Page 20 of The Price of Mercy

A ghost of a smirk played at Enzo’s lips. “Did I?”

Julian’s fingers curled into fists against his lap. “You know damn well you did.”

Enzo exhaled a quiet chuckle, though there was no real amusement in it. He straightened, rolling his shoulders back as if considering his next words carefully. “You stayed tonight because you cared what happened to Maurizio,” he said. “You can lie to yourself about that if it helps you sleep, but don’t lie to me.”

Julian’s breath came quicker now, irritation flaring, but beneath it was something far more dangerous: the sinking realization that Enzo was right.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to hold the mafia boss’s gaze. “Just because I don’t want someone to die doesn’t mean I belong in your world.”

Enzo studied him for a long moment before nodding slightly. “Maybe not.”

Then, just like that, he turned to leave, the air between them still charged, still heavy with words left unsaid. But before he reached the door, he paused.

“You should get some rest, Doctor,” he said without looking back. “You’re no good to me dead on your feet.”

And then he was gone, leaving Julian alone with the weight of everything he didn’t want to feel.

Chapter 14

The Calm Before the Storm

In the next weeks, life settled into a strange rhythm. Julian would wake before dawn, leave the mansion, and throw himself into his work at the hospital. There, surrounded by sterile white walls and the steady beeping of monitors, he could almost pretend his life was normal. Almost.

Every evening, without fail, a sleek black car would be waiting for him outside the hospital entrance. Sometimes it was a different driver, sometimes it was Maurizio, still recovering but back at work, offering Julian a quiet nod of thanks. And sometimes, more often than Julian liked, Enzo was in the back seat, waiting.

Their conversations remained brief, clipped exchanges that barely scratched the surface of whatever had shifted between them that night after the attack. Enzo never pushed, never demanded anything from Julian beyond his presence in the mansion. But his eyes followed him, always watching, always assessing, and Julian could feel the weight of it every time they shared the same space.

The mansion, for all its opulence, still felt like a gilded cage. The guards stationed at every entrance, the constant sense of being watched; it was suffocating. But the strangest part was that Julian had stopped trying to fight it. He told himself it was because there was no point. That resisting would only make things harder. But deep down, some part of him wasn’t sure if that was the truth.

The quiet was unnerving. For weeks, there were no more ambushes, no gunfire in the streets, no bloody bodies brought to him in the middle of the night. But that only made Julian’s unease grow. He had learned enough about Enzo’s world to know that silence wasn’t safety. It was the deep inhale before the chaos. The calm before the storm.

And he wasn’t sure he was ready for what would come next.

???

Heavy velvet curtains blocked out the sun, casting deep shadows over the dark wood furniture and the sleek marble floors. The remnants of a wild night were scattered around; a half-empty glass on the nightstand, a discarded jacket draped over a chair, and the faintest echo of laughter still ringing in his ears.

It was early afternoon, but Matteo was still buried under the silk sheets of his massive bed, sprawled across the cool fabric in the dimly lit bedroom. The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and the lingering traces of whiskey from the night before.

Beside him, a man lay tangled in the sheets, his breathing slow and steady, his toned body half-hidden beneath the luxurious fabric. Matteo barely remembered his name. Lucian? Leo?

Not that it mattered. He had been a distraction, nothing more. The warmth of his presence barely registered as Matteo shifted, rubbing at his temples, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep.

A sharp vibration shattered the quiet, the harsh sound cutting through the silence like a knife. His phone buzzed insistently against the polished wood of the nightstand, rattling slightly with each pulse. Matteo groaned, shifting onto his side, his arm flopping out blindly until his fingers found the device. His head pounded in protest, a dull ache behind his eyes reminding him of just how much he had indulged the night before.

He squinted at the screen. An unknown number.

For a second, he considered ignoring it; probably some mistake or a call not meant for him. But something cold twisted in his gut, an instinct honed over years of knowing that silence could be more dangerous than noise.

He swiped to answer, bringing the phone to his ear. "This better be good," he muttered, his voice rough, still thick with sleep.

Silence.

Not the empty kind, but the weighted kind, thick with something unsaid. A pause just long enough to set his nerves on edge. Matteo sat up, the lethargy of sleep fading as tension slid down his spine.

His fingers curled tighter around the phone. "Who is this?"

A voice finally spoke; low, distorted, careful. "Watch your brothers."

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