Pietro's chest grew tight and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of his father, fingers laced with Wicked's and squeezing tight. He knew what was coming, and yet his feet seemed rooted to the ground, and it took the spray of blood over his wife to shook him back into action, pulling her close to shield her with wide eyes, scooping her up and speeding her away to deposit her under one of the tables. "Don't-" he pleaded before disappearing, but he could tell Wicked wouldn't stay where it was safe no matter what precautions Pietro took.
He pushed several guests out of the way of death by cutlery and stopped before his father. "You picked the wrong day."