Venice Fight, Bench, and Redemption

I grabbed Boss, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "Come on, Boss," I said, trying to project an air of calm I didn't feel. The guy, barrel-chested with a shaved head and a spiderweb tattoo crawling up his neck, wasn't letting it go. "I told you, man, get your hands off my dog!" he barked. One of his buddies, a skinny dude with greasy hair plastered to his forehead, shoved me from behind. That was it. I spun around, a cold rage eclipsing everything else. Boom. My fist connected with the skinny guy's jaw. He went down hard, cracking his head against the pavement. The world exploded in a flurry of fists and curses as his friends piled on. I was vaguely aware of someone yelling, and then Carrigan, a mountain of a man with a shaved head and perpetually pissed-off expression, was wading into the fray, tearing people off me like rag dolls. Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder with each passing second.