Page 39 of The Price of Mercy

Julian held his gaze, his lips curled in the faintest smirk despite the pain radiating through his body. "Then why take me?"

The man’s face twisted in irritation, and Julian braced himself just before another brutal fist cracked against his cheekbone, sending him sprawling to the floor. His vision blurred at the edges, and his breaths came in ragged, uneven gasps. His body ached, his skin stung where blood dripped down, but he still wouldn’t let them see fear.

A phone camera flashed; the cruel moment captured forever. Julian barely had the strength to lift his head as one of them turned the screen to show him the image; his swollen, bloodied face staring back at him, barely recognizable.

"That should get his attention," the man grinned, typing out a message before sending it off. "Guess we’ll find out if you’re worth saving, huh?"

Julian exhaled shakily, his mind screaming at him to stay strong. He focused on a single thought, repeating it over and over like a mantra.

Because no matter how much they beat him, how much they taunted him, he knew one thing for certain.

Enzo would come for him.

And God help them when he did.

Chapter 26

The Call

Matteo stood on the balcony of the Moretti mansion, the cold February air slashing at his skin like a thousand tiny needles. The city below him glittered in the night, its lights twinkling like stars, casting a warm, almost comforting glow. But it wasn’t comforting. Not tonight. Tonight, it felt distant, cold and indifferent, just like the thoughts swirling in his mind.

The cigarette between his fingers was already down to a stub, the faint glow of the ember casting a brief light on his face. He drew in one last drag, the smoke heavy in his lungs, and exhaled slowly, watching the tendrils dissolve into the dark sky. It should have been a moment of peace; if only his mind would let him rest.

But the situation they found themselves in wouldn’t let him go. It clawed at him from all angles, a never-ending reminder of what happened earlier that day. And the future? Well, the future was a fog of uncertainty, something he could barely see through, let alone navigate.

He was so lost in the murk of his own thoughts that he almost didn’t hear the vibration from his phone. At first, he thought itwas a trick of the wind, but then it vibrated again, sharp and insistent. Matteo reached into his pocket, his fingers trembling slightly as he pulled it out.

The screen flashed a hidden caller ID. His stomach lurched.

Just like before.

A low, cold dread unfurled in his chest, curling its icy fingers around his ribs. The last time this happened, when that voice called, things had spiraled out of control fast. People he cared about had been hurt. It had been a warning then. And now, it was back. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

His breath hitched, and for a split second, he almost didn’t answer. But he had no choice. Not now.

He pressed the phone to his ear, his pulse quickening. "Who is this?" His voice came out tighter than he intended, rough with the tension coiling through his body.

The silence on the other end dragged on for what felt like an eternity. Just as he was about to hang up, the voice finally spoke, low and distorted.

"No time for questions, Matteo. If you want to save him, you need to move."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. His heart skipped, then raced, hammering in his chest as he struggled to catch his breath.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" His grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles turning white as anger surged in his veins. "Save who?" he asked, although he already knew the answer.

The response was a whisper, almost too soft to hear, but it was there; clear and devastating.

"Julian."

Julian.

The cigarette in his fingers dropped from his hand, hitting the stone balcony with a soft hiss as it extinguished. He barely noticed, his entire focus locked on the voice on the other end of the line.

"Where is he?" His voice was a low snarl now, all the hesitation gone, replaced by a gnawing urgency that clenched his gut.

The voice didn’t waste any more time. It rattled off an address; an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. A place Matteo knew all too well. He’d been there before, many years ago, back when things were simpler, or at least more straightforward. It was a place where business had always been conducted in the shadows; deals made in blood, alliances forged and broken with knives in the dark. A place where his father had been killed.

And the smell. The smell of old blood and unfinished business still clung to the place like a bad memory. Matteo could almost smell it now.

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