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Whatever anger I’ve been managing to hold back is slipping free. I can feel it. The way it pumps through my veins, my bloods, threatening to spill out through the sharp biting words on my tongue. Or even better, through my fist.
Only time will tell which will win out.
Enzo blinks but after a moment, he nods his head, wincing slightly. “Fine.”
I can feel Giovanni looking at me but I don’t look back.
Instead, I remain silent as the doctor thoroughly cleans Enzo’s head before using a comb to part the hair away from the cut. She rubs the spot down with a numbing cream. She also gives him pills to take orally and he does so while giving me a look of annoyance.
When the doctor starts putting the staples in, there’s this weird clenching feeling in my stomach and I don’t know how to deal with it, so instead I excuse myself, stepping out of the room.
Moving into the hallway, I bend over, hands on my knees as I feel like I’m going to vomit.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I know it isn’t the blood, I see blood all the time. I practically live in it. So I’m not quite sure what has me feeling sick as I heave in a few deep breaths.
The door to the infirmary squeaks opens and I don’t have to look up to know it’s Giovanni.
“Maximo.”
I hit him.
I don’t think twice about it.
My fist won in the battle between it and my tongue, no surprise there.
The sick feeling is gone now, replaced with boiling rage that I’ve been trying to keep a cap on.
Giovanni stumbles back, his feet stuttering under him.
The impact of my fist against his jaw feels good so I do it again and once more for good measure. With every hit, I feel a little better.
Finally, I step back, my chest heaving as I stare at my brother.
Already there’s a shiner forming on his jawbone, darkening and swelling up. He’s fucking stubborn though so he doesn’t show any signs of the pain, his face black. Remaining steady on his feet as he stares at me.
“That make you feel better?” he asks shortly, unimpressed.
“Not even close,” I spit out. “Maybe I should chain you up in the basement the same way you did to me when Vito got shot.”
Because these two scenarios are damn near the same.
Vito had gotten shot while getting himself involved in my shit, though that hadn’t been from an invitation on my part. No, it’d been because he was sticking his nose in my business the way he has a bad habit of doing. Still, he’d gotten hurt and somehow that had equated to being my fault and my brother had made me pay for it.
And now Enzo has gotten hurt because of Giovanni. Because he casually sent him out to handlehisbusiness for him while knowing that we have an enemy looking for any spot to launch an attack. He did it without sending him with any sort of backup.
If he’d approached me about this, I never would have let it gone down, even with the two of us not being on good terms right now.
I would have fucking made sure he was protected.
That same nauseated feeling is rearing its head and I take a step away from Giovanni, glaring at him even while it feels like I need to hurl.
His head tips to the side but he doesn’t seem fazed by my threat.
Of course he doesn’t.
I’m as loyal to my brother as he is to me, both of us blinded by our love and trauma. He punishes me, but never puts me down. I betray him, go behind his back doing what I want, but never to his downfall, just to his detriment.
