The room stank of sweat, cheap wine, and blood.
I lunged straight at Pietro first.
He barely had time to widen his eyes before my shoulder slammed into his chest.
The smile on my face probably looked insane to him.
I didn't stab or slice. just drove him back hard enough that his skull cracked against the stone wall.
He crumpled like wet paper, out cold.
Carlo was next.
He actually knew how to hold a blade, kept his stance low, tried a quick feint toward my ribs.
I parried once, twice, then stepped inside his guard and rammed my elbow into his throat.
He gagged, stumbled.
I twisted his wrist until the knife clattered free, then drove my own up under his ribs.
One wet crunch and he went limp.
The others rushed me together after that. three, maybe four more.
Didn't matter.
I moved through them methodically.
A slash across one throat, a boot to another's knee followed by a downward stab, a quick sidestep and thrust into the last man's heart.
