Page 9 of His Savage Obsession

In an overwhelming rush, consciousness begins to slip away. The room fades into darkness, and the cacophony of yelling dissolves into an eerie silence, swallowed by the abyss.

9

ENZO

"Liam fucking Gallagher shoots his own sister, andI'mthe one handcuffed to a chair. Where's the justice in that?"

Rafael, with his brow furrowed in frustration, looks like he has a headache brewing. He glances over the clipboard filled with Autumn's diagnostic chart, the medical jargon blurring together in a haze of concern, and takes what sounds like a restrained sigh of annoyance, barely keeping his composure. "You threatened to kill him, Enzo."

I narrow my eyes, feeling the heat of indignation rising within me. I would cross my arms in defiance, but with one cuffed to the chair, it only serves to heighten my frustration. "I didn't though."

"Because four guys pulled you off of him," he reminds me, his tone laced with an air of exasperation.

Details. "He shot my wife, Rafe. What did you expect me to do?" Just let the guy go? As if. I've witnessed men do far worse for far less. In fact, I have been one of those men, losing myself in a haze of rage and vengeance before.

Rafael puts the clipboard down by his side, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Jesus Christ, Enzo, you were choking him to death."

And I'd do it again without a second thought, but I know that if I admit that, I’ll be stuck in these cuffs for an eternity. "How about you tell me how Autumn's doing, will ya?" I ask, desperate for a shift in the conversation.

The doc rolls his eyes, the weight of my question evident in his demeanor, and returns his gaze back to the clipboard, searching for the right words among the clinical jargon. "Your wife is going to be fine. It looks like the bullet passed through her stomach and missed all her major organs. It was a shitty shot, frankly."

I honestly don't know if Liam meant the shot for Autumn or if it was intended for me. The guy who shoved him at the last second looked like he was part of Sean's security team. Whether he saved my life or Autumn's, I'll never know, but I owe him a debt of gratitude that weighs heavily on my conscience. "Why isn't she awake then?" I press, my voice tinged with worry, hoping for any reassurance that she’ll pull through this ordeal.

Rafael purses his lips, his brow furrowing slightly as he assesses the situation. "Honestly, getting shot takes a lot out of the body. She's fine, but she's exhausted. Also, it's probably a little bit of the pain meds, too. They can make a person loopy and tired. We'll probably keep a close watch on her for a couple of days, but she's stable. Once I make sure you didn't do any permanent damage to Liam's vocal cords," he glares at me with a look that could cut glass, "he can be discharged, and you can be released."

I hope he never talks again. Piece of shit. I thought things would get tense between us, but I didn't think Liam would be stupidenough to shoot his own sister. The thought twists in my gut like a knife, anger and disbelief battling for dominance in my mind.

When Rafael finally leaves the room, Isabella is allowed in at last. Her entrance is abrupt, and she checks me over with a glare that could scorch the earth. Her eyes travel straight to the handcuff locking me to the chair, and I can see the fury igniting within her. "Did you do this?" She narrows her eyes at me, her voice low and dangerous. "Because so help me God, if you shot Autumn, I'll kill you right where you sit."

"Relax, Liam did it." I've been threatened by a lot of people in my day, but Isabella takes the cake with her intensity. "What kind of person would handcuff the shooter in the victim's room?" I can feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating.

She glares at me, her expression a mix of disbelief and outrage, and then she flips me the bird before striding over to Autumn's side. "I told you her family was going to go crazy. I didn't think they'd try to kill her, but I guess I underestimated how much Liam hated her." Her voice softens as she leans close to Autumn, concern etched across her features, leaving me to stew in my own thoughts, a prisoner of my own making.

Italian families don't kill one another, at least not in my experience. We might disown each other, cast aside years of love and loyalty, but murder is typically frowned upon in our world. "I don't know if it was intentional. I don't know if he was aiming for her or me," I admit, the weight of uncertainty hanging heavily in the air.

