Page 24 of The Price of Mercy

The door burst open, and Julian rushed in, his face pale but his movements steady. He was still in his pajamas, his hair disheveled, but his eyes were sharp, focused. He took in the scene in an instant; Enzo’s bloodied shirt, the wound in hisshoulder, the tension in the room, and immediately shifted into doctor mode.

“What happened?” Julian asked as he grabbed a pair of gloves and snapped them on, his voice calm but urgent.

“Got shot,” Enzo said, his tone dry despite the pain. “Figured you’d want to take a look.”

Julian shot him a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. He moved quickly, cutting away Enzo’s shirt to get a better look at the wound. The bullet had gone clean through, which was a small mercy, but the bleeding was heavy, and the muscle around the wound was torn and swollen. Julian’s hands moved with practiced precision, cleaning the area and applying pressure to stop the bleeding.

Enzo watched him, his gaze steady despite the pain. There was something almost mesmerizing about Julian when he was like this; focused, competent, completely in control. It was a side of him Enzo hadn’t seen much of lately, not since Julian had been dragged into his world. He’d been so busy resenting Enzo, so determined to keep his distance, that Enzo had almost forgotten why he’d wanted Julian in the first place. Not just for his skills, but for his strength. His fire.

“You’re lucky,” Julian said as he worked, his voice tight. “The bullet missed the artery. A few inches to the left, and you’d be dead.”

Enzo smirked, though it was more of a grimace. “Lucky me.”

Julian didn’t laugh. His hands were steady, but his jaw was clenched, his eyes dark with something Enzo couldn’t quite place. Anger? Fear? It was hard to tell. “Who did this?” Julian asked, his voice low.

“Doesn’t matter,” Enzo said, his tone firm. “What matters is that I’m still breathing.”

Julian’s hands stilled for a moment, his gaze flicking up to meet Enzo’s. “It matters to me,” he said quietly, and then blinked, his face paling a bit as if only then realizing what he had said, before adding quickly. “Because if they’re willing to shoot you in broad daylight, they’re not going to stop. And if you die, what happens to me? To everyone else in this house?”

Enzo held his gaze, the weight of the words settling between them like a stone. He didn’t have an answer. Not one that would satisfy Julian, anyway. So he just nodded, his expression grim. “I’ll handle it.”

Julian didn’t respond. He just went back to work, his hands moving quickly and efficiently as he stitched up the wound. The room was silent except for the sound of their breathing and the occasional clink of instruments. Luca and Matteo stood by the door, their expressions tense, their eyes never leaving Enzo.

Finally, Julian stepped back, his gloves bloodied but his face calm. “You’ll live,” he said, his tone clipped. “But you need to rest. No arguments.”

Enzo nodded, though he had no intention of resting. Not yet. Not until he knew who was behind the attack and how to make them pay. But for now, he let Julian believe he was going to listen. It was easier that way.

Julian turned to Luca and Matteo, his expression hardening. “Get him to bed. And make sure he stays there. If he tears those stitches, it’s on you.”

Luca nodded, his usual smirk absent. “We’ve got it, Doc.”

Julian didn’t respond. He just stripped off his gloves and tossed them into the trash, his movements sharp and angry. He didn’t look at Enzo as he left the room, his shoulders stiff, his footsteps echoing down the hall.

Enzo watched him go, a strange ache settling in his chest that had nothing to do with the wound in his shoulder. He didn’t know what to make of Julian’s anger, of the way it seemed to burn hotter than his own. But one thing was clear: Julian cared. Maybe more than he wanted to admit.

And worse, Enzo liked it.

Chapter 17

Beneath the Mask

Julian worked in silence; his fingers deft as he unwound the old bandages from Enzo’s shoulder. The wound was healing, but the bruising and the deep graze left behind told a story of its own. The shooting outside the restaurant had been a brutal reminder of the world Enzo lived in; the one Julian had been unwillingly pulled into.

The faint scent of antiseptic filled the air, mingling with the smoky warmth of the fireplace that crackled softly in the corner of the room. The flickering glow cast long shadows across the walls, the light dancing over Enzo’s bare torso, highlighting the scars that mapped his body like a history of violence.

Enzo sat still; his usual sharp gaze softened by something unreadable. The firelight played across his face, softening the hard edges and making him look almost weary. Vulnerable. Julian knew better than to think Enzo Moretti could ever truly be vulnerable, but for once, he wasn’t wearing his usual armor of cold detachment. His dark eyes were distant, lost in thought, and Julian couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his mind.

“You do this often?” Julian asked, breaking the silence. His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it, a hint of frustration he couldn’t quite hide. “Get shot and have to get patched up?”

Enzo huffed out a quiet chuckle, but there was little humor in it. “More times than I’d like to admit.”

Julian pressed a clean cloth against the wound, dabbing at it carefully. The skin around the injury was still tender, the flesh raw and angry. “That’s not normal, you know.”

“In my world, it is.”

Something in Enzo’s tone made Julian pause. He glanced up, catching the flicker of something dark in those piercing eyes. A lifetime of violence, of survival, of choices that left scars deeper than any bullet wound. Julian had seen enough in his time as a doctor to know that some wounds never truly healed, no matter how well they were stitched up.

“How did you get here?” Julian asked, his voice quieter now. He wasn’t sure why he was asking, why he cared. Maybe it was the exhaustion, the weight of everything that had happened since he’d been dragged into this world. Or maybe it was the way Enzo looked in that moment, stripped of his usual bravado, his guard momentarily down. “How does someone become… this?”

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