The Wrath of Eli (The Seven Sins Book 1) Read online

  The Wrath of Eli

  (The Seven Sins, #1)

  Lily Zante

  Author’s Note

  The Wrath of Eli is the first book in The Seven Sins, which is a contemporary romance series of steamy, angsty and emotional stories featuring characters who are loosely connected.

  All books are STANDALONE.

  Other books by Lily Zante:

  The Billionaire’s Love Story:

  The Gift, Book 1

  The Gift, Book 2

  The Gift, Book 3

  The Gift, Boxed Set (Books 1, 2 & 3)

  The Offer, Book 1

  The Offer, Book 2

  The Offer, Book 3

  The Offer, Boxed Set (Books 1, 2 & 3)

  The Vow, Book 1

  The Vow, Book 2

  The Vow, Book 3

  The Vow, Boxed Set (Books 1, 2 & 3)

  Indecent Intentions:

  The Bet

  The Hookup

  Honeymoon Series:

  Honeymoon For One

  Honeymoon For Three

  Honeymoon Blues

  Honeymoon Bliss

  Baby Steps

  Honeymoon Series Boxed Set (Books 1-4)

  Italian Summer Series: (A spin-off from the Honeymoon Series)

  It Takes Two

  All That Glitters

  Fool’s Gold

  Roman Encounter

  November Sun

  New Beginnings

  Italian Summer Series Boxed Set (Books 1-4)

  Perfect Match Series:

  Lost In Solo (prequel)

  The Proposal

  Heart Sync

  A Leap of Faith

  Perfect Match Boxed Set (Prequel, plus Books 1 & 2)

  Tainted Love Series: (A spin-off from the Perfect Match Series)

  Misplaced Love

  Reclaiming Love

  Embracing Love

  Tainted Love Boxed Set (Books 1, 2 & 3)

  An Ordinary Hero

  Standalone books:

  Love, Inc

  An Unexpected Gift

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  Chapter 1

  Eli

  It’s not often that Lou calls me into his office in the middle of a sparring session. I figure it must be important, something to do with the fight.

  “What is it?” I say, still wearing my boxing gloves.

  “There’ll be a journalist hanging around here for a few weeks. They want to do an interest story on you.”

  “A what?” My guard is already up. A journalist? What the hell for?

  Lou stares back at me, his saggy, wrinkly skin hanging from his face. At times he reminds me of a turkey. “The Chicago Daily Herald approached us. This is publicity. You don’t have Garrison’s pulling power. We need this.”

  The hell we do. I shift uneasily from foot to foot. “No, we don’t.”

  “We do. It’s the Chicago Daily Times. You should be honored.”

  “So?” I say, with a careless shrug. “So what?”

  “So shut the hell up and pretend nobody’s around.”

  I stare at Lou in disbelief. I’m training for a shot at the World Heavyweight title next month against Trent “The Tank” Garrison, the current champion. Nobody expects me to win; I’m the underdog, and a long shot, and I got this chance by pure luck.

  But Garrison has everything to lose.

  I have nothing.

  The last thing I need is a journalist hanging around here watching me and asking stupid questions.

  “How long?”

  “Until the fight.”

  “A month?”

  I shake my head. “What the fuck are they hoping to do here for a month? And more than that, what questions?”

  “It’s an interest piece, Eli. Don’t get all riled up.”

  “But, a month?”

  “They’re writing an interest piece spread over a few days of the fight. I don’t know why so long. Be grateful.”

  My face twists. This is bullshit.

  “They want to write about your training regime, see what you’re made of. You should be thankful, boy.”

  Thankful is the last thing I feel, when my manager’s telling me that some nosey parker is going to shadow me in the run up to the fight.

  Hell no.

  “I don’t need a distraction.”

  “Ignore him. Pretend he’s not around. You do that to most people every day.”

