Page 2 of Lorenzo

In the mirrored walls we resemble matching weapons. Same tailored charcoal suits, same crisp white collars, same cold, unyielding patience.

“It’s Sonia,” he says grimly, his hand already resting on the heavy brass handle of the corridor door. “Drago’s in there now, collaring the perp.”

The fact that it’s Sonia makes the muscle in my jaw tighten.

We call her the nightingale because she’s working here to support her more meager earnings singing opera in a chorus.

Beautiful voice. Beautiful girl.

Innocent looking, too.

We move fast.

I kick the door hard enough to splinter the mahogany frame, the loud crack echoed by the sound of breaking plaster.

Sonia’s not so beautiful now. She is slumped against the wall like a discarded porcelain doll.

What must have been an elegant silk dress is left in bloody tatters, barely covering her nude body.

The coppery scent of fresh blood fills the enclosed room, mixing with the smell of spilled liquor.

Drago, my main muscle, is busy punching out the guy who did this to her.

His heavy, brick-like fists make a wet crunching sound against the guy’s hard flesh.

I cross to Sonia without hesitation, dropping to one knee. Her eyes look glassy, but she’s alive.

I feared worse.

“Max, call the club doctor!”

“Look at me,” I tell Sonia, lifting her chin with two gentle fingers.

I examine her face for knife wounds I can’t see beneath the blood.

Only superficial cuts, thank God. Though the red lines starkly contrast against her pale skin.

“You’ll be okay,” I say, keeping my voice steady despite the fury threatening to crack my ribs. “Doc will fix you up so you’re as good as new.”

Sonia manages a shaky nod.

I shrug off my jacket and guide her bloody arms in its sleeves, covering her nudity.

When the nurse arrives with the wheelchair I help Sonia into it, making sure my jacket stays wrapped securely around her.

Then I turn my attention to Drago.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I say as soon as Sonia’s out of the room. My voice drops to a lethal whisper. “You know you don’t lay hands on anyone without my authorization.”

Drago’s massive chest heaves under his black shirt. “Did you see what he did to her, Lorenzo? He used a blade on her.”

“Step aside.”

He does.

The perpetrator against the wall is breathing hard, slumped over a shattered side table.

His expensive white shirt is soaked in his own blood as he dares sneer up at me through a swollen eye.