Deadly Nightshade

Chapter 26: The Stitches

Once I was inside my office (at my house), I was fuming. Inside my house, I could let my anger out. And at this point, all I could see was red. The plan wasn't flawless, but it had a 95% probability of success.

How the hell did the Morozov's know that we were going to steal the weapons? How the hell did they switch them to fake ones?

I looked at the blueprints that I made with Luca, trying to see where I went wrong with the plan. I looked at the scheme I had made on a board; the location was to our advantage for sure.

"Dammit!" I screamed, and I threw the scheme (board) to the floor.

I started to go insane. I threw everything that I saw on my path: the lamp, the chairs, some flower vases, and the coffee table that was made out of glass. I even grabbed the computer on my desk and started smashing it on the floor. I kept smashing it until it was no longer of use.

I knew I was losing it when I punched the window with my fist. I punched two windows in total, cutting my knuckles in the process. The rage that I was feeling inside me kept me from feeling pain. I kick my office chair, screaming at it, as if the chair were the cause of all of my problems.

I collapsed on my knees to the floor as tears of rage began to stream from my eyes.

The revenge stories you see in the movies make it seem so easy to catch the bad guys. They just do it here and there, and boom, all the guys are dead, or they get justice in the end. But if I think about it, Aren't I also a bad guy? I am not an angel by any means. And I guess it was so naive on my part to think that it would be easy to take on the Morozov Clan. Part of me is angry at the fact that I didn't play my cards the correct way, but there is a quote from a wise person that says, "Learn from your mistakes." And that is exactly what I will be doing. The other part of me is angry at the fact that I still haven't taken an ounce of revenge for my father's death. I feel like I am failing him.

I wiped my tears harshly with my bloody hands, staining my face in the process. I stared blankly at the floor, all of my energy gone from my outrage.

I heard loud footsteps running towards my office, and the door opened with a loud bang. I didn't need to look up to know who it was that entered.

"I can't leave you alone for a few minutes..." I hear him whisper.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up." Enzo says, helping me get up from the floor.

He grabbed my waist once I stood up, and he guided me to my ensuite bathroom. I let him lead the way without protest; at this point, I just felt numb.

Enzo cleared the bathroom countertop. "Sit," he simply says, and he leaves. He came back a few minutes later with a first aid kit in his hands.

I was still in the same position when he came back. He gestured for me to sit down with his eyes. This time, I did as he said. He put the first aid kit beside me, and he started to take out everything he needed.

When he inspected my right hand, there were still pieces of glass stuck in my knuckles. He grabbed a tweezer, disinfected it with alcohol, and then started to take out each piece of glass. He was gentle with his touch when he lifted my hand in front of his face, and when he was taking out a glass, he warned me beforehand.

He was hovering over me due to his height; with his face close, I could see every feature of his face. My eyes softened at the sight.

"Does it hurt?" he whispers.

I know he meant my hand, but honestly speaking, my heart hurts the most. But Enzo doesn't need to know that. So, I answer his question with a barely audible, "Yes..."

He looks at me for a few seconds, and then he diverts his eyes back to my hand. "Your face says otherwise," he whispers.

"I'm good at hiding pain." My voice sounded hoarse.

My response makes him pause his movement.

"How many are left?" I ask, and he resumes taking out another piece of glass.

"That was the last one." My pants had bloodstains, along with my shirt. I didn't think that much blood could get out of my knuckles, but then again, there are several veins there.

Enzo cleans the blood from my hands, revealing several cuts. One in particular was a little bit big; it was the one that had the bigger glass stuck in there.

"This one needs stitches." He says this, still looking at my hand.

He takes out a needle and a thread. He makes an attempt to grab my hand again, but I snatch it away.

"We have anesthesia; don't worry." He assures me.

"Have you ever stitched a hand before?" I tilt my head.

"No, this is my first time." He says it calmly. I look at him as if he has grown two heads in front of my eyes.

He chuckles at my reaction. "Is this funny to you?"

"Relax; I had training when I was in the military." He explains, "I've never stitched a hand since we weren't punching windows for sport." He tries to lighten the mood, "But I have stitched other body parts before, so I know what I'm doing."

"Now, give me your hand." He extends his arm, offering his hand to me.

I had no proof that he indeed knew how to do stitches. I could always call Dr. Cheong so he could come and stitch my hand, but I don't want anyone in my house today.

With a deep breath, I extend my hand to Enzo. He applied the anesthesia around the wound. Then he sterilized the needle, and he started preparing to stitch my wound. When the anesthesia started kicking in, he began stitching my hand. Unconsciously, I held my breath during the whole process; the anesthesia numbs the pain, but I can still feel the needle getting into my skin. It was an odd sensation. What felt like 30 minutes was, in reality, 5 minutes at most.

It turns out Enzo would be an excellent doctor; he did a great job with the stitches. He then bandaged my hand to prevent me from further hurting it.

"You have blood on your face." He grabbed my makeup remover cleansing tissues and started cleaning my face. He kept a finger on my chin to prevent me from moving. My eyes were closed, and Enzo was in between my legs, but he still kept a little distance. His touch was gentle. Something I haven't felt for so long since the world only keeps giving me punches.

"There you go." He says once he finishes. Then he stepped back from me.

"Take these painkillers. Once the anesthesia wears off, it is going to hurt." He handed me the pills, and with that, he left the room. Once I heard the door of my bedroom close, I stepped down from the bathroom counter and headed to my walk-in closet to change my clothes. Once I was done, I threw the dirty clothes in the trash can. Bloodstains are difficult to wash away, and I have a lot of clothes anyway.

There was a knock on my door. "Come in." I said.

Enzo came into my room with a bottle of water and a cup of tea. "This is for the painkillers and sore throat," he says as he puts the bottle of lukewarm water (just the way I like it) on my nightstand. "This will help you relax." He puts the cup of tea beside the bottle.

I stare at him. It has been a long time since the last time someone took care of me. I felt grateful, but I didn't know how to express it. So, I said the first thing that came to mind. "Take the rest of the day off. Go have fun." I offer him a small smile.

He hesitated and looked like he wanted to say something else, but he settled on a simple "Thank you."

"Oh, and before I forget, Alonzo called and said that it was done." He gave me a smile, and with that, he left my room.

What Enzo said made me relax and smirk to myself.

A few minutes later, I heard the sound of his Ferrari leaving my residence.

In reality, Enzo didn't want to go out and have fun; he wanted to stay and make sure that I was okay. So, instead of going out to "have fun", he went to the Cattani Tower to get some much-needed rest. But I was oblivious to all of these.