Page 32 of The Price of Mercy

Julian didn’t know Marco well, only that he had been one of Enzo’s most trusted men, a presence in the Moretti household longer than Julian had been alive. The weight of the loss was palpable even before he opened the door.

Enzo stood in the center of the room, his back to the entrance, shoulders rigid. The office was in chaos; papers strewn across the floor, a glass shattered against the far wall, its ambercontents bleeding into the carpet. The heavy wooden desk bore fresh dents, as if Enzo had slammed his fists against it in a blind rage.

Julian hesitated, unsure if stepping inside was wise. But something in the silence, in the way Enzo stood motionless amidst the wreckage of his own fury, made Julian move forward.

"Enzo?" he said carefully.

No response.

Julian took another step. "I heard about Marco. I..."

"You should leave." Enzo’s voice was low, rough, frayed at the edges in a way Julian had never heard before.

Julian ignored the warning. "I am sorry about your man."

At that, Enzo turned. His eyes were darker than Julian had ever seen them, raw with something deeper than anger. "He was more than just one of my men. He was family. He watched me grow up. He saved my life before I even knew how to hold a gun. And now he’s gone. Because ofme."

Julian swallowed. "You don’t know that."

"Don’t I?" Enzo’s jaw tightened. "He died because of my name. Because of the world I was born into. Every man who stands beside me carries a target on his back, and sooner or later, they all fall."

Julian had seen Enzo ruthless, calculated, deadly. But this, this was different. This was regret. Guilt. A weight Enzo carried alone because who else could understand it?

"Marco chose this life," Julian said quietly. "Just like the others did. Just like you do."

Enzo let out a bitter laugh, raking a hand through his hair. "You think that makes it easier? That knowing theychoseto stand by me makes their deaths less of a burden? You think it helps when I have to look their families in the eye and tell them their father, their brother, their son isn’t coming home?" His voice cracked, the first fracture in his carefully maintained control.

Julian didn’t have an answer for that. Instead, he did the only thing he could. He stayed. He watched as Enzo wrestled with grief in a way no one else would ever witness. And maybe Enzo realized that too because he didn’t tell Julian to leave again.

Minutes passed before Enzo finally spoke. "You always want to understand me, Doctor. Well, here it is. This is what it means to be me. It means losing the people who matter, over and over again. It means watching them die and knowing there’s nothing I can do to stop it."

Julian’s chest ached at the quiet admission. Enzo hadn’t let anyone else see him like this. Not his men. Not his brothers. Justhim.

"You think trust is a weakness," Julian murmured. "But it’s not. You trusted Marco, and he trusted you. That’s not weakness, Enzo. That’s what made him stay."

Enzo’s gaze flickered to him, something shifting in the tension between them. Something unspoken, but understood.

"And what about you?" Enzo asked, voice quieter now, almost uncertain. "You could have walked away and left me alone with my misery. You keep saying that I’m a monster. So why are you here?"

Julian hesitated. He could lie. He could say it was obligation, concern, some misplaced sense of responsibility. But instead, he told the truth.

"Because you’re not alone in this," he said simply. "And because I don’t think you should be."

For a long moment, Enzo just stared at him, as if trying to decide whether to believe him. The firelight cast shadows across his face, highlighting the exhaustion, the pain buried beneath the rage. Then, finally, he exhaled, something in his stance shifting, the tension easing just enough to be noticeable.

Julian didn’t reach for him, didn’t try to offer meaningless comfort. Instead, he did what Enzo had never allowed anyone else to do; he stood by him, in silence, and stayed.

Chapter 23

The Edge of Desire

Julian had always been good at lying to himself. He’d told himself he could survive this; being trapped in Enzo’s world, patching up his men, living under his roof. He’d told himself he could keep his distance, that he could resist the pull of the man who had upended his life. But the truth was, he couldn’t. Not anymore.

It always started with the arguments. They were inevitable, really. Julian’s stubbornness clashed with Enzo’s need for control, and their fights were explosive, filled with sharp words and even sharper glances. But somewhere along the way, the arguments had changed. The tension between them had shifted, the anger giving way to something else, something hotter, darker, and impossible to ignore.

It was after one such argument, a few days after Marco’s death, that Julian finally admitted the truth to himself. They’d been in the library, Julian, furious over something Enzo had said, what, he wasn’t even sure himself, Enzo equally furious that Julian refused to listen. The air between them had been electric, their voices rising as they stood toe-to-toe, neither willing to back down.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do!” Julian had shouted; his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I’m not here to follow your orders.”

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