Chapter 16
The Aftermath
The car sped through the darkened streets, the city lights blurring into streaks of gold and red as Luca pressed the accelerator to the floor. Enzo sat slumped in the backseat, his hand clamped over the wound in his shoulder, blood seeping through his fingers and staining his white shirt a deep, ominous crimson.
His face was pale, his jaw clenched tight against the pain, but his eyes were sharp, alert, burning with a quiet fury that even the injury couldn’t extinguish.
Matteo sat beside him, one hand gripping Enzo’s uninjured arm to steady him, the other holding a blood-soaked cloth to the wound. His face was a mask of tension, his usual calm replaced by a barely contained rage. “Who the hell was it?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “De Luca? Rossi? Who’s stupid enough to pull this shit?”
Enzo shook his head, his breathing shallow but steady. “Doesn’t matter,” he said through gritted teeth. “We’ll deal with them later. Right now, I need to stay alive.”
Luca glanced at them in the rearview mirror, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “We’re almost there. Just hold on, Enzo.”
Enzo didn’t respond. He leaned his head back against the seat, his eyes closing for a moment as he focused on breathing through the pain. The wound wasn’t life-threatening; he’d been shot before, and he knew the difference between a graze and something worse, but it hurt like hell, and the blood loss was making him lightheaded. He couldn’t afford to pass out. Not now. Not when his enemies were clearly making their move.
The car screeched to a halt in front of the mansion, and Luca was out of the driver’s seat before the engine had fully died. He yanked open the back door, his movements quick and efficient as he helped Matteo pull Enzo out of the car. Enzo gritted his teeth, biting back a groan as they half-carried, half-dragged him up the steps and into the house.
The mansion was eerily quiet, the usual hum of activity replaced by a tense silence. The staff knew better than to ask questions when the brothers came home like this; bloodied, angry, and dangerous. Luca barked orders as they moved through the halls, his voice sharp and commanding. “Clear the medical room! Get Julian down here, now!”
Enzo’s vision blurred for a moment as they reached the medical suite, the bright lights making his head swim. He blinked, forcing himself to focus as they lowered him onto the examination table. The room was sterile and efficient, stocked with everything Julian might need to patch him up. Enzo had made sure of that. He’d always known this day might come.
The door burst open, and Julian rushed in, his face pale but his movements steady. He was still in his pajamas, his hair disheveled, but his eyes were sharp, focused. He took in the scene in an instant; Enzo’s bloodied shirt, the wound in his shoulder, the tension in the room, and immediately shifted into doctor mode.
“What happened?” Julian asked as he grabbed a pair of gloves and snapped them on, his voice calm but urgent.
“Got shot,” Enzo said, his tone dry despite the pain. “Figured you’d want to take a look.”
Julian shot him a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. He moved quickly, cutting away Enzo’s shirt to get a better look at the wound. The bullet had gone clean through, which was a small mercy, but the bleeding was heavy, and the muscle around the wound was torn and swollen. Julian’s hands moved with practiced precision, cleaning the area and applying pressure to stop the bleeding.
Enzo watched him, his gaze steady despite the pain. There was something almost mesmerizing about Julian when he was like this; focused, competent, completely in control. It was a side of him Enzo hadn’t seen much of lately, not since Julian had been dragged into his world. He’d been so busy resenting Enzo, so determined to keep his distance, that Enzo had almost forgotten why he’d wanted Julian in the first place. Not just for his skills, but for his strength. His fire.
“You’re lucky,” Julian said as he worked, his voice tight. “The bullet missed the artery. A few inches to the left, and you’d be dead.”
Enzo smirked, though it was more of a grimace. “Lucky me.”
Julian didn’t laugh. His hands were steady, but his jaw was clenched, his eyes dark with something Enzo couldn’t quite place. Anger? Fear? It was hard to tell. “Who did this?” Julian asked, his voice low.
“Doesn’t matter,” Enzo said, his tone firm. “What matters is that I’m still breathing.”
Julian’s hands stilled for a moment, his gaze flicking up to meet Enzo’s. “It matters to me,” he said quietly, and then blinked, his face paling a bit as if only then realizing what he had said, before adding quickly. “Because if they’re willing to shoot you in broad daylight, they’re not going to stop. And if you die, what happens to me? To everyone else in this house?”
Enzo held his gaze, the weight of the words settling between them like a stone. He didn’t have an answer. Not one that would satisfy Julian, anyway. So he just nodded, his expression grim. “I’ll handle it.”
Julian didn’t respond. He just went back to work, his hands moving quickly and efficiently as he stitched up the wound. The room was silent except for the sound of their breathing and the occasional clink of instruments. Luca and Matteo stood by the door, their expressions tense, their eyes never leaving Enzo.
Finally, Julian stepped back, his gloves bloodied but his face calm. “You’ll live,” he said, his tone clipped. “But you need to rest. No arguments.”
Enzo nodded, though he had no intention of resting. Not yet. Not until he knew who was behind the attack and how to make them pay. But for now, he let Julian believe he was going to listen. It was easier that way.
Julian turned to Luca and Matteo, his expression hardening. “Get him to bed. And make sure he stays there. If he tears those stitches, it’s on you.”
Luca nodded, his usual smirk absent. “We’ve got it, Doc.”
Julian didn’t respond. He just stripped off his gloves and tossed them into the trash, his movements sharp and angry. He didn’t look at Enzo as he left the room, his shoulders stiff, his footsteps echoing down the hall.
Enzo watched him go, a strange ache settling in his chest that had nothing to do with the wound in his shoulder. He didn’t know what to make of Julian’s anger, of the way it seemed to burn hotter than his own. But one thing was clear: Julian cared. Maybe more than he wanted to admit.
And worse, Enzo liked it.