Chapter 16 Katya
The twins were absent all night, giving me the opportunity to map out the manor, planning an escape route from every room.
But now I’ve exhausted all my free time, and I’ve settled on watching videos of ferrets playing in bowls of rice.
I should probably try snooping in offices, but I don’t think I’d find anything useful there.
Alexey would disagree but fuck that guy.
A text chimes on my phone, and I pull down the message to view it.
Enzo | Youre lije a fecer dream.
Is he drunk? What the hell is that supposed to say? I laugh at the thought of Enzo so shit faced he can’t even send out a text. Doesn’t he have autocorrect on his phone?
Repeat in sober English please. | Me
I wait a few moments, but nothing more comes through.
A swarm of butterflies flitters through my ribcage, and I want to hate it, I do.
I should hate the way he’s making me feel.
But I don’t. In fact, the idea of hating Enzo and even Rafael feels wholly unnatural.
Maybe I hate that feeling more than anything.
Like a fucking drug, Enzo, and maybe even Rafael, continue to leak into my veins, pulling from me small smiles here, butterfly eruptions there, and even on occasion—okay, many occasions—absolute murderous tendencies.
Yes, Katya. Focus on murderous tendencies.
And like a drug, I know they are bad for me. Not that I’ve been keen on doing many things good for me. But feeling anything except hatred for these devils will get me in more trouble than it’s worth.
I have to remember why I’m here.
To complete my mission. Get home. Kill Alexey.
A loud bang echoes through the manor and makes me perk up. Moments later, thundering footsteps race up the stairs and my office door flies open. My ass leaves the seat as if it were on fire and Rafael marches in with cool composure, a numb mask shielding his usually hard features.
“On the table,” he barks and for a second, I think he’s talking to me until two of the largest men I’ve seen haul in a cackling Enzo.
“I’m fine, Mother! Just give me a shot of whiskey and put me to bed. Sing me a lullaby while you’re at it.” His laughter continues as they drag him into the procedure room.
My body refuses to move, stupefied by the situation before me. He’s laughing?
“Lucy!” Rafael snaps, jerking me into motion. I guess this explains the odd text. He wasn’t drunk, he was dying, apparently.
I approach a fighting Enzo, currently held down by two men who can only be described as Thor and The Mountain, to find the crimson signature of some kind of wound to the left side of his abdomen growing larger.
Lifting his rain and red-stained shirt, I find toned abs, glistening with sweat and rain.
A pulsing sensation hits my lower half as I run my fingers down the center of his abs.
This is not the time to be salivating over the blood-soaked devil, Katya.
A one-inch, clean-edged wound oozes right above his hip bone. “Did he get stabbed?”
“Lucky strike,” Enzo mumbles, smirking at me flirtatiously as he bleeds out on the table. “Gonna fix me up, Little Doc?”
His warm-toned skin lacks its usual vibrancy. “What happened?”
“It’s a scratch,” Enzo says, trying to sit up and causing more blood to gush from the wound.
He’s only making this worse. Rafael’s glare doesn’t falter from the wound in his brother’s body, his jaw’s tight and his nostrils flare.
“Rafael,” I say calmly, hoping to pull him from his darkness. “He needs you right now, talk to him.”
Rafael storms out of the room. “If he dies, so do you.”
Well, fuck me to Sunday and bathe me in holy water. I’m going to need a miracle…or the next best thing.
“Hold him down,” I say to the two giants, rushing to the medicine cabinet and grabbing a vial of Ketamine. “Thank you, Doctor Arden, I could kiss your old, ugly ass right now,” I whisper, pulling a syringe and needle from the drawer.
Fuck, I don’t know how much to dose him with. Is it weight-based? I pull a full syringe, coming up with the plan to slowly inject it till he goes unconscious. That should work, right?
Please don’t kill him, I silently send up a prayer to who knows where and nod to one of the men. “I need his arm extended.”
Enzo cackles while the man struggles to wrestle his arm straight. The vein bulges as his fists clench. “Don’t fucking touch me!” The man assisting me grimaces and I glance to his crotch to see if he’s pissed himself yet.
Fucking pussy.
Just as I approach, Enzo’s head snaps my way, his deep brown glare pinning me to the floor before it bounces to the needle I’m holding. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
He fights harder, thrashing about like a mad man, a roaring scream exploding from his mouth. The two men helping me grunt with the exertion of holding him down. When he finds his efforts futile, he whispers with a child-like plea. “Lucy, please don’t do this.”
“I’m sorry.” Pressing the needle against his vein, he flips again, screaming and fighting with everything he has. Blood gushes with each flex of his abdominals and I know I need to get him down soon. I pierce his skin and slowly begin injecting the drug.
“Don’t you fucking do it. Lucy!” His eyelids grow heavy, and his movements become sluggish, “I’m going to kill yo—”
I lean in, whispering in his ear, “I’ll meet you in your dreams, Enzo Baby,” hoping he can still hear me.
He goes flaccid, the two men at his sides releasing long breaths of relief as they wipe their brows. “Good luck, Miss,” one of them says before they leave the room.
As soon as they leave, I pause, taking in the unconscious Alessi twin on my table.
God could not have put the more perfect opportunity in front of me.
But…
The idea of ending it here, now, before I’ve had the chance to…what? Live a little. See what these twins can make me feel before I allow them to destroy me? It tugs at something inside me, a sick, rotten feeling and I simply can’t bring myself to do it. Not yet anyway.
I’ve been let off my leash until the Gala, and I’m going to enjoy every second of freedom until then.
As long as I can save him.
His saturated shirt tears up the middle easily as I run my scissors through the fabric, exposing the wound and his abdomen fully. The bleeding has slowed but it continues to ooze steadily. It’s safe to say, based on the fact Enzo’s still acting like a raging idiot, no arteries were hit.
“Let’s get you taken care of,” I say to Enzo, even though he can’t hear me.
From my time with Ilya, I’ve treated many stab wounds. None to my brother, because I’m fucking excellent at what I do, but I’ve treated a countless number of his men. Even one or two on myself.
After checking the wound to ensure no organs were nicked and no debris or pieces of the blade remained, I cleanse it and begin stitching him up. I work slowly, humming a song my brother used to sing to me when my nightmares were bad. I don’t know the name of it, only the slow, mournful melody.
I secure the sutures well and cover them with additional padding because if I know Enzo, he will not take it easy.
I’m nearly finished when Enzo begins to stir. He grumbles and moans, a deep growl extending from deep in his chest and up his throat. Low mumbles leave his lips as the flawless skin around his eyes crinkles in pain. I wait to see what he’ll do next before I place the final wrap over his wound.
His drug-induced, teary glance has me holding my breath before a single tear spills over and his head lolls to the side, facing me. “Mamma? Mamma, mi dispiace.”
My heart cracks wide open as he apologizes to his mother, my jaw falling open slightly, preparing to say something…anything. But what could I say?
He brushes his knuckles against my cheek. “Mamma, ti prego, non lasciarmi più.”
He begs her not to leave him and how could I when I’m the reason he calls for his mother from the depths of his mind?
“Sono qui,” I whisper, brushing a few errand strands of hair from his sweat-soaked forehead as he slips back into unconsciousness.
I’m here.