Page 3 of The Price of Mercy

What if he woke up and decided Julian knew too much? What if he demanded something Julian couldn’t give? And what aboutthe people who had shot him? Were they still out there, looking for him?

Julian’s stomach churned at the thought.

He needed a plan. Maybe he could call someone, but who? The police? No, that was out of the question. Enzo’s world operated outside the law, and Julian had no doubt that involving the authorities would only make things worse. He could try to sneak out, leave Enzo here and disappear. But the idea of abandoning a patient, even one as dangerous as Enzo, went against everything Julian stood for.

As he stood there, paralyzed by indecision, a loud knock echoed through the apartment. Julian froze, his blood turning to ice. The knock came again, harder this time, more insistent. His eyes darted to Enzo, who stirred slightly but didn’t wake. Julian’s mind raced. Who could it be? A neighbor? A delivery person? Or something far worse?

The knock came a third time, accompanied by a deep, gruff voice. “Open up. Now.”

Julian’s heart hammered in his chest. He forced himself to move, his legs feeling like lead as he approached the door. He glanced through the peephole and immediately regretted it.

Two massive men stood on the other side, their faces hard and unyielding. Both were covered in tattoos, their muscles straining against their black shirts. And both had guns, large, menacing guns, pointed directly at the door.

Julian swallowed hard; his mouth dry. He had no choice. If he didn’t open the door, they’d probably break it down. And if he did open it… well, he wasn’t sure what would happen, but it couldn’t be good.

With trembling hands, he unlocked the door and opened it just a crack. “Can I help you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The larger of the two men stepped forward, his gun still raised. “Where is he?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

Julian’s mind went blank. “Who?”

The man’s eyes narrowed, and he shoved the door open, forcing Julian to stumble back. The two men barged into the apartment, their guns sweeping the room. Julian’s heart pounded as they spotted Enzo on the couch. The smaller man, though still enormous, moved quickly to Enzo’s side, checking his pulse and the bandage on his shoulder.

“He’s alive,” the man said, relief evident in his voice.

The larger man turned to Julian; his gun now pointed directly at him. “Who the hell are you?” he growled.

Julian raised his hands, his palms sweating. “I’m a doctor. I found him last night. He was shot. I just… I just helped him.”

The man studied him for a moment, his eyes cold and calculating. Then, without warning, he grabbed Julian by the collar and shoved him against the wall. Julian gasped, the air knocked out of him as the man leaned in close, his breath hot against Julian’s face.

“If you’ve done anything to him,” the man snarled, “you’re dead. Understand?”

Julian nodded frantically, his vision swimming with fear. “I didn’t, I wouldn’t, I just patched him up, I swear!”

The man held him there for a moment longer, then released him with a shove. Julian slumped against the wall, his legs trembling.The smaller man had lifted Enzo’s unconscious form, slinging one of the boss’s arms over his shoulder.

“Let’s go,” the larger man said, turning toward the door. He glanced back at Julian, his expression unreadable. “You’re lucky he’s alive. But if you breathe a word of this to anyone, you won’t be so lucky.”

And with that, they were gone, leaving Julian alone in the wreckage of his apartment, and his life. He slid down the wall, his legs giving out beneath him. The morning light now felt harsh, exposing the chaos that had invaded his once-orderly world. The coffee table was still cluttered, the faint scent of blood still lingered, and the door hung slightly ajar, a silent reminder of the danger that had just walked out.

What had he gotten himself into?

And more importantly, how was he going to get out of it?

Chapter 3

A Debt Owed

Enzo Moretti woke to the familiar scent of leather and mahogany, the faint hum of air conditioning, and the soft weight of silk sheets against his skin. His room was a fortress of luxury and power; dark wood paneling, a massive four-poster bed, and heavy drapes that blocked out the world.

The faint glow of a bedside lamp cast a warm light over the room, illuminating the polished surfaces and the faint glint of a gun resting on the nightstand. He blinked, his mind sluggish, as the events of the past twenty-four hours slowly pieced themselves together.

The wound on his shoulder throbbed, a dull ache that grounded him in reality. He glanced down, noting the expertly stitched gash, the bandages clean and neatly applied. Whoever had treated him knew what they were doing. His brow furrowed as he tried to recall the details.

The alley. The ambush. The gunshot. And then… a face. A man with worried eyes and steady hands. A doctor.

The door creaked open, and Enzo’s instincts kicked in, his body tensing as he reached for the gun on the nightstand. But itwas only Luca, his little brother, who stepped into the room. Luca’s sharp features were softened by relief as he saw Enzo awake. Behind him, Matteo loomed, his broad frame filling the doorway. Both brothers shared the Moretti resemblance; dark hair, piercing green eyes, and an air of danger that clung to them like a second skin.

---