Even Dom was starting to look nervous. Felice had stopped smiling. An air of hostility descended and I felt the dark cloud of something else looming towards us. This was Luca unhinged. This was pure, palpable anger. It turned him into something else. Don’t say a word, Nic. Just keep your mouth shut.

Nic was all energy. He was putting on a show. His face broke into a grin, thirty-two bright white teeth glaring at Luca. ‘You’re all talk, Luca. You couldn’t knock Ignacio over.’

Luca lunged at him and their bodies connected with a thud. Luca took the first punch in the side of his head; it knocked him sideways and my stomach lurched. I shouted at them to stop but they were engrossed in one another, trading hits like they were punching bags.

Luca was much quicker than Nic, his movements turning to streaks of black as he whipped around him. It seemed easy for him, like being set to fast-forward was second nature. His retaliation came in six lightning jabs to Nic’s stomach and one to his chin. They almost knocked him clean out but he struggled upright, swaying on his feet.

They broke apart and I got the sense Luca was giving him time to recuperate, dancing wide circles around his brother. Nic roundhouse-kicked Luca, catching him heavy in the shoulder and forcing him off-kilter. Luca rallied, darting around Nic and grabbing him by the neck. Panting, he forced him to the ground, his black hair falling in strands across his eyes. Nic kicked against Luca’s side with his feet and he crumbled backwards, cursing. His gunshot wound. What a low blow! I had the sudden urge to slap Nic on the side of his head, and felt a twinge of surprise at the strength of my anger. They were being as immature as each other. It was a fair fight.

Dom and I were both shouting now. Luca tackled Nic at the knees and they went flying backwards, crashing against the wall. Nic slipped towards the ground and Luca seized his unsure footing, looping his arm around his neck and clamping him in a headlock.

They fell to the floor together. Luca flipped Nic over, pressing his knee against his brother’s back and pulling his arm towards the ceiling behind him. Nic was wedged between Luca and the floor, his whole body twisted on itself. He was panting, his face turning red from the pain. Luca would snap the bone if he wasn’t careful.

‘Basta,’ he growled in Nic’s ear. ‘OK? Enough.’

Nic gurgled something. Luca had won, but he didn’t seem any happier about it than we were. He released his brother and Nic flopped across the floor, holding his arm gingerly.

Nic shot to his feet and tried to wrangle Luca’s neck. He mistimed and Luca swivelled, his face contorted with fury. He threw himself at Nic, knocking him to the ground again and landing on top of him, planting a leg on either side of his torso so Nic couldn’t get back up. They were screaming at each other in Italian and now Dom was getting involved too. He tried to pull Luca away, but he didn’t have the strength, and my attempts weren’t helping either. Felice remained as he had been all along – spectating.

Nic spat across the floor. Luca whipped out his switchblade, flicked it open and drove it into the wood beside Nic’s head. He pulled back, heaving, and I could see the shock coursing through Nic, the speechlessness slapped across his face. The knife glinted less than three inches from his head.

‘Enough.’ Luca’s teeth were bared. ‘You’ve had your show.’

He got to his feet, this time being careful not to turn his back on Nic again. The fighter in him disappeared almost immediately and he returned to his previous sense of calm, fixing his T-shirt and rolling his neck around until it cracked. He was beat – his shoulders sagging and his torso dipping more to one side. I could tell his wound was hurting but he would never admit it.

Nic got up. His cheeks were flaming red and he was panting hard. He didn’t look at me. He didn’t look at anyone. Without saying a word, he ducked, like a football player about to tackle, and charged full-force at Luca. He knocked him backwards and together their momentum surged, carrying them towards the window. We were all yelling then, but Nic was frenzied with anger, an animal buzzing for the kill. He kept running at Luca until, with his own twisted war cry and the mingling of our screams, he released him and Luca went crashing through the window. The glass shattered into a million pieces that rained over him as he slid backwards over the ledge.

I shrieked as we rushed towards him. Nic just stood there, peering out of the window at his brother, who was lying in a bed of glass shards stained with his own blood.

‘Sei fuori di testa,’ said Dom, turning on Nic. ‘What the hell were you thinking?’

Luca’s eyes unglazed as he sat up, taking in the trickles of blood along his bare arms. His face was cut up too, crimson dripping down his cheek and on to his neck. He pressed a hand against the wound in his side. I hoped it hadn’t reopened from all the fighting.

Felice came to stand between us, his hand clasped over his mouth as he watched Luca sway unsteadily to his feet. He shook his head, tutting loudly. ‘My window,’ he sighed. ‘That was Venetian glass.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

THE LOOK

Luca climbed back through the window. I balked at his casual return, studying all the thin lines of blood that were streaking his body. He didn’t look at Nic again and Nic didn’t apologize to him. He was too busy arguing with Dom.

Luca shrugged off my concern and pushed by us.

‘Hey!’ I called after him.

‘I’ll go get cleaned up.’

‘You’re hurt,’ I said to the back of his retreating head. ‘You need to go to the hospital.’