Bonita

Chapter 32. Strong & Tired

THIRD

Ronaldo woke before the sun.

Not because he wanted to.

Just because sleep had become impossible after last night.

Every time he shut his eyes, all he saw was fire.

The explosion.

Nova's scream.

The sound of metal tearing apart.

The thought of how close they had all come to losing her.

Again.

With a frustrated sigh, he threw the covers off and rubbed a hand down his face before glancing toward the clock.

6:03 AM.

Too early for most people.

But not for him.

If he couldn't sleep, he might as well do something useful.

He tossed on a black compression shirt, sweats, and headed downstairs toward the gym—his usual place of solitude when his mind refused to quiet.

But the moment he neared the double doors, he stopped.

There was noise inside.

Rhythmic thuds.

Heavy breathing.

Grunts.

And the unmistakable sound of a punching bag being absolutely demolished.

His brows furrowed.

Diego maybe?

Could be getting an early run in.

Or one of the twins.

Possibly Angelo.

Hell, maybe Christian was stress-training.

Definitely not Malcolm—Malcolm treasured sleep too much.

Ronaldo pushed open the door quietly—

And froze.

Nova.

She stood in the center of the gym in a black hoodie and sweatpants, hands wrapped, sweat soaking her clothes, absolutely brutalizing the punching bag like it had personally offended her.

His brows slowly lifted.

She moved fast.

Faster than he expected.

Her stance wasn't polished—not trained professionally—but it was effective.

Street-fighting instinct.

Wild but calculated.

And beneath it all...

He recognized hints of something sharper.

Kickboxing.

Underground-style.

The kind he'd only ever seen in illegal fight rings.

His expression darkened slightly.

Where the hell did she learn that?

She pivoted and drove her leg into the bag again, grunting from exertion.

The bag swung violently.

She looked exhausted.

Her movements had that sluggish heaviness that came from overworking yourself past your limit.