“He cares for me,” I defend, tired of the same conversation.
“And what has it cost you?” Julian asks, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Your brother is gone. Now you’re about to lose the rest of your life. He’s‘saving’you by destroying every part of it you actually wanted. He’s dragging you to hell. If I were him...” he trails off as his phone chimes.
He pulls it out from his pocket, and I watch his face go red. He shoves the phone at me.
KATARINA FLORES FLOWN TO SWISS CLINIC: Family Spokesman Cites Illness.
A headline of a news article from Clarín flashes on the screen.
“See?” His jaw clenches as he looks at me with such cold disdain. “Look at what’s happening, Kat. He just ended your career.”
“Get your hands off her!”
I startle from the sound of his voice bellowing from out of nowhere. Damiano is standing a few feet away from us. He walks into the range, and suddenly the room feels too crowded. He isn’t looking at me, though. His eyes are fixed on Julian’s hand on my neck. He walks right past me, shoving himself between us, seething with anger.
“I don’t have fucking patience, so why don’t you stop fucking pissing me off?” He warns.
Julian doesn’t flinch. He gets into his face and says, “Or what? Will you kill me? Go ahead. Prove to her that you’re exactly what I said you are. You don’t own her.”
My eyes go wide, startled by Julian’s words. Then the panic sets in a second later.
It happens so fast, I couldn’t even scream until after the first blow landed.
Damiano lunges first, his fist connecting with Julian’s jaw with a sickening thud that makes my own teeth ache. Before Julian can even steady himself, Damiano is on him, seizinghis collar and slamming him back against the stone wall. The sound of Julian’s head hitting the masonry echoes through the chamber, hard and loud.
“Stop it! Damiano, let him go!” I yell, but they are past hearing me.
Julian doesn’t crumple. Instead, a raw, animalistic snarl rips from his throat. He surges forward, his arms shucking off Damiano’s grip with a desperate burst of strength that sends Damiano stumbling back. Julian doesn’t hesitate; he throws a heavy punch that catches Damiano square in the face, drawing a spray of crimson that flecks the floor.
“No!” I scream.
They collide once again until their momentum gives way and they crash hard onto the cold floor. They roll, a mess of tangled limbs and bare teeth, gasping for air between strikes.
“Both of you, stop it!” My voice is raw as I shout, my heart hammering against my ribs. I step toward them, then flinch back as they tumble toward a heavy oak table.
Damiano manages to twist mid-roll, his weight winning out as he pins Julian’s shoulders to the ground. He straddles Julian’s chest, his face a mask of lethal rage, and begins raining down heavy, back-to-back blows. Each strike lands on Julian’s face with a sickening smack, and the pain ricochets through me as if I’m the one being hit.
“Stop!” I scream again and again, but none of them seems to hear me.
Then the heavy doors to the chamber burst open, the wood hitting the stone with a crack that cuts through my screams. I spin around, breathless and trembling, as two men charge into the room. They freeze for a split second, taking in the carnage on the floor.
“Whoa! Basta!”
The two men rush in, and I freeze as I recognize them. I remember them from the interrogation room. The night Damiano killed Alfonso.
One of them is tall and slender. He has striking blonde hair and icy blue eyes that seem to track everything at once. The other man is tall and muscular, with olive skin and long, black hair pulled in a loose pony. He has warm, playful brown eyes, focused entirely on the unfolding fight.
The blonde guy grabs Damiano around the chest, hauling him back. The other steps between the two men, looking at Julian on the floor as if surveying Damiano’s work.
“Chi su? What is this?” The blonde guy grunts, struggling to restrain Damiano.
“Dio mio, what is up with you?” The long-haired guy asks Damiano.
Julian manages to stand, wiping blood from his face as he leans on the wall. He straightens his shirt and looks at me as if he were sorry for me when he was the one who got beaten up. I take a step toward him, but before I could even say a thing, he says, “Take a look around you,” and walks out without so much as a backward glance.
As the door slams behind him, the guy with the long dark hair turns to me with a wide, slightly inappropriate grin on his face, revealing a tooth gap I’ve only seen high-fashion models sport.
He nudges the other man and says, “See? I told you. He’s been insufferable for weeks, and now I understand why.” He looks at me with open appreciation.
