“I never suspected a thing!”

“
You spend a great deal of
time at the gym, love.
It wasn't terribly difficult.”

“
Grace, these are very
good,” he admired, holding them up.

The flags were split, half American,
half Slovakian on the right, front hip.
The left rear bore a globe
covered with the national flags of all the team's fighters.
A white
band around the waist had the name Anto-Engage-Global printed
around it, front and back, and on the right rear the new slogan –
Engage The Globe – rested above a newly designed icon.

“
Your support means
everything to me,” he murmured, placing a tender kiss to her
lips.

Dimming the lamp, Grace curled next to
Drago, slipping into sleep before her prayers had
finished.

Chapter 21

Crocus and tulip blades emerged from
winter's slumber, eager to unfurl their leaves and display their
blooms.
Drago sat in the early morning rays of spring sunshine that
penetrated the kitchen, sharing pleasant conversation with Grace
over a simple breakfast.

Her presence grounded him, her gentle
advice steering him when he reached a plateau in his training and
frustration or discouragement threatened.
He had come to rely upon
her in a way he could not explain, even to himself.
It was as if
she had become a part of him, and he was no longer whole but within
the meshing of their lives.
He wouldn't change it if he
could.

“
Only five weeks remain
until the fight,” he interjected softly.

The statement caused a pause in their
interaction, and his wife allowed him the moment to collect his
thoughts fully without pushing him.

“
I am ready for
Souva.”

Drago settled into silent reflection
again before he continued.

“
Grace,” he said thickly,
“I have worked for much of my life to become the champion.
It is my
dream, and I've given everything, and so have you, milovany, in
pursuit of it.
What if my everything isn't enough?
What if I've
hinged our lives around this moment only to discover that I'm
second best?”

Her hand upon his quieted
him.

“
Don't give a foothold to
self doubt, love.
Did your dream stop calling you after defeat, or
did it only grow stronger?”

He pulled her from the chair and into
his arms.

“
You know the answer,
moja
ž
ena.”

“
Drago, you won't be
defined by a single moment in time, but by the sum of your life's
moments.
You're a champion in here,” she said, pressing her hand to
his chest.
“And you'll never be second best to me.”

He clasped her against
himself.

“
Do what you love,
husband, and do it with everything you are.
There are no regrets
there.”

God, but he loved her.
She was his
rock, offering her strength freely to him, unmoving in her belief
in him.
Picking her up in his arms, he carried her into the bedroom
and loved her with all the passion for life her words had
stirred.

* * *

No one at First Strike had seen a more
motivated fighter in the weeks leading up to the title fight.
Camera crews milled about with no choice but to wait for the
interviews for the AMMAO pre-bout build up.
Guy permitted only
basic workouts to be filmed, and his fighter was less than generous
with his time or words.

An ongoing dispute with Derek Sloba
strained Guy's relationship with the president of that
organization.
In an effort to gain a larger audience base, Sloba
wanted segments done of the two fighters at home with their
families.
Both Drago and Elian had flat out refused, prompting
breach of contract threats from the AMMAO, and the two mixed
martial artists had spoken numerous times over the phone to
consider a compromise to this situation.

In the end, Drago and Souva stood
firm.
They may be under contract, but their wives and children were
not, and neither would parade their families in front of the
camera.
They, however, had to submit enough material to fill a full
hour of programming, and it remained a point of contention with
Drago even after filming was underway.

“
Hey there, movie star,
ready for round two?”

Drago arched his eyebrow at
Ike.

“
I'm ready, but be glad
you are not coming in this ring with me.”

Both Ike and St.
Clair harassed him
about the film footage they themselves had participated in, but it
gave the men a fun diversion from the repetitive routines of the
gym.

“
Ah, Zadrovec, be glad I'm
not thirty years younger or I'd submit you and steal Gracie right
from under your nose!
I was a handsome devil, I tell
you.”

Drago snorted, and a wide grin crept
across his face, his reply muffled from the mouth guard he
wore.

“
I believe it,
Ike.”

Slapping Ike's broad back, Drago
ducked and climbed between the ropes.
An hour later, a soaking wet
Drago emerged from the ring, having bruted his way through two
grappling partners and leaving a third exhausted in his wake.
Ike
came alongside him, feeling the pulse in his neck while staring at
the second hand of his stopwatch.