  I ignore the snide comment. “He better not come to the training camp.” It’s the week before the fight. Lou’s taking me to Dwayne Bank’s house for my most intensive training yet. I spar and fight and hone my technique here in the boxing gym where I’ve been coming for the last six years, but Lou says the final weeks we’re going to build my strength and stamina at Dwayne’s place. Apparently it’s in the middle of nowhere, and a four hour drive from Chicago.

  “Okay. Done. Don’t let this get in your way. You’re Chicago’s New Hope, Eli,” he reminds me, “You have other things to think of.”

  That’s exactly my fucking point.

  Chicago’s New Hope.

  I grit my teeth. They’re calling me that because Garrison is from the Bronx. Whoever coined this phrase is being nice, but I’m not stupid. Behind my back I know what everyone thinks.

  I’m a poor bastard who doesn’t stand a chance.

  I tap my gloves together, because I’m itching to get back to the ring. Santos is waiting. “Is that it?”

  “Can I count on you to be nice?” Lou asks.

  I take a deep inhale because his request still pisses me off. “This isn’t school, Lou. I don’t have to be nice to anyone.” Not that I was nice to anyone apart from Nina, much. Even my foster parents, and there were many over the years, struggled to cope with me.

  He wants me to say ‘yes’. The hell I will. I need to focus. I need to keep my wits about me and my eyes on the prize, and the prize is the title of the world heavyweight champion. It doesn’t matter how I got this chance—sheer luck many have said, even directly to my face. You won’t last more than two rounds, others have told me. But I have a chance at this, and I’m going to prove everyone wrong.

  I remember one of the caretakers at Grampton House. Dennis Swain was his name. I remember I used to shiver when he walked past us. Nina would tug at my hand and keep me close by her side.

  I shake my head, because this fucking random and unwanted thought has sliced into my head. The sweat drips down my neck and back. I grind down on my teeth. “I’ll try.”

  He nods, more in relief than anything else. “Now get back to the training. We need you ready for the big night.”

  “I am ready,” I mutter under my breath, as I turn to leave. I was born ready. Born to good-for-nothing sack-of-shit parents. My sister and I deserved better. When I win, when I get the money, things will be better.

  I climb back into the ring, bristling with rage, and a few seconds later, my clean left hook sends Santos flying to the ground.

  Chapter 2

  Harper

  “Elias Cardoza?” I frown, because the name is vague enough that I’ve heard it, but I can’t put a face to it. “Is he a popstar?” I ask Merv.

  My boss huffs out an irritated breath. “He’s a boxer, right here from Chicago. How can you not know that?”

  “Because I don’t watch boxing.”

  Gerry tries to hide his laugh, but I catch it.

  “You need to start watching this kid. Everyone’s got an eye on him, and he hasn’t lost a fight this year.” Merv pauses for effect, but I stare at my nails, noticing that the color has chipped and I’m going to have to run into one of the nail salons during my lunch hour
to get it fixed. Or maybe not. I have an article that needs to be finished in the next hour.

  “Are you paying attention?” His tone is harsh. It’s like he’s still pissed that I got this job instead of his nephew.

  I purse my lips, and then force a smile because I know this annoys him even more. I swear to God, I don’t know how come I’m still in this job two months down the line. This guy is looking for any excuse to fire me so that he can tell everyone how useless I am. Only, I’ve not given him the chance, because despite my designer suits, and matching bags and shoes, I can still deliver nitty-gritty news when I need to. I never miss a deadline and it surprises many people. They think I’m an airhead, and I’m so not. This is what Merv thinks. I feel as if he’s constantly trying to test me, but my father’s on the board—which is probably another reason for Merv hating me—and he can’t really fire me.

  “That’s your next assignment. Think you can handle it?”

  I have a million reasons why I don’t want to handle it. I don’t know the first thing about boxing, and I hate it. Two grown men knocking one another to pieces. It’s barbaric and shouldn’t be allowed. But I smile sweetly, because this asshole of a man finds things he know will test me.

