Matteo was the first one to move.
He stepped forward slowly, deliberately, rolling his shoulders once like he was preparing for a cage fight instead of a conversation.
His eyes dragged over the four Volkovs.
Then he smirked.
"It's five against four."
The words dropped heavy.
Dimitri didn't even blink. "You're counting wrong."
And that was it.
Vincenzo moved first — not loud, not reckless — just fast. He shoved Dimitri hard in the chest, a brutal, testing push meant to start something.
It started everything.
Dimitri launched back at him without hesitation, fist swinging. It connected with a sickening crack against Vincenzo's jaw. The sound echoed through marble and glass.
Chairs scraped violently across the floor.
Matteo lunged for Viktor, but Viktor was already moving — calm, controlled — sidestepping and driving his elbow straight into Matteo's ribs. Hard. Precise. Matteo grunted but didn't fold. He swung back, catching Viktor across the cheekbone. Blood split skin immediately.
Valentino stood in one smooth motion, grabbing Vladimir by the collar and slamming him back into the wall. Vladimir recovered fast, driving a knee up into Valentino's thigh, then shoving him off with a snarl.
Ivan intercepted Francesco before he could reach further into the room. Francesco swung first — a sharp hook — and Ivan absorbed it, then drove his shoulder straight into Francesco's chest, sending both of them crashing into a side table.
Wood splintered.
Glass shattered.
The room erupted into chaos.
Dimitri and Vincenzo were trading blows like men who didn't know how to stop. Vincenzo's punches were heavy, brutal, bone-breaking intent behind every swing. Dimitri fought mean — no wasted motion — a punch to the throat, a knee to the stomach, driving Vincenzo back into the edge of the fireplace.
Matteo came back at Viktor with raw aggression, tackling him into the couch. They hit the floor hard, grappling, fists slamming into ribs and faces. Matteo pinned Viktor for half a second — long enough to land two vicious hits — before Viktor twisted sharply, flipping their positions and driving his forearm across Matteo's throat.
Valentino and Vladimir were moving fast, fast enough to blur. Vladimir grabbed Valentino's wrist, twisting hard, but Valentino countered, slamming his head forward. Forehead cracked against nose. Blood spilled instantly.
Francesco recovered and came back at Ivan, both of them breathing hard now. Francesco's grin was gone — this wasn't playful anymore. He swung low. Ivan blocked, then drove a punch straight into Francesco's stomach that knocked the air out of him.
Furniture overturned.
A lamp exploded against the wall.
The sound of fists meeting bone filled the estate.
Alessandro hadn't moved at first.
He watched.
Measured.
Then he stepped in — and when he did, it was surgical.
He grabbed Dimitri mid-swing and pulled him back with controlled force, driving a punch straight into his ribs. Dimitri staggered, breath knocked from his lungs, but came back immediately, tackling Alessandro into the wall.
The impact shook the frame.
Five against four.
But it didn't feel uneven.
It felt like nine men who had been waiting for this.
Vincenzo recovered and grabbed a broken chair leg from the floor. Viktor saw it a second too late — the wood cracked against his shoulder with brutal force.
Dimitri roared and launched himself at Vincenzo, slamming him down before he could swing again.
Matteo wiped blood from his mouth and came at Vladimir from behind. Vladimir barely turned in time, but the punch still landed, splitting his lip.
Ivan shoved Francesco off and moved to help Viktor, but Valentino intercepted him, grabbing his collar and driving him backward into a pillar.
Breathing was ragged now.
Blood stained collars.
Knuckles were already swelling.
This wasn't a scuffle.
It was violent.
Raw.
Masculine fury colliding in marble and broken glass.
And no one was backing down.
Not for pride.
Not for dominance.
Not for her.
Another punch landed.
Another body hit the floor.
The Volkov estate — pristine, controlled — now looked like a warzone.
And the fight was only getting worse.
Vincenzo hit the ground hard, but he didn't stay there.
He rolled, grabbed Dimitri by the collar, and dragged him down with him. They crashed into the glass coffee table. It shattered beneath their combined weight, shards slicing into suits, into skin.
"Figlio di puttana!" Vincenzo spat, slamming his forehead into Dimitri's face.
Dimitri snarled, blood running from his nose, and answered with a brutal hook to the ribs. "Иди на хуй."
Across the room, Matteo ripped Viktor off balance and drove him into the edge of the staircase railing. Wood cracked. Viktor's shoulder hit first. Matteo didn't hesitate — he punched him straight across the jaw.
Viktor's head snapped to the side.
Then he smiled.
Slow.
Cold.
He grabbed Matteo's wrist mid-swing, twisted sharply, and drove his knee up into Matteo's stomach. Hard. Matteo folded for half a second — just enough for Viktor to slam him back into the wall.
"Ёб твою мать," Viktor muttered under his breath before landing another punch.
Valentino and Vladimir were grappling near the doorway now. Valentino wiped blood from his split lip with the back of his hand and laughed — actually laughed.
Vladimir answered by slamming him into a column so hard the sound echoed.
Valentino recovered fast, driving his elbow into Vladimir's jaw, then tackling him low. They both went down hard, rolling, fists flying, expensive fabric tearing.
Ivan had Francesco pinned against the floor for a second — forearm across his chest — but Francesco bucked violently and reversed it, landing on top and throwing two fast punches.
"Testa di cazzo," Francesco breathed, blood dripping from his eyebrow.
Ivan's eyes darkened.
He flipped them both with a sharp twist of his hips and slammed Francesco's back into the marble. The impact knocked the air from him.
Ivan growled, landing one clean punch that split Francesco's lip.
In the center of the room, Alessandro and Dimitri were no longer testing each other.
They were trying to hurt.
Alessandro moved with terrifying precision — not wild, not reckless. He caught Dimitri's arm mid-swing and drove his fist into the exact same bruised rib Vincenzo had targeted earlier.
Dimitri grunted but swung back immediately, connecting with Alessandro's cheekbone. The crack of bone on bone was sickening.
Vincenzo rejoined the fight, grabbing Dimitri from behind.
But Vladimir was there in an instant, ripping Vincenzo off and shoving him into a bookshelf. It toppled, books raining down as Vincenzo punched back without hesitation.
The estate no longer looked like a living room.
It looked like a battlefield.
Blood dotted the marble.
Breathing was heavy.
Knuckles were torn open.
Suits ruined.
Matteo lunged again at Viktor, rage fueling him now. "You think you can keep her? You think she's yours?"
Viktor caught the punch, drove his forehead into Matteo's nose, and shoved him back violently.
"She chose," Viktor said through blood and fury. "You lost."
Matteo roared and charged again.
Valentino and Vladimir slammed into the wall, both landing blows that would have dropped normal men. But none of them were normal.
Ivan dragged Francesco up by his collar and threw him into a chair. It splintered on impact.
Francesco coughed, then grinned through blood. "Five against four," he rasped.
Dimitri spat red onto the marble. "Doesn't look like it."
Another crash.
Another curse.
Bodies collided again.
No one was holding back anymore.
No strategy.
No diplomacy.
Just raw, violent, territorial fury.
And none of them were even close to done.