“Let go of her,” Lucien warned. He saw the flash of aggression in Mario’s expression and resisted rolling his eyes in exasperation. He really wasn’t up for this tonight. “Are you sure you want to start something?” he asked mildly. “Do you think it’s wise?”
“Don’t, Mario,” Elise warned.
For a brief second, Mario hesitated, but then the alcohol he’d consumed must have roared in his veins, giving him courage. He released Elise and lunged, fist cocked. Lucien blocked Mario’s punch and sunk his fist beneath his ribs.
One, two, done. Almost too easy, Lucien thought grimly as air whooshed out of Mario’s lungs, followed by a guttural groan of pain.
Lucien shot a “this is all your fault” glare at Elise and then put his hands on the shoulders of the now-hunched-over Mario. He grabbed his jacket off the bar stool and urged the gasping, moaning man toward the front door of the restaurant with a hold on his shirt collar.
When he returned alone a few minutes later, Elise still stood next to the bar, her chin up, her carriage every bit as proud and erect as her aristocratic ancestors. Her gaze on him was wary. He walked toward her, unsure if he wanted to shove her into the back of a cab like he just had Mario, shake her for her foolishness, or turn her over his knee and punish her ass for the infraction of peering into his private world.
* * *