Page 122 of Alessio

Her, and those words, had him glancing her way. Not that it mattered, his attention flew back to the Capo behind their booth when Corrado turned, and launched himself over the back of the seat.

Nobody saw it coming.

Nobody planned for this.

Not when Corrado had always been the one with the calmer head between the two. He’d resigned himself for years to turn his cheek, and ignore the shit people liked to say about him, or them.

Not this time.

And nobody had time to react.

By the time Marcus decided to climb over the table at their booth, and head for Corrado, it was already too late. Someone else tried to jump in, too, but nothing helped.

Alessio stood stunned.

He heard every fucking punch.

Smack, smack, smack.

Bone hitting bone.

He saw the blood.

Spewing to the checkered floor. Spraying across Corrado’s silk shirt. Dotting his busted knuckles every time his fists slammed into the face of the Capo again and again. Marcus tried to pull his brother back by grabbing onto the back of his shirt, but Corrado would not move.

“Fucking help me here!”

“Corrado, stop! Stop it!”

Marcus’s shout echoed.

Ginevra’s ached.

Alessio cared nothing for Marcus’s demand, but Ginevra’s had him moving. And only because she looked like she would get out of the booth any fucking second, and Alessio couldn’t have that. She didn’t need to get in the middle of this mess.

Already a whole group tried.

And failed.

It was chaos. Men shouting. Corrado’s brothers holding back those trying to get to him to save the man on the ground. Pointless. In the background, Alessio seemed removed, somehow.

As though this had been inevitable.

Why were they surprised?

Alessio shoved between the semi-circle of people trying to yank Corrado from the man on the floor—who was no longer moving. He would have been fine to let Corrado get out years of frustration, hurt, and anger on the face of the asshole, but it only took one peek at a terrified Ginevra for Alessio to realize this wasn’t good.

“Corrado.”

His first shout did nothing, not that he expected it to. Alessio got down, wrapped his arms around Corrado’s chest, and pulled back hard enough to send them both tumbling to the floor.

“That’s enough,” Alessio muttered, forcing them over so he had Corrado pinned under him to the floor. The daze hadn’t left—fury stared back at him, written in heavy lines all over Corrado’s strong features, and exhaling in every hard breath he let out. “Fucking stop. That’s enough, Corrado.”

He didn’t fight him, though.

Didn’t shove him off.

No, he stared at him.