06-09-2015, 09:06 AM
Giordano smirked at the play of emotions across the boy. Anger, and fear and determination. He was certain to put up a fight. And he was right, the moment he said he was backing down, he threw something at him, the bottle bounced against his chest and shattered on the ground. But it was enough of a distraction that the boy rushed him. There was really no time to think, the gun would be lost in any collision, that was probably the plan. There was no time to take up a solid stance. He could fire the gun, but that would be no fun, and it would alert the neighbors. Something Giordano didn't want to happen.
His best weapon wasn't the gun, and the boy was throwing himself at him. Giordano let the gun fall from his hand as the boy's shoulder landed into his gut. The blow itself pushed the air from Giordano's lungs and he gasped for air. It was momentary, and he let the momentum take him as he grabbed the shirt of the man who had tried to gain the upper hand with a shoulder to his midsection. All it would take to topple the boy was touching his skin with his own, it didn't matter how or where or what part of the body. He could manage through a shirt and Giordano did emit fear from every pore in his body. The moment the boy touched him he would be his. Giordano ensured the boy fell with him a death grip on his shirt as he flew backwards and prayed that there was nothing sharp behind him.