Page 55 of The Prizes We Win
Except… it doesn’t even look like my Enzo.
He’s lying on the cold cement ground. His shirt is long gone and so are his shoes.
His face is so swollen and covered in blood that if I couldn’t see his tattoos I wouldn’t even know it was him.
More cuts and burns cover his torso, and even beneath his tattoos I can see countless bruises marring his skin.
He also has what looks like several dislocated or broken toes and fingers, and the gash that’s still pooling blood from his head is likely what made him pass out.
Either that or the intense pain I can only assume he’s in.
“We have to get him to a doctor,” Josephine pleads.
“We can’t take him to a hospital, Joe,” Mac reminds her. “We will have our doctor meet us back at your place.”
“Let’s get him up,” Ronan says as he starts to slide his arms under Enzo’s limp body.
“No,” Dante snarls. “Let me do it.” Ronan steps aside, allowing Dante to have enough room to pick him up off the ground.
“I’ll call Harper and let her know we’re on our way back and to get a room ready for the doctor,” Finn announces to the group.
We all move quickly to the front of the building and out toward the car. Not taking time to consider the fact that people may see us putting Enzo’s bloodied body in the car.
That’s a problem for tomorrow.
Right now we just need to focus on him living.
“Give me the keys, Josephine.” She’s in no condition to drive, and if he wakes up I know her being back there will be what he needs.
She nods between broken sobs and hands them to me. Sebastian climbs into the passenger seat, and Dante and Joe are in the back with Enzo.
“I’ll call Doc and have him meet us at your building,” Ronan says through Sebastian’s open window.
“I’ll let security know to expect him. Just tell him to go on up,” I tell him. He nods and I speed away, not wanting to waste any more precious time.
“Where the fuck are they?” Dante seethes. I look at him through the rearview mirror as I speed through the streets of New York to find him gently stroking his thumb along Enzo’s blood-stained arm.
“I don’t know. But I do know that when we find them they are going to pay for this.” My grip tightens around the wheel. “They’re going to pay for what they’ve done to our boy.”
Lorenzo Santoro can’t fucking die. Because if he dies, then a piece of me will die with him.
35
Dante
He can’t die.
Enzo can’t fucking die.
I haven’t heard enough of his cheesy pickup lines yet.
I haven’t watched him love Joe long enough.
Or Sebastian.
Or Luca.
Orme.
