“Fuck off,” Dima snarled, his face turning red. I gripped his arm to calm him down but he shook me off.
Adamo grabbed his shoulder, expression hard. “How about you take your anger somewhere else? Calm down before you return. Dinara doesn’t need your shit.”
Dima jerked free of Adamo’s hold, his body tightening in a way I knew too well. He was a martial arts fighter, had been for as long as I could remember and had even killed a couple of men with aimed kicks. There was a reason why my father trusted Dima to keep me safe.
“Dima,” I growled, but he wasn’t even listening to me. His furious gaze was focused on Adamo. “You have no business getting involved, Falcone pup. This is between Dinara and me, so why don’t you return to your bed and stop bothering me.” He finally moved as if to turn to me, probably to continue our argument but Adamo grabbed his arm again. He still looked remarkably calm, at least his face, but in his eyes, I could see a dangerous fire I’d never seen on him before, and I couldn’t deny it: I was fascinated by it.
Dima whirled on him, trying to land a punch in his face but Adamo must have anticipated the move. He sidestepped the attack and sent a punch into Dima’s left side. After that, all hell broke loose. I stumbled back a few steps to avoid becoming a casualty of their testosterone battle. The videos of Adamo’s fights I’d watched hadn’t nearly done him justice. Seeing him in action right before my eyes, seeing the sweat glittering on his forehead and abs, witnessing the lethal focus in his eyes and the determined precision of his kicks and punches was a completely different matter. It was the difference between seeing a beautiful Fabergé egg on a photo or holding it in your hand, seeing the intricate work put into it up close. Adamo wasn’t as breakable as my favorite art piece but he was a masterpiece all the same, and his art of fighting had taken just as much effort, dedication and talent. I’d always thought Adamo was a reluctant fighter, in videos it had sometimes appeared that way, but now as he exchanged punches and kicks with Dima, he looked like he’d been born to fight, as if the demand for blood and violence rang in his veins, called to him like my dark craving often did.
A crowd gathered around us, shouting encouragement and soon exchanging bets. Dust whirled up around the battle, burning in my eyes.
“Stop it!” I screamed, but I wasn’t insane enough to step between them. They were like fight dogs. If you tried to get between them, you’d be the one they’d bite.
Crank stumbled toward us, looking taken aback by the violent scene before us. Blood splattered the dusty ground.
He waved at two tall, dark-haired men, probably Camorra members. My suspicion was confirmed when they came closer and I caught sight of the tattoo on their arm.
Even they had trouble separating the two fighters but eventually they dragged them apart. Dima’s left eye began to swell shut again when it had only just started to look better after my father had him beaten. His nose was busted too, and dripped blood on his white T-shirt.
Adamo had a cut in his right cheek. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, nor shoes, but his skin was covered with blood splatters, and his eyes were wild and hungry. He reminded me of a predator who’d tasted blood for the very first time and had become addicted instantly.
I shook my head. “Was this really necessary?”
The pit girls whispered among themselves, some even gave me taunting smiles. I bared my teeth at them in a dangerous smile that I’d inherited from my father. They averted their eyes and I met Adamo’s gaze. He calmed and stopped struggling against the man who held him. “You didn’t have to defend me against Dima. He’s always on my side.”
Adamo scoffed. “It didn’t look like that to me.”
I glared and turned to Dima who had become very still. I wondered if he was really still on my side but I couldn’t imagine it being any other way. His jealousy would have to stop eventually. Maybe I should point out to him that he’d been with a few girls since I’d broken up with him, and I never made a scene because of it.