17. CONFRONTED
SEVENTEEN
confronted
Enzo
Hudson’s blood is hot against my hands. Too hot. Like his body knows it’s losing too much and is working hard to inform me he’s in danger. My brain and my heart are not willing to absorb that information.
In all our years as best friends, with Hudson running double ops between the FBI and the mob, he’s never been shot, never had a serious injury. While I know what we do is dangerous, I’ve never faced the possibility of losing him in any real way.
And it can’t happen.
I’ve got him propped up in the back of the van, his back to my front, head resting against my shoulder. Hudson’s pulse thuds weakly beneath my fingertips and his breath rattles too loudly in my ear.
This is the first time I’ve ever held him like this—felt his body pressed against mine. Why did it take an emergency for me to have my arms wrapped around him? Isn’t this where he’s always belonged?
Pippa’s pressed in on my other side, calm and focused as she works to steady all three of us.
She has a small medical bag in hand. “It’s all we’ve got until we hit the clinic.
Pressure. Add more pressure,” she orders as she snaps on gloves, tearing open gauze.
“Enzo, hold that angle. Don’t let his airway dip. ”
I’m so glad she’s here.
I nod, jaw clenched, palms slick. I’ve seen men shot before. Hell, I’ve put bullets in more than a few. I’ve been around blood and death my whole life and I’ve always stayed calm and collected under pressure.
But this is Hudson.
My best friend.
My pain-in-the-ass second brain.
My sense of humor when one can’t be found.
My— My—
My breath hitches. “Hudson, hey,” I say, forcing lightness into my voice. “You still with me, pretty boy?”
His eyes flutter. “You think I’m pretty?” he mumbles weakly, too weakly. “I won’t die on you if I’m finally getting you and Pippa to hold me at the same time.”
Pippa lets out a small laugh, voice tight. “Stay awake and we’ll make sure the touching is a lot more fun next time.”
She and I make eye contact and share a million thoughts in the blink of an eye. We can’t lose him and when he’s through this, we’ll stop wasting time.
Hudson coughs. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
That’s Hudson. Always able to keep things light. Always able to keep me light. I feel anything but light right now, though. I press harder on the wound.
Stay with me Hudson. Please, please don’t make me lose you, too. I won’t survive it.
Pippa leans in, peels back his blood-soaked shirt. “Eva, let the doc know, pulse is 120, BP is dropping; tachy, shallow breathing. Let her know she’ll need suction and blood units prepped. We’ll need to decompress if we lose lung pressure enroute.”
“Copy,” Eva replies instantly. “Clinic is ready, and Doc is almost here.”
Luca drives faster. We take a corner hard, and I have to shift to keep Hudson upright.
He groans.
“Sorry,” I whisper, hand pressing harder on the gauze. “I’ve got you. You’re gonna be fine, okay?”
He doesn’t respond, his eyes are closed, and all my efforts to remain calm are about to fail.
I met Hudson on the playground on the first day of second grade.
Much to my dad’s concern, I was a quiet and soft child.
Too much like my mom in those early years.
And the kids on the playground didn’t care much that I was the son of the head of the Italian mob.
I’d later be crafted in Lorenzo's image, but at the ripe age of seven, I was picked on just the same as any other shy, quiet, awkward kid.
I was sitting by myself on a bench at the edge of the playground.
Some kids came to make fun of me for reading instead of playing, but Hudson wasn’t having it.
He approached the group and acted friendly with them, charming them—like he charms everyone.
Right when they thought they had another ally in bullying me, he dismantled them.
Not physically. Verbally. Even in second grade, he seemed to understand everyone’s insecurities, their little-kid-secrets. He exposed all this embarrassing stuff, totally mortifying them. Then, he spoke of my dad, me, and my family in a way that made us sound formidable.
I’d later come to realize my family was exactly all the things he believed them to be, but he seemed to have reverence for my place in the world long before I did.
I didn’t understand until we were older that he knew about my family through his mother.
She talked highly of the Lucianos and Hudson followed suit.
He became my best friend that day and we’ve been inseparable since.
He’s been by my side through every moment in life—all the good and all the bad.
He kept Eva and me going when our parents died.
Always treating her like his own sister, protecting her.
The two of them are just as tight as she and I.
I can’t remember a time he wasn’t there when I needed him.
