Pitt saw the bull draw near but was more concerned with fending off his attacker’s banderillas. Facing Pitt, the driver didn’t see the bull.

The driver stepped forward and began to release his barrage on Pitt, heaving the darts like a lancer. Pitt kept his eyes focused on the projectiles. Still stepping backward, he batted the first dart away with the wadded cape. The second throw went a centimeter wide when Pitt jumped to one side. The driver yanked back his arm with the last banderilla, then took a step closer for a better aim. As he flung the dart, the bull charged.

The throw was perfect. The razor tip shot straight at Pitt—and would have struck him in the chest if he hadn’t blocked it with the cape. The dart tore through the fabric, losing just enough of its momentum before slicing Pitt’s hand. As if touching a scalding pot, Pitt hurled the balled cape and embedded spear back at the driver, then dove to the ground.

Any uncertainty over which figure to target vanished from the galloping bull. The brute animal followed the airborne cape to the driver, who reached out and grabbed the bundle.

The bull lowered his head and accelerated.

The driver was confused by Pitt’s sudden dive to the ground, and then he detected movement behind him. He turned, seeing the charging bull just a few feet away, and froze.

Donatello barreled straight into the man. The crowd screamed as the bull’s horns punctured the driver’s stomach, nearly breaking through to his back. Tossing his head, the bull lifted the impaled man into the air and paraded him for several feet before dumping the limp, bloodied body onto the dirt.

Pitt heard a delayed solitary scream from the crowd and looked behind him. A short distance across the ring, Ann tussled with Pablo. In a quick motion, the big gunman scooped Ann off her feet and tossed her into the ring. Her hands still bound, she landed awkwardly and fell to the ground. She struggled to get up, then felt a burning pain in her ankle. She could stand on only one foot.

Frenzied by his fresh kill, the bull studied Ann for a moment and snorted. Lowering his head, he angled toward the woman and charged.

The two banderilleros and the matador sprinted across the ring, yelling, but the bull ignored them. They were too distant to attract the bull’s wrath. But Pitt wasn’t.

He jumped to his feet, ran and scooped up the shredded cape, then bolted for the bull. Charging hard, the animal was less than twenty feet from Ann.

She tried shuffling to the wall but could barely move from the pain in her ankle. Her heart pounded as she faced the charging animal, then froze like the driver had. Her frightened trance was broken by a sudden shout.

“¡Toro! ¡Toro!”