42. Enzo
ENZO
I waited until my wife stopped tossing and turning before I got out of bed, dressed in all black, and slipped out of the house.
Driving soundlessly through the Sicilian night while the city slept, I hardened at the thought of what I was about to do. I’d already infiltrated the business in West Africa and my next move would eliminate his accomplices here.
There was no going back.
Pulling up in front of the same docks where Atticus made his first mistake, I turned off the engine and exited the car, leaving the door open.
It was time I punished those who were supposed to cure Amara. Digging through Atticus’s data, I found a familiar name. The one that had been responsible for caring for my young sister-in-law, but instead he betrayed her in the worst possible way.
He betrayed us all.
So, after the funeral, I had Amadeo track him down. He’d provided the location pin and only departed once I’d headed this way.
This would be an action I would take alone, and thankfully my brother knew me well enough to understand I needed this.
My combat boots were silent against the ground as I made my way to the warehouse’s single entrance. A dim light flickered through the cracks of the cheap metal door.
I detected the smell of bleach and copper and pushed the door open, the heavy clang screeching through the silence as death greeted me.
“Hello, Dr. Gvozden.” The doctor startled, dropping his surgical knife and staining his lab coat with his traitorous blood. “And I’m guessing you’re Dr. Milan.”
“Who are you?” the latter asked.
I smiled coldly. “Your worst nightmare. And that’s saying something, considering the scene you’ve got here.”
“Th-this isn’t what it l-looks like,” Dr. Gvozden stammered.
The doctors’ eyes darted around, probably searching for a way out, but unless they decided to jump into the freezing sea for a little midnight swim, they wouldn’t get away. There was no way out.
“You don’t say,” I drawled. “Then do explain to me what this is, and while you’re at it, tell me more about your relationship with Atticus Popov. Or at least what it used to be.” The smile on my face would have sent a saint running.
I glanced around the room, dominated by stainless-steel tables and hooks, a flickering overhead light, a dead body, and a briefcase full of cash in the corner by a rusty old sink.
I sneered when he remained silent.
“See, I think this is exactly what it looks like.” A butcher shop that nightmares were made of. “What do you say, Dr. Milan?”
He flicked a nervous look at his partner, then back at me. “I had no choice.”
My eyebrows arched. “No choice to do what?”
He waved his knife in the air. “All this. They threatened my life. I had no choice.”
I scoffed. “There’s always a choice.”
And I was making one right now.
“Why are you here?” Dr. Gvozden dared to ask, stepping closer to the metal table. A young man lay there—unconscious and pale—with IVs hooked in both arms, part of his body already missing organs and the rest marked for incisions. From the looks of it, there wouldn’t be a single organ wasted.
“Haven’t you heard?” I drawled. “I’m your new boss.”
Dr. Gvozden froze, his knife paused in midair. “Wh-what?”
“What does that mean?” Dr. Milan asked, his eyes bouncing like a ping-pong ball.
I sighed. “I really fucking hate when people are slow.”
“S-sorry, boss.” Dr. Milan was already desperate to please. “Right, Dr. Gvozden? We’re sorry.”
I reached for my cigarette and slowly lit it up, then inhaled deeply before watching it cloud the air between us.
“Apology accepted.” Not really, but whatever. “Now, how long have you been working with Atticus?” Silence. “The next time I have to repeat myself, I’ll be doing so with a bullet in one of your joints. Or maybe a hand, like the one holding that scalpel.”
“Years.”
“That long, huh?” I took a drag of my cigarette. My wife was right, it was a disgusting habit, but at this moment, it was the only thing calming me. And I needed to remain calm to get my answers. “How many people have you saved?”
“Thousands.”
“I mean really saved, Dr. Gvozden,” I gritted, although judging by his expression, he was still confused. “The sick shouldn’t pay to get the organs they need. Why didn’t you help Amara?”
“I… He… She…”
It was Dr. Milan who answered: “It was impossible to find a match.”
No, not impossible. Hard, yes. Impossible, no.
“Her sister, she was a match. But Mr. Popov said he’d kill her if we used her liver.” Dr. Milan’s voice shook.
“You fool,” Dr. Gvozden hissed, glaring at him.
“I’m not about to lose my hand,” the guy muttered, but I could barely hear their bickering from the fury buzzing in my ears. I felt sick, like my insides had been reduced to ash.
Her death could have been prevented. She had a fighting chance, and they took it from her. An innocent child who had nothing to do with our world.
