Page 43 of Corrado

“It’s possible,” Cree said, dragging his attention away from the situation a few feet away, “that Dare thinks you might be more useful here for a little while.”

“Why in the hell would he think that?”

Cree’s gaze drifted from the people on the mats to Alessio, and then back again. Very pointedly. “Do you think Dare would have allowed you down in that room when someone was actively in phase one—when you weren’t part of the training team, mind you—if he didn’t think you would help? Or when he was released from the rooms, the path he was allowed to take led him to someone he would immediately trust when he would need it the most?”

“I—”

“Not everything is about you, Les,” Cree murmured, his attention going back to the training. “And that is something you should remember. If you are better here for a time, then here is where Dare is going to keep you. You think it’s about you, and Dare’s feelings, which means you’re selfish because you automatically dismiss the needs of others. The League is about more than just you—something we have always made clear.”

Well …

Damn.

“All right,” he muttered.

He wasn’t happy about it, though.

Another loud smack drew Alessio’s attention back to the fight happening on the mat. Or rather, the ass-whooping Oliver was currently inflicting on Corrado. Not to mention, the taunts that followed every single crack of the bamboo against another part of Corrado’s form.

He was going too far.

Alessio knew it.

No one was expected to pick up one specific part of training right away. It took time, and muscle memory for some of it. Other parts of it was all in someone’s mind. Except, Oliver was acting as though Corrado should be on his feet, and able to duck and dodge that fucking bamboo like the rest of them could when he was wielding it.

“Get.” Smack. “Up.” Smack. “Now.”

“Cree,” Alessio said under his breath, “tell him to knock it off.”

Cree said nothing, only tipped his head to the side like he was considering the scene in front of him. His gaze drifted from the twin at the other side of the mats watching, to the one currently on his knees with his arm raised to protect his face in case that stick came back down again, and then to the asshole with a God complex.

“Cree.”

“Is that what it is, Corrado?” Oliver asked. “You like getting knocked on your ass like a fucking idiot?”

Corrado said nothing.

He didn’t even react.

Not a blink.

Not a word.

Not a scowl.

Nothing.

He simply tried to stand again because that’s what he was supposed to do—Alessio knew it. He was supposed to keep getting back up, and trying again until he could dodge the attack, and then they would switch places for his twin to do the same. Except, Oliver didn’t even let him stand before he hit him again.

Knocking him back again.

And then, Oliver pulled the rod back to swing before Corrado even had time to adjust to the fact that he was on the mat again. He was going to hit him because he was down; something he wanted to do, not because it would teach a lesson, or was part of the training.

Alessio moved before he could think better of it. Darting forward fast, out of Cree’s reach who likely would have pulled him back had he understood what Alessio was going to do, he stepped onto the mats, grabbed the smooth end of the bamboo rod where Oliver had it extended, and yanked hard.

The surprise move—Oliver was only thinking about what was in front of him, not behind—allowed Alessio to snatch the weapon right out of the man’s hand. He flicked his wrist, flipping the rod over to his dominant hand, where he caught it right in the middle. Flexing his arm once to swing it back, he let the rod fly, cracking Oliver right in the middle of the throat with enough force to send him to his back on the mats, and without the ability to breathe, too.

Then, he took one more step, the weapon already poised to strike again as he pointed it at Oliver’s chest. The assassin on the floor stared up at him with fury, his fists balling against the mats as he tried to gain his bearings.