He steps toward me, ignoring the murder in Damiano’s eyes.
“¡Hola, preciosa!” he purrs in Spanish, his voice smooth. “I’m Lucian. I see Damiano has been keeping the best view in the house to himself. That blondehielocurrently wrestling your boyfriend is Andreas.”
Andreas releases Damiano and straightens his suit, unhurried. Unlike Lucian, who fills every room he enters, Andreas seems a bit more reserved and calculating. He looks at the overturned table, the blood on the floor, and then at me—and something in his expression shifts, just slightly.
“A thousand pardons for the mess,” he says to me, his voice quiet and precise, a faint Russian accent underneath his English.
“Are you alright?” he asks Damiano.
“Stai mutu!” Damiano growls, adjusting his shirt.
I ignore the newcomers and turn to him, my arms reaching for his bleeding face, checking his injuries.
“Are you crazy?!” I scold, my arms crossing on my chest and my voice harsh enough to make Lucian whistle. “What is wrong with you?!”
Damiano blinks, looking gobsmacked by my scolding.
“What’s wrong with me? How about you letting him touch you like that?!” He argues, glaring at me.
“He was trying to console me!” I snap. “He’s my friend, Damiano.”
“Your friend,” He repeats, the word coming out like something he’s tasted and found rotten. “Your friend who just puts his hand around your neck. Your friend who leans into your space every time I turn my back. Tell me—does he console all his friends like that, or just you?”
He takes a step toward me, his chest heaving as he snarls. “Friend? That’s your bodyguard! He was checking how far he could push. He wants you to see a threat so he can take you away. He doesn’t want to save you—he wants to take you from me.”
“He’s making sure I’m making sane decisions, he’s just looking out!” I scoff.
“No, he’s not,” Damiano says, dropping his voice so low, thinking it will intimidate me. “Don’t act stupid. That rat has been trying to get in your pants since the day you met.”
“Oh, for fucksake! Not everybody is like you!” I scream at him.
“Bellissimo,” Lucian says, leaning back against a weapon rack. He catches my eye and gives a slow, encouraging nod. “She’s right, you know. You’re being a brute, Damiano. Go on, God, I’ve waited years for someone actually to yell at him.”
“Zitto,” Damiano warns.
“Don’t listen to him,” Andreas adds. He looks at me with a wicked glint in his icy blue eyes. “He needs an ego check. Honestly, it’s refreshing to see him lose an argument for once.”
I turn to them and yell, “Wonderful. Lovely. Thank you both so much for the commentary.” I gesture at the door. “Do you want to pull up chairs, or are you done?”
Lucian blinks. Then his face breaks into a massive grin. Andreas presses his lips together like he’s trying very hard not to smile. Their hands fly up in surrender, and they start to walk out. Before they’re out of the room, I hear Lucian mutter to Andreas, “I really like her.”
“I can’t believe you beat him up like that.”
“What? Do you want to run to him? Take care of him, maybe?” Damiano gets into my face, his jaw clenching.
“Get out,” I say.
Damiano blinks. “What?”
“I said get out!”
“I’m not finished—”
“Just leave me alone,” I interrupt. “I can’t look at you right now.”
“Fine,” he rasps before turning to leave.
The door slams so hard the targets at the end of the range shudder on their lines. I stand there, heartbeat racing, staring at nothing.