  “Of course I can handle it.” Then I wonder what Gerry’s doing in here, and why Merv is only addressing me about it. “What about Gerry?” I ask, nodding in his direction. Gerry’s a senior editor here, and sort of like my mentor.

  “Gerry suggested it would be an interesting story for you to do. You can shadow him for a month in the run-up to his fight.”

  “A month?”

  “You can get up to speed with boxing, and doing an in-depth piece on him,” Gerry explains. “It will be a good experience for you, especially since it’s a huge fight. This is big stuff. He’s not going to win, but we’ll get a lot of interest because Garrison is the favorite. It’s a big deal.”

  “But a month?” I ask, thinking back to the Rocky films and images of a dirty and dingy little gym rush to my mind. I don’t particularly want to shadow a boxer in a place that smells like a boys’ locker room all day long. Why couldn’t he have me cover a gala fundraiser event or something more appropriate?

  “I want you to immerse yourself in his daily routine. Our angle of interest is that Cardoza’s a local boy. They call him Chicago’s New Hope and, trust me, we wouldn’t be doing this if he wasn’t from here. This kid has come from nowhere, and if he goes on to win the fight it’s going be a huge ups—”

  Gerry interrupts with a smirk. “He’s not going to win,” he says, smugly. “Cardoza got this fight because the other guys got disqualified.”

  Merv frowns. “He might surprise us.” Gerry shakes his head again, as if this is ridiculous.

  Merv laughs. It’s the usual part-condescending, part-being-polite laugh he usually reserves for me, the one where I can’t tell if he’s being a dick, or if he’s suddenly remembered that my dad sits on the board and it’s because of him that 1Merv has to be nice to me.

  “You start tomorrow. It’s all been arranged with his manager, Lou McNeilly. He’s the trainer manager. He owns McNeilly’s Gym.”

  “Tomorrow,” I repeat. “I have a lot to research, especially since I have no clue who this guy is.”

  “You’ll do,” Merv says, resting his head in his hands, arms wide open as he rocks back in his chair. I don’t like the way he looks me up and down either, as if he thinks I don’t know that he’s checking me out again. He’s a sick and dirty old man. So many of them are. I shudder, and thank my lucky stars that unlike most people, I don’t have to work if I don’t want to.

  Merv hates that I got this job because of my father, but so what? At least I show up to work and do the work. Truth is, I don’t want to rely on my father all my life. I want to make it on my own. He helped fund my Ivy League education and, yes, he bought my apartment in one of the most affluent parts of the city, but that’s what all parents do. I can’t help it if my parents helped me.

  I don’t bother to question what he means by that. “What does he look like?” I ask. Merv throws a folded paper across the desk. I stare back at a guy who looks angry. But then my heart skips a beat as I quickly take in his chest. I skim quickly over the article headline and see that this is a shot of him in the ring after he’s won a fight. He’s wearing a don’t-fuck-with-me glare, and his hands are down by his side, his eyes a riot of fury. My heart skips a beat because he has abs that are so beautifully sculpted that I’m tempted to trace my finger over the paper. I might even have done so had Merv the Perv not been watching.

  “I think she likes him,” Gerry says, grinning.

  “He looks familiar,” I say, trying to cover my embarrassment. He doesn’t look familiar at all, and I can’t believe I’ve almost drooled over the paper.

  “Looking forward to it?” Gerry asks when we leave the office. He’s always checking to see if I’m okay. At first I thought it was because of my dad, but the more I get to know him, the more I realize that Gerry’s making sure I settle in okay. Maybe he’s trying to make up for Merv’s thinly veiled hatred of me. In any case, Gerry reminds me of a kid who always wants to please his mom, or his school teacher, except that he’s in his late forties, I’m guessing, and he’s been here longer, plus he’s the senior sports editor. Yet, for some reason, he seems slightly in awe around me, and I don’t know why.

  “It’s a bit sudden,” I say. “Telling me the day before I start.”

  “That’s because we had someone else in mind.”

