Page 110 of Enzo

“I’m a doctor,” he spluttered. “It’s my duty.”

Liar, liar, pants on fucking fire, as Amara would have said. And judging by the look on Dr. Milan’s face, he agreed.

“Has a patient crossed this table who was a match to Amara?”

Bu-bum. Bu-bum. Bu-bum. “N-no.”

Another lie. Another nail in his coffin.

I casually strolled closer, eyeing the body, then asked, “Why didn’t you do everything in your power to save the girl?”

Once more, I knew the answer, but I wanted to hear him say it. Silence stretched, and I tapped my boot impatiently, blood splashing against his expensive shoes.

I took another drag from my cigarette, then flicked it at him. The butt bounced off his coat, causing him to flinch.

“Well, Doctor?” I drawled.

“I couldn’t save her,” he stuttered. “It was only a matter of days until she was?—”

Bang!

A bullet pierced his skull.

“And you’re dead.”

The blood wouldn’t come off.

After I’d shot Dr. Gvozden, his partner tried to run. I went after him, and let’s just say his death wasn’t as quick. I’d ended up getting blood on my hands. I had scrubbed until my knuckles burned and turned raw, but it clung to me. It filled the grooves of my fingerprints, burying itself permanently there. A stain impossible to clean—in more than one way.

I stared at my hands under the faucet, the water running pink down the drain, and all I could see was failure.

Amara was gone.

And I was too fucking late.

Her fucking doctor had been working to kill her, slowly and painfully. He’d stolen her chance at survival like it was nothing. Likeshewas nothing.

All because he was told to. Atticus gave the order, and the fucking prick didn’t even have the decency to honor the Hippocratic oath.

I’d only learned of his involvement two days ago. Two fucking days too late.

And when I found him, cutting through another person like it was nothing, I saw red. Amara’s death meantnothingto him. Just another casualty.

Death was more than he deserved. He should have experienced a long and painful ordeal, so he could experience firsthand every second she suffered.

And still… It was too late. It meant nothing.

Amara was already dead and buried, her name carved into a tombstone.

There was no one left to save. No time left to make it right.

I turned off the tap protruding from the decrepit sink, and that was when my world flipped further upside down.

Because there stood my wife… a witness to what I had become, what I’d always been.

She stepped into the warehouse, her feet not belonging on the blood-stained concrete, and took in the bodies where I left them. She glanced around slowly, like she was still trying to understand.

And then her eyes found me.