“Hey, Basim, CFC is going to crush Fiorentina tomorrow night,” Kemal says, referring to their favorite football club, Genoa CFC.

“At home, for sure.” Basim takes a long drag of his cigarette from where he sits beside Kemal on the stone steps. “But on the road? I wouldn’t bet on them.”

“Don’t be such a downer. They’ll pull it off. You’ll see. Tomorrow at Padano’s.”

“We might be the only ones at the bar, brother.” Basim laughs. “This is a ghost town.”

“People are too easily scared.”

Basim winks. “Hope the plague doesn’t scare away all the ladies.”

“Brother, you only think with your—”

A stranger’s voice interrupts them. “What are you two doing here?”

Kemal looks over to see four young men approaching. One of them has a mustache and another’s head is shaved, but they all wear white T-shirts, jeans, and boots. A hand-painted sign dangles from the hand of the mustached one. It takes Kemal a moment to read the upside-down scrawl that reads: ITALY FOR ITALIANS! He realizes they must be returning from the anti-Islam rally the Northern League organized, which, according to his Twitter feed, some of his friends were planning to counterprotest.

Basim is already on his feet. “We are Italians,” he says. “What’s your excuse?”

“Come on.” The bald one scoffs. “What are you ragheads, really? Syrians? Iraqis? Pakis?”

Kemal knows his younger brother too well. They are only a year apart in age, but their temperaments are night and day. If Basim loses his temper, it won’t end well. Kemal grabs his brother by the elbow and begins to pull. “Let’s go back in.”

“Yeah, and take your filthy plague virus with you!” One of the others calls.

Basim shakes free of Kemal’s grip. “You morons better get the fuck out of here.”

The bald one steps closer to him. “Or what, raghead? You’ll infect us?”

“Something like that.” Basim’s fist comes out of nowhere and slams into the bald guy’s jaw. He stumbles back and grabs his bleeding lip with both hands. Before Basim can swing again, the other three pounce. One tackles Basim to the ground. Another kicks him repeatedly in the belly. The bald guy rushes back over and begins stomping wildly on his chest as if he’s trying to crush glass.

Kemal hurls himself at the bald one, wrapping him in a bear hug.

“I’m going to kill you, you camel-fucker!” the man screams in Kemal’s face, spraying spittle and blood along with the stench of stale beer.

A searing pain shoots across Kemal’s scalp and then everything goes dark. He feels himself falling but he’s helpless to stop it. Only when he opens his eyes does he realize that he’s lying on his back on the ground. He looks up into the hateful eyes of the one with the mustache, who is now holding a brick. “You should’ve never ever come here!” he cries as he swings his arm down.

Kemal hears the thud before the pain explodes inside his skull. Then darkness falls again.