Page 65 of Vicious Fall

I don’t lower my gun, my head swinging around the room.

“Anyone else here?” I ask him as I approach.

“I don’t think so.” His voice is gruff and rough.

I kneel down beside him, keeping my gun within reach. His face is painted black and blue. He has a long cut on his cheek. It doesn’t look too deep, but it’s leaking blood, having already started running downward toward his neck.

Pressing my lips together, I retrieve the handkerchief from his suit pocket, pressing it against the wound. He winces.

There’s a pool of blood beneath his head and it isn’t from the cut. Frowning, I gently press my fingertips along the back of his head. They come back wet and sticky with bright red blood.

“Fuck.”

“Hold this up,” I direct him and he blinks wearily at me as I bring his hand up to press against the handkerchief.

I strip out of my shirt, bunching it up and pressing it against the back of his head. “Can you walk?” I ask him.

“Yeah, I’m just sore and a little dizzy, but I’ll make it.”

I don’t have to ask what’s sore. If they left him alive, it's because they wanted to send a message, but no doubt they’d beat the shit out of him first. He’s lucky to even be conscious right now.

I wrap an arm around his shoulders and help pull him to his feet, keeping my other hand pressed against the shirt at the back of his head.

He’s a little wobbly, but he manages to walk to the car.

“Let go of the handkerchief and hold onto the shirt instead,” I order him. The head injury is a thousand times more concerning than the cut.

He nods, complying as I help him into the passenger seat. He immediately slumps down.

Heart beating far too quickly, I hurry to the driver’s seat. It's not until we’re halfway to the compound that I call Giovanni back.

“He’s awake and I think he’s going to need stitches on his head, but otherwise this was definitely to send a message.” I glance over at Enzo. He’s slumped into the seat, his muscles tense as he holds the shirt up. It’s already covered in red. I don’t ask him what Seven Quad said to him when they jumped him, already having my suspicions.

Winter.

“Send someone to get his car. We’re headed to the compound now.” Again, I hang the phone up before Giovanni can speak.

The entire way to the compound, I continue to peak over at Enzo, checking on him. When we make it home, I don’t turn the car off, hurrying over to his side of the car.

He’s even less stable as we head into the compound. The doctor, Beth, meets us in the foyer. She takes one look at the blood covered shirt and cringes. She gestures for us to follow her into the infirmary.

Giovanni comes in moments later as Beth inspects Enzo’s head. She has him laying on his stomach and I don’t miss the way his body has gone limp. But when I move closer to check on him, his eyes are open and he’s as aware as someone who's been hit in the head can be.

“I’m going to have to get the blood washed up and then staple him back together.” She says as she continues to delicately prod in his hair.

“Do it,” Giovanni says from where he’s leaning against the wall.

I turn an eye on him, contemplating saying something but instead I remain silent for once, focusing in on Enzo. “Are you going to give him something so he doesn’t feel it?”

“I can-”

“I don’t need it,” Enzo grunts.

“Don’t be stubborn. Take the medicine.” I fold my arms over my chest as he turns his head to look at me when the doctor backs away from him.

“Maximo, I don’t need it.”

“Enzo, you’re going to fucking take it or I’ll shove the pills right down your fucking throat myself.”