Murray had arrived with a dozen bodyguards, sealing off the hallway like a net.
Maeve was yanked into a broad, solid chest. Above her head, Andres's voice came out like ice.
"Are you hurt?"
She'd taken too long coming back from the restroom. Andres had come looking—only to see something he never should have had to see.
These idiots had the nerve to put their hands on his wife. That meant they were finished.
Maeve thought, You picked the worst possible time. Beating people up is fun. I wanted to do it myself.
"I'm fine," she said. "They didn't touch me."
A minute ago Emilio's group had been loud and cocky. Now they looked blindsided and terrified.
Especially Emilio, still clutching his side. He tried to roar through the pain. "You people have a lot of nerve. Do you even know who I am?"
Murray answered by slapping him across the face—hard.
Then again.
"Go on," Murray said. "Tell me who you are."
After a few blows, Emilio's nose was bleeding, his mouth smeared red. Even the cross stud in his left ear went flying.
Emilio shouted, "My uncle is Andres—Andres White, the famous one in Aethelburg! You hurt me and you're dead!"
Maeve looked at Andres as if to ask, Is this idiot actually your nephew?
Andres's expression went blank. He had no idea who this guy was.
Even though Maeve hadn't been harmed, Andres still couldn't swallow the insult.
He said coldly to Murray, "I don't care who he is. If his parents didn't teach him how to behave, then we'll teach him on behalf of his elders."
Murray drove a kick into Emilio's chest. "Mr. Andres isn't family you get to claim."

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