Defender's Heartbeat

Chapter 35

Pedro (while Manuel is in a coma)

Yesterday, something terrible happened. Enzo was attacked, and we soon discovered that De Luca was behind it. De Luca will have to pay for this soon.

Enzo was injured, his body covered in cuts and bruises that he didn't even seem to notice. It looked like he had no idea about his injuries, perhaps the shock numbing his pain. The only thing he wanted, with an overwhelming desperation, was to see Manuel.

"I want to see Papa. Where's Papa?" Enzo cried out, his voice quivering. He grabbed my shirt with trembling hands, his fingers twisting into the fabric. He kept asking without letting go, his wide, dark eyes pleading for an answer I wasn't sure how to give.

"Even if you go there, they won't let you see him. He's in the operating theater," I told him.

"But I want to see him," Enzo started to cry. "I want to see him," he begged.

"Enzo, I told you, you can't see him right now. I'll take you there later," I said firmly. He started crying louder.

"Go to your room," I commanded, and he ran off, slamming his door behind him.

Although I didn't think Enzo's injuries were severe, I decided to keep him at my house while Manuel was in the hospital. Enzo was deeply messed up these days, and I thought it would be better for him to stay with us since Elena loved Enzo and could keep an eye on him.

I admit, that I didn't feel much concern for Manuel's condition. If he were to die, I could easily find another bodyguard for Enzo. He would have to deal with it.

The next day, when I returned home from the office, I realized I had underestimated the seriousness of Enzo's situation. My wife was sitting on the sofa, with Enzo resting his head on her lap. He lay there quietly, while my two sons looked on. My wife appeared frustrated and seemed to have been crying. She gently stroked Enzo's hair. She always harbored affection for him as if he were her little brother.

"What happened?" I asked, confused.

"He's not okay. Do something," she pleaded, her eyes meeting mine over Enzo's prone form.

"He was vomiting all day, refused to eat, and just... stared. It's like he's not even here. And now he's burning up with a fever. The doctor came by and..." she hesitated, swallowing hard, "he says Enzo needs therapy."

Papa didn't believe in therapy at all. Enzo was still a minor, so I couldn't take him to a doctor without Papa's permission. I squatted down in front of Enzo. He wasn't sleeping; he was staring into the distance with empty eyes, looking dead and pale.

"Enzo," I called, touching his face gently. My fingers brushed against his feverish skin, sending a jolt of concern through me.

Hearing my voice and feeling my touch, he gasped softly and looked at me as if he had just noticed my presence. His eyes, usually so bright and full of life, were glazed over with exhaustion and confusion.

"Papa," he whispered, his dark eyes turning to me with a flicker of hope.

"It's me, Pedro," I said softly, my heart aching at his mistake. A wave of complex emotions washed over me. Despite being 13 years older than Enzo, I had never felt the age gap more acutely than I did just then.

"Can we see him today?" he asked, his voice small and fragile, clinging to the possibility of seeing Manuel.

"Okay," I said. I didn't want to take Enzo to the hospital to see Manuel, but it seemed I had no choice now. If Enzo is going to be stubborn and continue acting like this, I would have to take him to the hospital at least once.

However, these days, Papa had never asked, "How's Enzo?" — not even once. But he did come to my house once to talk about some business matters. Normally, he doesn't visit for business. I wondered what his real intention was.

Although I initially planned to take Enzo to the hospital just once to see Manuel, I ended up having to take him every day. It was the only thing that seemed to make him feel better. I told him I would only take him if he ate at least one meal, and each day he managed to finish one meal just because he wanted to see Manuel. It took him hours to eat, and most of the time, he vomited everything back up. I gave him plenty of juice and snacks throughout the day, but I was intensely worried about him.

He didn't sleep well at night either, and I had to sleep beside him to stop him from screaming in his sleep. During those moments, he thought I was Manuel, and he slept like a baby, cuddled up to me. I'm not a cuddly person—I only cuddle my kids and my wife. It felt strange when Enzo tried to cuddle me, but I had no choice.

When Enzo was awake, I told him about his screaming in his sleep and asked him to stop. He kept insisting that he never cried out and accused me of lying. I assured him I was telling the truth, and we argued about it for several minutes.

"You're lying, Pedro. I know you're lying," Enzo said firmly, looking me straight in the face, which made me angry.

"I was sleeping beside you, you dog! That was the only way to stop you from screaming at night!" I snapped.

"Ugh, you pervert," he said, and in a moment of rage, I slapped him. I forgot how weak he was these days. He lost his balance and nearly fell down the stairs, but I caught him just in time. He didn't say anything, he went to his room and slammed the door shut.

I didn't feel good about slapping him. But no matter what I did, he always made me angry, even when I was trying to help. I tried to convince myself that I slapped him because he was messing with my nerves. Still, the guilt lingered—it didn't leave me that easily.

"How's our little shit doing?" Louis asked when he came to see me at my place. Enzo was in his room at the time. Most of the time, he stayed in there with the door closed. I had no idea what he did all day, locked away like that.

"He's messing with my nerves. Yesterday, I slapped him," I admitted.

"Oh, isn't this the same guy who said Enzo needs some love?" Louis laughed right in my face. I shot him a rough look because, as much as I wanted to, I couldn't hit him too.