“
Fifty-two seconds!”
he
crowed.
“We're at fifty-two seconds and your heart rate is back to
normal.
St.
Clair will be pleased as a stuffed pig!”

The salty taste of sweat mingled with
the cool water he downed, sitting ringside, and he wiped his head
with his shirt.

“
I'm going to shower and
change.
Will you let the Friar know if he comes looking for
me?”

“
Go on, son,” the older
man encouraged.
“The Friar should be spared the smell of
you.”

Drago chuckled, heading for
the locker.
Despite his tiredness, he would spend an hour with Yves
working on jujitsu technique and another hour on his Maui Thai
footwork with Guy.
The countless hours spent with Ike and St.
Clair
had fostered a deep friendship between them, but Guy and Yves
remained Drago's closest relationships within First Strike.
He had
grown to love Guy like a father, and Yves was as close to him as a
brother could be.
Above and beyond the others, these two had
offered him their friendship, and Drago knew he could never truly
repay them for the knowledge and time they gave, nor would they
accept it if he tried.
In a world where money and prestige were
many men's gods, Drago had been led to First Strike and team
Anto-Engage by providence.

Six days from now, every drop of sweat
lost, every pain, every sore muscle would be the propellent for his
explosive performance in the cage.

* * *

The clear, starlit sky domed Mandalay
Bay, Las Vegas, the spectators unaware of its true brilliance
beneath the electric glare of daylight from inside the man made
venue.
Among the sea of nameless faces Drago knew his wife watched,
waiting expectantly for the twenty-five minute war that would
dominate the cage to begin.
But he would not look upon her until it
was over, for his mind was focused on the necessary.
Squatting near
the meshed metal barrier separating him from Anto and the Friar,
Drago sprang upward, his heart rate increasing, coursing
oxygen-rich blood through his system more quickly.
He inhaled
deeply, augmenting the effect as he rolled his shoulders and neck,
limbering his heated body in preparation.

The flashes of light glittering across
the crowded arena in random sequence, the myriad of voices
converging into a singular roar, were distant and foreign from the
familiar reality of the blue mat beneath his calloused feet and
calm instructions exhorting him to execute with perfection.
He saw
only the octagon, heard only Guy's voice as he advanced toward the
cage's center at the referee's signal.
The man he faced was not the
Elian Souva he respected as a friend, but a worthy opponent to
engage in the battle for supremacy.

Touching gloves, each retreated to
their respective corners, coiled and ready to assert themselves.
Gesturing inward, the referee commenced the clock's first
five-minute countdown.

“
Bring it on,
gentlemen.”

Confidence in his body's strength and
endurance, in his fight strategy, his trainers, in himself,
compelled Drago to press forward.
Controlled aggression acquired
the position he desired – perfect striking distance.
Firing off his
punishing jab, Drago's left hand collided with Souva's cheek.
Before the Brazilian could answer, Drago was gone.

One takedown attempt after another was
stuffed as Drago denied the jujitsu black belt the luxury of taking
the fight to the ground, continuing to execute the strategy Guy
Antolini had drilled into him.
In and out he worked, firing off
jabs and combinations in rapid succession while evading his
opponent's counters.
Sublime clarity came into focus as his body
obeyed instantly the patterns of foot and hand work practiced for
months.

Drago planted his lead leg, setting up
the angle needed to unleash his devastating and powerful left leg.
Explosive power, fueled by adrenaline and desire, ripped through
his body as Drago's kick arced through the air, slamming brutally
into Souva's temple.

His infamous kick of death.

Pressing forward in his advantage,
Drago Zadrovec took another confident step forward in his quest for
the belt.

* * *

A few hours later, showered and fresh,
a exuberant Drago emerged from the building, his arm wrapped around
Grace.
Her smile was infectious as she looked up at him, her eyes
sparkling in the neon glitz of night, and Drago responded with the
broad laughing smile that only Grace could elicit from
him.

But tonight was made for smiling, he
thought, tucking her more snugly against his side.

A late, but quiet dinner
after the evening's excitement and the night stretching before
them, Drago intended to savor the claiming of his most valued
prize.