He lunges at me without warning, his fist connecting with my jaw hard enough to snap my head back.
Pain explodes through my skull as I stumble backward, catching myself against her desk.
“You fucking predator!” He comes at me again, wild with grief and rage, swinging with the kind of desperate violence that comes from a man who’s lost everything. “She trusted you!Itrusted you!”
I duck the next punch and grab his wrist, trying to control him without seriously hurting him. “Matteo, stop?—”
“Don’t you dare tell me to stop!” He breaks free and drives his elbow into my ribs, the impact forcing the air from my lungs. “She was vulnerable and you took advantage!”
This time when he swings, I don’t try to restrain him.
My fist catches him across the cheekbone, splitting the skin and sending him staggering backward into the bookshelf.
Books cascade to the floor as he bounces off the wood and comes at me again.
“How long?” He tackles me around the waist, driving us both to the ground among the broken glass and scattered photographs. “How long have you been planning this?”
We roll across the floor, each of us trying to get the upper hand.
His knee drives into my stomach, and I return with an elbow to his ribs that makes him grunt in pain.
The careful control we’ve both maintained for years is gone, replaced by raw violence and years of suppressed tension.
“I wasn’t planning anything!” I manage to get him in a headlock, but he drives his elbow back into my solar plexus, forcing me to release him.
“Bullshit!” He spins around and catches me with a right cross that opens a cut above my eye.
Blood streams down my face as I lunge forward, tackling him back to the ground. “I’ve seen the way you look at her!”
We’re both breathing hard now, blood and sweat making our grips slippery as we grapple among the debris.
His shirt is torn, my knuckles are split and bleeding, and there’s glass embedded in my shoulder from when he slammed me into the ground.
“She needed comfort!” I pin him for a moment, but he bucks me off and scrambles to his feet.
“She needed protection!” He kicks out, catching me in the ribs as I try to stand. “From people like you!”
The accusation hits harder than anything going on right now.
I surge to my feet and catch him with an uppercut that snaps his head back, followed by a left hook that sends him crashing into the remaining bookshelf.
“I’ve bled for this family!” The words explode out of me as I advance on him. “I helped you find her when Mario took her!”
He wipes blood from his mouth and comes at me again, his movements becoming more desperate, less controlled. “And this is how you repay that trust?” he hisses.
His fist catches me in the mouth, splitting my lip, but I manage to grab his arm and use his momentum to slam him against the wall.
Plaster cracks behind his head, and for a moment we’re face to face, both of us breathing hard and bleeding.
“I’ve earned the right to love her,” I say through gritted teeth.
There’s something in his expression—not forgiveness, but something that cuts through the blind rage. But he’s not done fighting yet.
He drives his knee up toward my groin, and when I block it, he breaks free and catches me with a haymaker that sends me staggering backward.
I trip over the debris and go down hard, my back hitting the edge of the desk.
“Love her?” He advances on me, blood running from his nose and a cut on his forehead. “You think this islove?”