Isabella leans down, her fingers gently brushing against Autumn's head, pushing stray hairs away from her face with a tenderness that seems at odds with the chaos swirling around us. "Liam is kind of a selfish prick," she confesses, her voicelowering as if revealing a closely guarded secret. "I got pregnant once, and I was pretty sure it was his. I told him about it. You know, like a good woman does." She steals a quick glance in my direction, gauging my reaction, making sure I'm absorbing her story. "He wanted me to settle down. Not to be his wife or anything, but to be his girl. Like a marked mistress or something, you know? I got scared, so I asked him what if it wasn't his."

I'll never underestimate Liam Gallagher again. The air shifts as Isabella's voice drops to a hushed tone, and an icy chill seems to waft through the room, wrapping around us like a shroud. "He said if the baby wasn't his, he'd beat me until he was certain I wasn't pregnant anymore. He made it clear that everybody in Vegas knew I was his girl. He didn't want me giving birth, and he damn sure wouldn't stand for me bringing a bastard kid into the world who wasn’t his. The next week, I got an abortion. Ever since then, he hasn't looked at me the same way, and I’ve been kind of grateful for that distance."

I don't know the origins of the animosity between the Gallaghers and the Bianchis, but I can assure you that I will never see Liam as anything resembling a brother. While I would gladly take Isabella under my wing and face the world for that girl, driven by her unwavering support for Autumn and the immense challenges she's faced, my feelings for Liam Gallagher remain resolutely cold. He is nothing to me, and I refuse to lift a finger for him.

"Hey, bright eyes," Isabella suddenly breaks the thick silence that envelops the room. "Your life is getting too wild for me, babe. First, you get married, then you get shot. I can't keep up with this rollercoaster."

I stand up abruptly, only to be reminded with a jolt that I'm handcuffed to the chair, the cold metal biting into my wrists. "Fuck," I mutter under my breath, frustration boiling just beneath the surface.

Autumn stirs, lifting her head from the pillow, her expression a mix of concern and confusion. "What happened?" she asks in a small, fragile voice that betrays her worry. "Why are you cuffed?"

Isabella turns her gaze toward me, her brow furrowing deeply in concern. "Who do I need to talk to?" she presses, her tone urgent and insistent.

"Find Dr. Rafael Bianchi. The motherfucker has the key," I respond through clenched teeth, the anger and humiliation intertwining within me, making it hard to keep my composure.

She rolls her eyes and steps away from Autumn's bedside. "I can’t go anywhere in Vegas without stepping on a Bianchi. Enzo, Costantino, Rafael. How many more of you are there?" Her voice is laced with exasperation, but before I can respond, Isabella disappears without further ado, leaving a lingering tension in the air.

With the door closed behind her, I turn my full attention to Autumn, trying to convey the gravity of the situation as gently as possible. "The gun in Liam's belt loop was right there, and then he shot you in the abdomen." My throat tightens as I recall the chaos. "They made me wait while they rushed you in to see Rafe. And then Liam strolled in with that infuriating smile on his face. I was covered in your blood, and when I saw him standing there, I couldn't think straight." The memories flood back, raw and vivid. I attacked him. I remember the sound of my own voice screaming at him, threats spilling out in a desperate attempt to regain control. People were screaming all around us, and nurseswere shouting, threatening to call the cops. Liam's men and Bianchi's men were working together, pulling me off him like I was some kind of rabid animal. "They wound up dragging me to your room, away from him. They got me a change of clothes and borrowed a pair of handcuffs from a security guard. I've been stuck here ever since."

Rafael walks through the door with an air of superiority that instantly puts me on edge. "Good afternoon, Autumn. I'm Dr. Bianchi. How are you feeling?" His voice is smooth, almost rehearsed, as he takes in the scene.

"I'm okay," she manages, her voice soft yet resilient, "a little sore." Her eyes dart between the two of us, seeking reassurance in the midst of the turmoil.