Something inside me snapped, but it didn’t break. Instead, it reforged into resolution. I would keep my promise.
Amara was gone. I couldn’t bring her back.
But I could avenge her. I could ensure no other child suffered the same fate.
I steeled my spine.
“Atticus instructed you not to help the DiMauros, did he?” Both doctors gulped, then proceeded to nod like those damned bobbleheads tacky people put on the dashboard of their car. “I wonder why?”
Of course, I knew why, but I wanted to hear it from these two scumbags.
“Mr. DiMauro set one of Atticus’s establishments on fire on the other side of the island.” Dr. Gvozden finally decided to tell the truth. “With his mistress inside.”
Again, all information I’d already uncovered. Luca hadn’t known that the man’s mistress was inside when he acted. Not that I had much sympathy; any person—woman or not—who could stomach being in the same room where human bodies were being butchered welcomed their fate.
“He w-was fond of that one,” Dr. Milan stuttered. “The mistress, that is.”
“Funny, because I’m fond of my—” I stopped myself, the mistake making my chest hurt. I squashed that pain and replaced it with rage. “I was fond of my sister-in-law.”
The room thickened with silence, laced in blood. Eyes darted around, but the weight of my words seemed louder than a gunshot.
Somewhere, a clock ticked. A metaphor, perhaps, for their final moments.
I tilted my head at the butchered man. “Who is he?”
“Nobody important,” Dr. Gvozden seethed. “A junkie.”
“Really?” The doctor was a good liar, even managing to hold my gaze. “He doesn’t look like a junkie to me.”
“Well, he is.” Ah, there were his true colors. “He was wasting his life. At least now he’s doing something, helping someone else.”
My lips twisted with disgust. “You’re all for helping, aren’t you?”
“I’m a doctor,” he spluttered. “It’s my duty.”
Liar, liar, pants on fucking fire, as Amara would have said. And judging by the look on Dr. Milan’s face, he agreed.
“Has a patient crossed this table who was a match to Amara?”
Bu-bum. Bu-bum. Bu-bum. “N-no.”
Another lie. Another nail in his coffin.
I casually strolled closer, eyeing the body, then asked, “Why didn’t you do everything in your power to save the girl?”
Once more, I knew the answer, but I wanted to hear him say it. Silence stretched, and I tapped my boot impatiently, blood splashing against his expensive shoes.
I took another drag from my cigarette, then flicked it at him. The butt bounced off his coat, causing him to flinch.
“Well, Doctor?” I drawled.
“I couldn’t save her,” he stuttered. “It was only a matter of days until she was?—”
Bang!
A bullet pierced his skull.
“And you’re dead.”
The blood wouldn’t come off.
After I’d shot Dr. Gvozden, his partner tried to run.
I went after him, and let’s just say his death wasn’t as quick.
I’d ended up getting blood on my hands. I had scrubbed until my knuckles burned and turned raw, but it clung to me.
It filled the grooves of my fingerprints, burying itself permanently there.
A stain impossible to clean—in more than one way.
I stared at my hands under the faucet, the water running pink down the drain, and all I could see was failure.
Amara was gone.
And I was too fucking late.
Her fucking doctor had been working to kill her, slowly and painfully. He’d stolen her chance at survival like it was nothing. Like she was nothing.
All because he was told to. Atticus gave the order, and the fucking prick didn’t even have the decency to honor the Hippocratic oath.
I’d only learned of his involvement two days ago. Two fucking days too late.
And when I found him, cutting through another person like it was nothing, I saw red. Amara’s death meant nothing to him. Just another casualty.
Death was more than he deserved. He should have experienced a long and painful ordeal, so he could experience firsthand every second she suffered.
And still… It was too late. It meant nothing.
Amara was already dead and buried, her name carved into a tombstone.
There was no one left to save. No time left to make it right.
I turned off the tap protruding from the decrepit sink, and that was when my world flipped further upside down.
Because there stood my wife… a witness to what I had become, what I’d always been.
She stepped into the warehouse, her feet not belonging on the blood-stained concrete, and took in the bodies where I left them. She glanced around slowly, like she was still trying to understand.
And then her eyes found me.
Not with rage. Not even with disgust.
With confusion.
Like she’d walked in on something she was never meant to see—like she didn’t know whether to reach for me or run. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out at first. Just breaths in the silence of the warehouse that had witnessed profound horrors.
“Enzo… what did you do?”