Defender's Heartbeat

Chapter 18

Manuel

Enzo was ten years old, and our connection had grown stronger. He was the one who maintained it quite skillfully. Whenever I attempted to keep some distance for his good, he always found a way to tighten the bond between us.

During those years, he would sometimes sneak into my room, claiming he was scared, and sleep in my bed, cuddling with me. Following Gerardo's orders, I had to teach him self-defense and MMA since he was 7. I knew his elder brothers had already learned these skills; Juana was the exception. She always had a choice and chose not to learn combat training. However, the boys never had that luxury.

Pedro, now 23, was involved in the family business with his father. The previous year, Gerardo had arranged a marriage for him with a girl from a wealthy family. The Perez boys were not allowed to freely date girls; they could have casual interactions but had to marry someone their father chose, usually from a wealthy and influential family. I had no idea if Pedro liked the girl selected for him. However, being Gerardo's obedient son, Pedro would unquestioningly carry out any command from his father, even if it involved hurting someone.

Louis, now 21, was just like his brother Pedro. He did whatever his father told him to do without any questions. He had a mean, almost evil nature.

Every child in this family, except Juana, struggled on the inside, and my Enzo got the worst of it. Juana, who was 18, even got their father Gerardo to punish Enzo. Gerardo used a belt to hit Enzo when he did something Gerardo didn't like. I hated it. I wished I could stop him.

I remember Gerardo hitting Pedro and Louis when they were in school if their test scores were low. But Enzo was just 10. Enzo's father would punish him with a leather belt whenever he performed poorly on tests.

One day, after Gerardo had punished him, Enzo asked me, "He didn't hit Pedro and Louis like this. Why did Papa only hit me like that?"

I put some medicine on his wounds, trying to comfort him, "Let me put medicine on you, okay?" As I treated him, he cried, saying it hurt and that I was hurting him. "I'm not hurting you, Enzo. I'm just putting medicine on your wounds so they heal quickly," I assured him, patting his head.

Enzo didn't come out of his room for school the next morning, so I went to check on him. I found him still in bed, with vomit on the floor. As I moved closer and touched his body, I realized he had a high fever from the previous night. He was shaking, his body burning up.

As his bodyguard, I didn't need anyone's permission to call the doctor if Enzo got sick or hurt. I had the authority to take him to the hospital without asking the family if it was an emergency. If something awful happened to Enzo, I was responsible because I was his guard and supposed to take care of everything for him.

I called the family doctor, who was Gerardo's puppet. He would never say anything about what went on inside the house, probably because of some secrets or the substantial amount of money Gerardo paid him. The doctor lived nearby and arrived quickly. After examining Enzo, he gave me a list of medicines to buy. I told a servant to get them fast. The doctor noticed Enzo's wounds but didn't ask any questions and prescribed medicine for those aware of such incidents.

"Don't you want to ask how he got hurt?" I asked.

"I get paid enough not to ask questions, and I don't want to die early," the doctor replied with a smile.

"Whether you like it or not, you don't have any power over him," he added.

"Mr. Lorenzo, you better be a good boy and take all your medicine to get better soon," he said, smiling at Enzo. "Oh, look how cute he is," he commented again. His feigned concern for Enzo disgusted me, as he lacked genuine sympathy. It was clear he would do anything for money.

"Yeah," I responded, and the doctor left. Enzo was cute, the cutest kid I'd ever seen, even more adorable than my son. I kissed his forehead. He had the most beautiful eyes I'd ever seen, yet at the same time, they looked empty and dark as if he was lost.

Enzo refused to eat anything, but I insisted. "Papa, my body hurts," he said in a weak voice.

"I know, love. You need to take medicine to heal fast," I said. Enzo hated medicine, and now I had to struggle to make him take it. He had to heal quickly, and taking his meds was crucial.

"I hate medicine," he said, eyeing the pills in my hand.

"You have to take them," I said in a firm voice, and he looked shocked. His expression changed. "What?" I asked.

"You're being rude," he stated.

"Me? Am I rude?" I was surprised. I knew he said that because of how I spoke then. He was about to cry. "Hey, hey, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for talking to you like that," I said, pulling him into a hug.

"You yelled at me," he cried.

"No, baby, I didn't yell. Please don't cry," I said softly, wiping his tears from his little face. "Now take this medicine like a good boy, and you'll get better fast so you can go back to school and see your friends," I said kindly.

I gave him the medicine, but he struggled to take it because he hated it. After trying several times, I finally got him to take the first dose. But he made sure to waste a few pills before that by spitting them out repeatedly. Fortunately, his father was a billionaire with enough money to keep buying medicine whenever Enzo wasted it.

When Enzo was at school, he got hurt while playing with friends and even fighting with them, but he never cried. Sometimes, he didn't care about the injuries and started playing with his friends again. However, if he got injured when I was around, he acted fragile. He cried a lot and asked for hugs.

A few months earlier, he had gotten sick at school, and the teacher called me to take him home. Surprisingly, he wasn't in the sick room. Instead, he was playing on the playground, not minding his sickness. The teacher said she had tried to keep him in the sick room, but even the teachers couldn't control Enzo. The teachers feared Enzo because of his father's money and power. So, if they got frustrated over Enzo's behavior, I was the one they blamed.

He acted like a baby if he got even a little ill at home when I was around him.

After taking his medicine, he went to sleep, but he wanted me to sleep beside him. I had to spend the night in his room because his fever was high, and he wasn't allowed to do anything tiring. He could only eat inside his room until he felt better.

I stayed by his side, giving him the medications as scheduled and ensuring he drank fluids. His fever fluctuated over the next couple of days. I did everything I could to help him feel better - keeping him company, reading to him, and finding ways to distract him from the discomfort. Slowly but surely, the medicines started working.