“Hudson, listen to me—keep fighting. You don’t get to die on me,” I whisper into his ear, urgent, desperate. “I finally figured it out. Please give me more time with you to do it right.”
Pippa slips her fingers between mine. Her hand is blood-slicked and trembling, but strong. We’re both applying pressure to Hudson’s wound now. A triad of tension and fear and something sacred.
“Enzo’s right, Hudson. You’re not done here, okay? You’ve got to stay.” She pulls her hand back to take his pulse again. “He’s going to crash.”
“Not today,” I murmur, forehead pressing to the side of Hudson’s. “You hear me? Not today. You’re too charming to bleed out in a van.”
The gates to the mansion are open by the time we round the final curve. Security floodlights cut across the driveway, guiding us to the large, open garage where the clinic is attached.
Dr. Alessia Romano, who we have affectionately called “Doc” since I was a teen, stands waiting. Her family and mine go way back. She’s in her early fifties and has sharp eyes and steady hands. She’s patched up half my crew at one point or another and right now she looks like a war general.
We screech to a halt.
Luca leaps out, runs around the vehicle and opens the door. We all haul Hudson to Doc’s clinic as Pippa calls out vitals and wound info in a sharp stream.
Doc and her two nurses surround him instantly, and I feel his weight disappear from my arms.
The absence is brutal.
Pippa stumbles slightly as they carry him away and I catch her.
Neither of us speak. We just stand there for a breath too long, covered in blood that doesn’t belong to us, watching the team rush him inside.
He was staring into my eyes as he passed out—like he was trying to remember something in case he didn’t make it.
I don’t realize I’m shaking until Pippa wraps her arms around me and holds me like I’m the one bleeding out.
I let her. I let her comfort me, because for the first time in a long time, I don’t have a plan.
Friday Morning, Day 23
The clinic smells like antiseptic and copper.
It crawls into my lungs and stays there.
Hudson’s form stretches across the narrow bed, his chest rising and falling in time with the machines.
The bullet’s been removed. It missed all major organs or arteries.
The doctor said that with rest he should be okay, but he hasn’t woken up.
I need him to wake up. If I think hard enough, stare long enough, I can will him back into himself.
Pippa and I have been posted on either side of his bed for hours. At first, we held his hands, spoke to him, talked to each other. Filling the silence felt like something solid to cling to.
Then we rotated showers as Eva, Luna, and Doc drifted in and out.
Jules and the team returned about an hour ago and reported everything had been handled. They cleaned up, checked on Hudson, then peeled off to rest.
Dawn is fast approaching. By morning, Malin’s death will make the rounds. Jules curated the details, ensuring the story ends with “died in his sleep.” Clean. Final.
The raw desperation from the van is gone.
The version of me that let Pippa hold me in the hallway while Hudson was carted away, that man has been sealed away.
I’ve been quiet too long. I know it. I can feel something grinding inside me.
A different Enzo sits here now—the one people know.
The one who took over after my parents were murdered.
The one most men are smart enough not to cross.
“You should get some rest,” Pippa says softly. “You’ve been holding your breath since we got here. Hudson needs rest and so do you. I can stay with him.”
My jaw tightens. “I’m not leaving. I’ll be fine.”
She comes over to my chair.
I don’t look at her. Her hand lands on my shoulder and my body goes rigid. Not with anger, but with distance. A wall slams into place before I can stop it.
“Don’t,” she whispers. “Don’t you dare pull away from me right now.”
My eyes cut to hers. Dark. Flat. Everything is locked down tight. “This isn’t about you, Pippa.”
“Then what is it? Because five hours ago, you and I were both fighting to keep him alive. Together.” She squares her shoulders. “I care about him, too, Enzo. And now you’re shutting me out. Don’t pretend you’re not. You think I don’t notice you putting up walls?”
I turn back to Hudson. It’s safer to look at him. “I should’ve seen it coming. Should’ve kept him safe. My head wasn’t where it needed to be.”
The truth sits heavily in my chest. I don’t need her to say it—I already know. I’ve made this mistake before.
“You think this is your fault?” she asks.
“It is.” The words scrape on the way out. “I let myself get distracted.” I pause, drag in a breath. “By you.”
She steps back. Stung. Her own walls fly back up; I can feel it.