Chapter 2
The Knock at the Door
The night had been long, and Julian’s mind was a whirlwind of fear and disbelief. After Enzo lost consciousness on the couch, Julian checked his vitals, relieved to find his pulse steady and his breathing even. The mafia boss was stable, but Julian’s own nerves were anything but.
He dragged a blanket over Enzo’s broad frame, tucking it around him as if that could somehow contain the danger the man represented. Then he retreated to his bedroom, locking the door behind him as if it could keep the reality of the situation at bay.
Julian’s apartment was small but tidy, a reflection of his meticulous nature. The living room, where Enzo now lay, was sparsely furnished; a worn but comfortable couch, a coffee table stacked with medical journals, and a single armchair by the window.
The walls were bare except for a framed diploma from medical school, a reminder of the life Julian had built for himself, far removed from the chaos of the city’s underworld. The faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen was the only sound breaking the silence, a mundane contrast to the storm raging in Julian’s mind.
He paced the small bedroom, running his hands through his disheveled hair. “What the hell were you thinking?” he muttered to himself. The room was equally modest, with a neatly made bed, a small desk cluttered with notes and textbooks, and a narrow closet. The blinds were drawn, but slivers of moonlight seeped through, casting faint stripes across the floor. Julian’s reflection in the mirror above the dresser looked back at him, pale and wide-eyed, a man caught in a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from.
He had saved a man’s life, that was his job, his calling. But this wasn’t just any man. This was Enzo Moretti, a name that carried weight in the city, a name that whispered of violence and power. Julian had heard the stories, the rumors, the warnings. And now, that very man was lying on his couch, bleeding and vulnerable, yet still terrifying.
He collapsed onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. His mind raced with questions.
What if Enzo’s enemies found him here? What if they thought Julian was involved in whatever mess had led to Enzo being shot? What if Enzo himself decided Julian was a liability once he woke up?
The thought sent a chill down his spine. He had no doubt the mafia boss could, and would, eliminate anyone who posed a threat to him.
Eventually, exhaustion overtook him, and Julian fell into a fitful sleep, his dreams haunted by shadowy figures and the sound of gunfire.
???
The morning light filtered through the blinds, soft and golden, pulling Julian from his restless slumber. He blinked awake, the events of the previous night crashing back into his mind like a tidal wave. He sat up, his heart pounding, and glanced at the clock on his nightstand. It was just past 8 a.m. The apartment was quiet, the only sound the faint rustle of the curtains as a breeze drifted through the cracked window.
Julian crept to his bedroom door, unlocking it slowly and peeking out. Enzo was still on the couch, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The blanket Julian had draped over him had slipped slightly, revealing the bandage on his ribs.
Enzo looked better; color had returned to his face, and the pallor of death had receded. The morning light bathed the room in a warm glow, softening the edges of the situation, but Julian knew better. This was no ordinary morning.
He stepped into the living room, his bare feet silent on the hardwood floor. The coffee table was still cluttered with the supplies he’d used to treat Enzo; gauze, antiseptic, a pair of scissors. The faint metallic scent of blood lingered in the air, a stark reminder of the night’s events. Julian’s gaze lingered on Enzo’s face, the sharp angles of his jaw, the faint stubble shadowing his cheeks. Even in sleep, the man exuded an air of danger, a quiet intensity that made Julian’s skin prickle.
But now what? Julian leaned against the doorframe, watching Enzo sleep. He couldn’t just leave him here.
What if he woke up and decided Julian knew too much? What if he demanded something Julian couldn’t give? And what about the people who had shot him? Were they still out there, looking for him?
Julian’s stomach churned at the thought.
He needed a plan. Maybe he could call someone, but who? The police? No, that was out of the question. Enzo’s world operated outside the law, and Julian had no doubt that involving the authorities would only make things worse. He could try to sneak out, leave Enzo here and disappear. But the idea of abandoning a patient, even one as dangerous as Enzo, went against everything Julian stood for.
As he stood there, paralyzed by indecision, a loud knock echoed through the apartment. Julian froze, his blood turning to ice. The knock came again, harder this time, more insistent. His eyes darted to Enzo, who stirred slightly but didn’t wake. Julian’s mind raced. Who could it be? A neighbor? A delivery person? Or something far worse?
The knock came a third time, accompanied by a deep, gruff voice. “Open up. Now.”
Julian’s heart hammered in his chest. He forced himself to move, his legs feeling like lead as he approached the door. He glanced through the peephole and immediately regretted it.
Two massive men stood on the other side, their faces hard and unyielding. Both were covered in tattoos, their muscles straining against their black shirts. And both had guns, large, menacing guns, pointed directly at the door.
Julian swallowed hard; his mouth dry. He had no choice. If he didn’t open the door, they’d probably break it down. And if he did open it… well, he wasn’t sure what would happen, but it couldn’t be good.
With trembling hands, he unlocked the door and opened it just a crack. “Can I help you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The larger of the two men stepped forward, his gun still raised. “Where is he?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.
Julian’s mind went blank. “Who?”
The man’s eyes narrowed, and he shoved the door open, forcing Julian to stumble back. The two men barged into the apartment, their guns sweeping the room. Julian’s heart pounded as they spotted Enzo on the couch. The smaller man, though still enormous, moved quickly to Enzo’s side, checking his pulse and the bandage on his shoulder.
“He’s alive,” the man said, relief evident in his voice.
The larger man turned to Julian; his gun now pointed directly at him. “Who the hell are you?” he growled.
Julian raised his hands, his palms sweating. “I’m a doctor. I found him last night. He was shot. I just… I just helped him.”
The man studied him for a moment, his eyes cold and calculating. Then, without warning, he grabbed Julian by the collar and shoved him against the wall. Julian gasped, the air knocked out of him as the man leaned in close, his breath hot against Julian’s face.
“If you’ve done anything to him,” the man snarled, “you’re dead. Understand?”
Julian nodded frantically, his vision swimming with fear. “I didn’t, I wouldn’t, I just patched him up, I swear!”
The man held him there for a moment longer, then released him with a shove. Julian slumped against the wall, his legs trembling. The smaller man had lifted Enzo’s unconscious form, slinging one of the boss’s arms over his shoulder.
“Let’s go,” the larger man said, turning toward the door. He glanced back at Julian, his expression unreadable. “You’re lucky he’s alive. But if you breathe a word of this to anyone, you won’t be so lucky.”
And with that, they were gone, leaving Julian alone in the wreckage of his apartment, and his life. He slid down the wall, his legs giving out beneath him. The morning light now felt harsh, exposing the chaos that had invaded his once-orderly world. The coffee table was still cluttered, the faint scent of blood still lingered, and the door hung slightly ajar, a silent reminder of the danger that had just walked out.
What had he gotten himself into?
And more importantly, how was he going to get out of it?