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"Dimitri, what the hell do you know?" I slurred in passionate anger. The words were heavy with bitterness. "My club… it's gone. I'm a failure. I've let everyone down."
Dimitri tried to calm me down, his voice firm but I could tell it was also laced with something else. Concern? "Luca, don't worry about Mom and Dad right now. Or anyone. You’re the boss now, and we all just want you to be safe. You need to get yourself together.”
My frustration only grew the nicer he was.
At that moment, I was fueled by raw emotion and alcohol. A terrible mix.
My senses were numbed.
“You think I don't know that?” I spat, staggering toward him. “You think I don't want toget my shit together? I'm trying, goddamn it!”
“Okay,” Dimitri said, grabbing me by the arm, jerking me toward him.
I yanked away. “Get the fuck off me!”
His thick, beefy hands slammed into my chest, knocking the wind out of me. My ass busted the ground. “Come with me or get your ass kicked,” he warned. “You might be the boss, but you’re also my brother, and please don’t think I won’t kick your ass.”
I sneered at him, viciousness dripping off my lips as I opened my mouth to speak.
But I couldn’t find the words.
But I didn’t have to.
He yanked me off the ground, holding tight to my collar, gripping it in his fists. “You think because you’re older, you can hurt me? I’m twice your size.”
“Actually,” I laughed, “you’re the one who said you were going to hurt me.”
I thought it was funny; the fact that he thought he could kick my ass.
He may have been bigger. But he wasn’t stronger. He was nowhere near as ruthless.
We continued to argue, our voices clashing together thunderously. There was anger, desperation, worry, confusion, all of it. Encased together. Not to mention a whole slew of pent-up aggression toward one another.
We were not boss/capo.
We were brothers. And we were about to be locked into a messy brawl.
I clenched my fist and launched it at his jaw. The hit was just enough for him to release me, and as soon as I dropped to the ground, he flung a fist wildly at me.
When he landed a solid blow, I felt my jaw snap and my body crashed to the ground.
I felt like I had just gotten run over by a semi.
I lay there for a moment, on the bitter, coarse pavement, dazed and disoriented. I gazed up at my brother’s stern expression, waiting for him to jump on top of me and continue this maddening fight.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he extended a hand like it was a lifeline.
"Enough," he asserted, his voice tinged with exhaustion as he gasped out. "You're not helping anyone like this. And you’re not going to win a fight as drunk as you are. Let's clean you up."
I knocked his hand away from me, stubbornness and pride welling up so far that I drowning in it.
I wasn’t going to be seen as vulnerable.
Or a bitch.
Not to my little brother.
