Page 36 of The Price of Mercy

But their happiness was short-lived.

It started with a whisper. A rumor about someone new in Enzo’s life, someone important.

The night it happened; Julian had needed space.

The walls of the mansion had begun to feel suffocating, the weight of his feelings for Enzo pressing down on him in a way he wasn’t ready to confront. So he had slipped outside, telling himself he just needed a walk to clear his head. The Moretti estate was heavily guarded, but Julian had learned which paths led to relative solitude. He told himself he would only be gone for a few minutes.

The night air was cool against his skin, the distant hum of the city beyond the mansion’s walls a comforting reminder that life outside this world still existed. Julian inhaled deeply, trying to push away the memories of Enzo’s touch, the way his hands had felt against his skin, the way his voice still lingered in his mind.

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t hear the footsteps until it was too late.

A hand clamped over his mouth, an arm locking around his chest in a vice-like grip. Julian’s instincts kicked in immediately; he struggled, twisting and kicking, his breath coming in frantic gasps against the stranger’s gloved palm. But the man was stronger, experienced, and knew exactly how to handle someone like him.

Julian managed to dig his heel into his attacker’s shin, earning a grunt of pain, but it wasn’t enough. The man’s grip only tightened, his other hand pressing something cold and metallic against Julian’s side.

“Stop fighting, doc,” the man growled, his voice low and edged with amusement. “Or this gets messy.”

Julian’s pulse thundered in his ears. He wanted to scream, to call for help, but the man’s grip was unrelenting. A second later, something sharp jabbed into his neck. A needle. His vision blurred almost instantly, his body turning sluggish as his strength drained away.

He fought to stay upright, to stay conscious, but the world tilted beneath his feet. The last thing he saw before darkness swallowed him whole was the distant glow of the mansion, Enzo’s name a silent prayer on his lips.

???

When Julian came to, his head was pounding, and his wrists were bound tightly behind his back. A dull ache radiated from the side of his neck where they must have injected him. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, but the dim lighting did little to help.

The air was thick with the smell of damp concrete and mildew, and the cold seeping through his clothes sent a violent shiver down his spine. His breathing was ragged, his pulse hammering in his ears as he took in his surroundings.

A warehouse. The walls were lined with rusted metal, shadows creeping in the corners where the faint flickering of a single overhead light couldn't reach. The floor was littered with debris; broken glass, discarded scraps of wood, and what looked disturbingly like dried bloodstains. The silence was deafening,save for the steady drip of water leaking from some unseen pipe above.

Panic surged through him, cold and suffocating. He yanked against the ropes, feeling the rough fibers bite into his skin. Too tight. Too strong. His fingers were already starting to go numb. He tried to call out, but the adhesive pull of duct tape over his mouth muffled his voice, turning his plea into nothing more than a desperate, muted sound.

Then, footsteps. Slow, deliberate, each step echoing through the vast emptiness of the warehouse. Julian’s breath hitched as a figure emerged from the shadows.

A man he didn’t recognize. Older, tall, broad-shouldered, with a face carved from stone; hard lines, cold eyes, a cruel tilt to his mouth that sent a sickening wave of dread curling in Julian’s stomach. Two others stood behind him, their presence just as menacing, their expressions blank but somehow filled with intent.

“He’s awake,” the man in front said, voice rough and laced with malice. He tilted his head slightly, as if assessing Julian like one would an animal in a cage. “Good. I was starting to think we gave him too much.”

Julian’s pulse pounded in his throat. He forced himself to breathe, to think. Panic wouldn’t help him. He needed to focus, to stay alert, to figure out what they wanted.

The man crouched down to Julian’s level, his movements slow, measured, like a predator toying with its prey. His lips curled into a mocking smile as he reached out, fingers brushing over Julian’s cheek with disturbing ease. The touch sent a violent shudder through Julian, rage flashing through him as he jerked away as much as his restraints would allow.

“Feisty,” the man murmured, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “I can see why Moretti keeps you around.”

Julian’s stomach dropped.

This wasn’t random. This wasn’t about him.

It was about Enzo.

His captor saw the realization flicker across his face and smirked. “Don’t worry, Doc. This isn’t personal. You’re just a means to an end.”

Julian glared at him, fury overtaking the fear burning inside him. He struggled against his bindings again, the rope cutting deeper, his breath coming in sharp bursts through his nose. He refused to look weak, refused to let them see the fear clawing its way up his throat.

The man’s amusement faded, his eyes darkening. He straightened, turning to one of his companions. “Make the call.”

Julian’s blood turned to ice.

The other man pulled out a phone, dialing with an eerie calmness. Then, after a few rings, he spoke. "Let Moretti know we have his doctor. And that if he wants him back in one piece, he’ll listen very carefully to what we have to say."

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