He went pale.
"I swear, I didn't—"
"You called her a bitch," I continued. "You said she caused the deaths of your friend. You shoved her hard enough she hit her head."
Milo's eyes flicked to me—he didn't know half of that.
Didn't matter.
Marco's jaw clenched. "My friend died trying to protect your future wife! And everyone acts like she's some fucking—"
I stood up.
His words died immediately.
"One more insult," I murmured, walking toward him, "and I'll send your tongue back to your mother in a box."
He shut up.
Good.
I wasn't in the mood to repeat myself.
"You think I don't know what my men lost that day?" I asked quietly. "You think I don't carry every death on my hands? You think you're the only one who lost someone?"
He stayed silent.
I stepped close enough that he had to tilt his head back to look at me.
"You lost a friend," I said. "I lost eight. You're not special."
His breath hitched.
