Page 40 of Bellini Bound
“I think I’ve got it,” I muttered more to myself than to my patient.
Maneuvering the tweezers into the right position to grab it, I was able to gently tug the foreign object free of Enzo’s arm. Sure enough, a bloodstained 9mm bullet was pinched between the metal tips. Inspecting it closely, I thanked God that it appeared to be intact. Searching for loose fragments was way beyond my pay grade.
Metal meeting porcelain sounded as I dropped the bullet into the sink. Enzo visibly sagged against the toilet tank, his jaw lowering enough that his belt fell to his lap and his harsh breathing filled the silence.
“Fuck,” he muttered hoarsely, eyes sliding shut.
My nose wrinkled. “Sorry it took so long.”
He weakly waved a dismissive hand.
I eyed the open wound. “You’ll need stitches.”
“Mmm.” Enzo’s chest lifted as he inhaled deeply.
Gently touching around the torn skin, I mused, “Gonna mess up your ink.”
He hummed. “It’s a vicious cycle. New tattoos to cover old scars, new scars that wreck old tattoos.”
Until now, I hadn’t gotten close enough to examine the artwork lining every inch of his exposed skin. Leaning in, I finally got a good look, only to realize his torso was littered with scars, carefully camouflaged with black ink.
Enzo sucked in a sharp breath when I traced my fingers over the formerly abused flesh. And like his pain was my own, tears sprang to my eyes when I noticed several circular ones that were distinctly from cigarette burns.
“Oh, Enzo. What happened?” In this moment, our differences didn’t matter; no one deserved to be mistreated in that way.
His Adam’s apple bobbed on a thick swallow. “Wasn’t tough enough.”
My eyebrows shot sky high. “Tough enough for who?”
Eyelids cracking open, he fixed me with that hazel stare. “My father.”
I was powerless to stop the tears that crested over my lashes. We saw this type of thing in the ER all the time. The wives and children of abusive pricks who came in battered and bruised, feeling like they had no escape. And it never failed to break my heart—the same as it did now.
My palms were pressed to his chest, almost like I believed that the contact would be enough to absorb some of the residual pain from past trauma that rested deep below the surface. I wanted to take it away for him, to ease the heavy burden on his soul. That’s who I was at my core. A healer. And it killed me that I couldn’t go back in time and do whatever I could to protect a young Enzo.
“Hey.” The softest touch grazed my cheeks. “It’s okay. I made it through.”
I blinked rapidly, but my vision remaining blurry. “No. N-not okay.”
“Allie. Look at me.”
Shaking my head, I scrunched up my face.
I felt pressure on my forehead and a hot breath caressing my face. My eyes sprang open to find Enzo. Right there. So close we were sharing the same air.
Warmth flooded my system, knowing that with the slightest shift, our lips would be touching. This wasn’t the time or the place, and we had enough issues to sink an ocean liner, but God, I wanted it, wanted him.
“Allie,I—”
Whatever he was about to say was cut off by a loud knock on the door, which acted like a bucket of ice water poured over our heated moment. Shocked back to the present, I pulled away, putting some much-needed space between us.
“Enzo?” A male voice spoke from the other side of the wooden barrier.
“That’ll be the doc,” my husband explained.
Without delay, I opened the door to find a middle-aged man with thinning gray hair, holding a black medical bag.
Switching into professional mode, I relayed the patient’s status. “Single gunshot wound without an exit in the right bicep. I was able to extractthe bullet in one piece, but he needs stitches and a round of antibiotics. A blood transfusion and some decent painkillers wouldn’t hurt either.”
