Nicky’s shirt is untucked, and one of the buttons on his jacket is missing. Tomas has a black eye, a scraped cheek, and a busted lip. Dario’s nose is fucked up, and there’s a splatter of blood down the front of his crisp white dress shirt. All three are breathing hard. Lucca smirks, taking them in. “I guess I don’t have to ask who won.”
