Chapter 9
Aftermath
The night air hit them like a shock of ice, the bitter wind laced with smoke and the acrid scent of burning rubble. Shouts and the distant wail of approaching sirens rang in Julian’s ears, but everything felt distorted, like he was moving through water.
He barely had time to register what was happening before rough hands shoved him forward, forcing him into the backseat of a sleek black SUV.
His breath came in short, panicked bursts. His hands shook as he clutched them into fists, trying to steady himself, trying to force air into his lungs.
This isn’t real. This isn’t happening.
His mind reeled, replaying the explosion over and over in a horrible loop; the deafening boom, the searing heat, the way the walls had seemed to collapse in on them. Julian squeezed his eyes shut, but the images wouldn’t go away.
The door slammed shut beside him, and a presence filled the seat next to him. Enzo. His scent, cologne mixed with gunpowder and smoke, was suffocating in the confined space. The SUV roared to life, tires screeching as it sped away from the burning wreckage of the meeting hall.
Julian’s heart pounded against his ribs, his body tense as if expecting another explosion, another impact, something. He turned toward Enzo, his voice barely more than a rasp. “What the hell just happened?”
Enzo exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “Someone wants me dead.” His tone was grim, but his expression remained unreadable, as if this was just another night for him.
Julian let out a harsh laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Someone wants you dead?” He turned his wide, disbelieving eyes on Enzo. “Are you serious? We were just bombed!”
Enzo didn’t flinch. “Regular Tuesday in my world, Doc.”
Julian’s stomach twisted. He felt sick. The weight of what had just occurred crashed into him all at once. He had almost died. He should have died. If he had been standing just a few feet closer to the blast, he wouldn’t be sitting here now.
His breaths came faster, his chest tightening with each inhale. His fingers dug into his knees, trying to ground himself, but nothing felt real. The world was spinning.
Enzo turned to him, eyes dark with something unreadable. “Breathe.”
Julian snapped his head up, anger breaking through the panic. “Don’t tell me to breathe! You dragged me into this, and now I...” He cut himself off, running a hand through his hair. “I almost died tonight.” His voice shook. “I don’t belong here. I shouldn’t be here.”
Enzo studied him for a long moment, his gaze unreadable. “You’re here now.”
Julian let out a strangled sound of frustration. “That’s not an answer!”
The SUV hit a sharp turn, making Julian lurch forward before Enzo’s hand shot out, steadying him with a firm grip on his arm. The touch sent a jolt through Julian, not from fear, but something else entirely. He yanked his arm away, his pulse hammering for too many reasons to count.
Silence settled between them, thick with things unsaid. The only sound was Julian’s still-shaky breathing and the distant hum of the tires against the road.
After what felt like an eternity, Enzo spoke again, his voice quieter. “You’re safe now.”
Julian turned to him, his expression a mixture of disbelief and something bordering on desperation. “Am I?”
Enzo didn’t answer.
And that silence was answer enough.
???
The SUV screeched to a halt in front of the mansion, the iron gates closing behind them as armed guards rushed forward. The moment the doors flew open, the chaos inside spilled out.
Shouting filled the air, frantic voices barking orders, desperate cries of pain cutting through the night. The driveway was a battlefield of its own; men staggered about, some covered in blood, others barely able to stand. A few had been too close to the explosion and now bore the consequences: shredded clothing, burnt flesh, and deep wounds leaking crimson onto the stone pavement. The scent of smoke and iron was thick in the air, making Julian's stomach churn.
He froze on the spot.
His pulse roared in his ears; his breath caught in his throat as his wide eyes took in the devastation. It was overwhelming; the injuries, the sheer volume of blood, the cries of pain. He had seen blood before, had saved people on the brink of death, but never like this. Never in a world where bullets and bombs dictated life and death.
Someone grabbed his arm, and he jolted back to reality. Matteo’s face swam into focus, his usual smirk replaced by a sharp, serious expression. “Snap out of it, Doc. They need you.”
Julian sucked in a breath, forcing his shaking hands to steady. His training kicked in like second nature, pushing aside fear and panic. His legs moved before he could think, taking him to the nearest injured man, a soldier clutching his side, his face twisted in agony as blood seeped through his fingers.
Julian dropped to his knees, peeling away the man’s ruined shirt. “I need gauze, antiseptic, anything clean!” he shouted. A second later, someone shoved a first aid kit into his hands. He barely registered who, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was stopping the bleeding.
His hands worked quickly, pressing gauze to the wound to stem the flow. The man groaned, his body twitching in pain. Julian pried the man’s fingers away, replacing them with firm pressure from his own hands as he ripped open a pack of sutures with his teeth. Sweat beaded on his brow as he threaded the needle with practiced precision, his fingers moving deftly despite the shaking that still lingered from the explosion’s shock.
“This is going to hurt,” he warned, though the man was already gritting his teeth in preparation. Julian worked quickly, the needle piercing flesh as he stitched the wound closed with steady, deliberate motions. Each loop, each knot had to be perfect, there was no room for error. Blood still seeped around the edges, but at least now, it wasn’t pouring like a dam had burst.
As soon as he was satisfied, he tightened a bandage over the sutures and turned to the next patient. Another man lay sprawled on the ground, a deep gash stretching from his collarbone down his chest. His breathing was ragged, his skin pale. Julian pressed his fingers to the man’s pulse; too weak, too slow.
“Tourniquet,” he barked, and someone shoved a strip of cloth into his hands. He tied it tightly above the wound, slowing the bleeding before reaching for a roll of gauze. His hands were slick with blood as he wrapped the injury, his jaw clenched in frustration. If they didn’t get these men to a proper medical facility soon, some wouldn’t make it.
A third man groaned nearby; his leg bent at an unnatural angle. Julian’s stomach clenched, but he forced himself to focus. He felt along the bone, cursing under his breath. A break. And a bad one.
“Hold him down,” he ordered, barely glancing at the men who moved to follow his command. The injured man thrashed weakly, groaning as Julian positioned his hands. “This is going to be hell, but it has to be done.”
With a sharp, forceful movement, he set the bone back into place. The man let out a strangled scream before falling into unconsciousness. Julian exhaled, his hands shaking from exertion as he grabbed a splint and secured the leg.
Through it all, he felt Enzo’s gaze on him, watching, assessing. But Julian had no time to think about what the Mafia boss saw when he looked at him now.
Right now, Julian was the only thing standing between these men and death.
And he refused to let them die.