  I’m surprised they’re giving this to me, given that there are others here with so much more experience.

  “This will be good for you. Merv reckons you might be better in getting more information out of Cardoza.” He coughs and looks embarrassed. “As opposed to a guy, but I have no idea why he’d think that, especially in this day and age.”

  Merv the Perv. I wince. “I know nothing about boxing,” I say.

  “You’re not on your own, Harper. Maybe we can get together for lunch or something after a while. You can let me know how you get on.”

  “Sounds good.”

  I go back to my desk and prepare to get better acquainted online with Elias Cardoza.

  Chapter 3

  Harper

  I left the Louboutins at home even though the black Chanel suit looked better with four inch heels. I wasn’t sure what to wear, and was almost tempted to wear my old casual clothes. I didn’t relish the idea of all that sweat and dirt from the gym being all over my business suits. But, I eventually decided on a trouser suit that looked chic, and didn’t look too bad with my Converse sneakers.

  I arrive at McNeilly’s Gym in a part of Chicago I’m not too familiar with. When I walk in a musty, damp-ish smell assaults my nostrils. I count four boxing rings, two of them occupied. There are a handful of people scattered around, mostly young guys.

  I can see an office in the corner, diagonally across the open plan floor. The doors are shut, but I can see from the half-windows around it that there’s a guy inside. He’s on the phone, walking around. The guys in the gym glance at me, and then get back to what they were doing.

  I’m insignificant, even though, or perhaps because I’m the only woman in here.

  “Can I help you?”

  I turn at the sound of the soft voice. It’s another guy, old enough to be my grandpa, from the looks of it, and he has the same soft manner about him.

  “I’m from the Chicago Daily Herald,” I tell him, and hold out my hand for him.

  “Ahh,” he says, his eyes lighting, as if this now makes sense.” “I’m Ernesto,” he shakes my hand.

  “Harper,” I say, smiling, because he’s made me feel welcome. “Harper Lindstrom.”

  “Lou said we’d be expecting someone, but I wasn’t expecting a woman,” he says. There is nothing untoward in that sentence. Nothing sexist, or slimy. It’s just a fact that he points out. “But I’m pleased to meet you.”

  “This is kind of a new experie
nce for me,” I say, finding myself immediately drawn to him.

  “I don’t suppose boxing is a sport you have much interest in? My granddaughters don’t like it much either.” He smiles, and puts me at ease.

  “It seemed like a good opportunity, interviewing Elias Cardoza,” I say, hoping to get an insight into the man.

  He nods. “Eli will take some getting used to,” he says, and it doesn’t seem like a warning because his eyes are soft.

  I want to ask him what he means by that but he says, “Let me take you to meet Lou,” before I can say anything. Then, “Come this way, young lady.”

  His friendliness instantly puts me at ease and I follow Ernesto towards the office, and see that nobody bats an eyelid as we walk past. The guys fighting in the ring carry on. I sense that nothing, not even a hurricane, would shift their focus.

  Ernesto knocks on the door, then opens it without waiting for a response. The other guy is still on the phone, and he hasn’t even looked up as Ernesto and I hover around the open door.

  “He’s always on the phone,” Ernesto whispers.

  I smile, because there’s not a lot I can say to that. Instead I look behind me at the gym area, and see if the boy wonder is here.

  “Those are some of the regulars,” Ernesto explains, lowering his voice. “There’s Santos and Jake,” he points to two guys stepping into the ring. “They’re Eli’s sparring partners. The rest,” he gesticulates at the other guys, “are regulars. Some come with their trainers. Lou only trains and manages Eli, and he’s always busy, because he owns the gym. I try and help out, but he’s busier than ever now that Eli’s got this fight.”

  “Is he ready?” I ask, because I’m not sure what to say until I’ve met the man, and then I can gauge how I’m going to do this.

  “I believe he will be more than ready by the time he steps into that ring.”

  “What can I do for you?” I turn around. Phone guy is off the phone and fixes me with a questioning look.