Alessio stared at Zayne who was tracing his finger around the glass of whiskey on the table.
"Zayne…" he muttered, apprehensive. "Are you okay?"
"Do I not look alright?" Zayne spoke without sparing him a glance.
Alessio frowned. "You look anything but okay! And why do you have blood all over your hands? What did you do?"
The man glanced at the blood on his hand, disgust painting his expression. He took out his handkerchief and wiped it off, tossing it aside.
"I fucked up," he mumbled.
"How come?"
"I…" he hummed, pondering how to fix his words. "I lost my temper and did something I shouldn't have done. Not in front of her."
Alessio was getting impatient. "Zayne, you've got to be straightforward with me. What did you do?"
"That was Preston's blood," Zayne said.
"Huh? Her brother?"
"Yes. I hurt him. Really badly."
Alessio was taken aback with a frown ensuing on his face. "That's impossible. You hardly ever lose your temper. What did he do?"
"He hit her."
