"Yes, boss," the five crew members replied in unison. They couldn't help but glance at Lorenzo with a mix of awe and fear. "Only their boss would dare to taunt the police—sending them the bodies of the men they'd killed just to mock them."
That's our boss, they thought silently, admiration flickering in their eyes.
"Let's move out," Lorenzo ordered, his cold voice slicing through the air. They headed toward the SUVs they had hidden earlier when they first arrived.
The vehicles were parked in a shadowed corner, nearly invisible in the darkness. The injured members dragged themselves in, gritting their teeth against the pain.
Dominic slipped into the back seat beside Lorenzo. "Enzo, are you injured?" he asked in a low, serious tone.
"No," Lorenzo replied flatly, his attention on the phone in his hand.
Dominic narrowed his eyes. "I don't believe you. Let me check for myself."
Before Lorenzo could stop him, Dominic reached out, brushing his hand along Lorenzo's arm and side.
Lorenzo's gaze turned razor-sharp. "Stop it," he said coldly. "Don't touch me with those hands of yours."
"Fine," Dominic muttered, pulling back—but when he glanced down, his eyes widened. His hand was smeared with blood.
The driver in front tensed, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. Though he was part of the Moretti family and had some combat training, his true skill lay in his driving. His duty was to take the wheel whenever the family went on a mission.
Dominic quietly reached forward and pressed the button that raised the privacy partition, sealing off the driver's compartment. The hum of the rising screen filled the tense silence.
For a long moment, the two men sat in the dim glow of the car's interior lights—the air thick with the scent of blood and gunpowder.
Lorenzo's expression hardened when he noticed the blood on Dominic's hand. Only then did he feel the faint dampness seeping through his shirt. At first, he had assumed it was the blood of his enemies—but now he realized it was his own.
"Enzo, we need to get you to the doctor," Dominic said sharply, his voice edged with concern. "Your condition's getting worse. You've been shot, and you didn't even notice. If I hadn't checked, when would you have realized?"
Though Dominic's words were tense, Lorenzo remained disturbingly calm. The dim light of the car reflected off his bloodstained mask, his expression unreadable—cold, detached, almost inhuman.
"Why are you acting surprised?" he said in a low, emotionless voice. "You already know what I am. I was born with psychopathy—and congenital insensitivity to pain. You know I don't feel it."
"It's not a new thing," Lorenzo muttered calmly, his tone almost indifferent. "I'll get it treated once we reach the private jet." He leaned back against the seat and unlocked his phone, his sharp green eyes glinting in the dim light.
On the screen was none other than Olivia. He had secretly ordered Paola to install surveillance cameras in her apartment, and now, through the hidden feed, he watched her every move.
The live footage showed Olivia rising from her bed and walking toward the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water. A flash of cold ruthlessness flickered in Lorenzo's eyes.
He recalled the police questioning him at his office the day before. So… the warning he gave her wasn't enough. His fingers tightened slightly around the phone. She even dared to speak to the police about him. It seems she needs another visit—one she won't forget.
Dominic watched him closely, then sighed and removed his own mask before gently taking off Lorenzo's bloodstained one. His brows furrowed with worry as he looked at the man beside him.
He knew Lorenzo was right—he doesn't feel pain, no matter how badly he's injured—but that only made Dominic more worried for him. "Enzo," Dominic said quietly, his voice edged with concern.
"I'm worried that one day you'll get hurt so badly and won't even realize it until you bleed to death. When we get to New York City, you should let the neurologist and psychiatrist check you. It's not normal to feel nothing—not even pain."
Lorenzo, who was no longer looking at his phone and had already closed his eyes to rest, didn't bother to open them. He could tell Dominic wouldn't stop until he got an answer, so he gave a small nod—more out of impatience than agreement. That single gesture was enough for Dominic to fall silent.
He was surprised that Lorenzo actually agreed, but he quickly shut his mouth and didn't dare to say another word, afraid that if he spoke again, Lorenzo might change his mind.
The SUV rolled through the night in tense silence until they finally reached the private jet waiting at the secluded airstrip.
The wounded men were immediately escorted to the onboard doctor for treatment, while the uninjured members—men and women alike—moved swiftly to check the cocaine Lorenzo had secured from the Obsidian Brotherhood's to make sure nothing was wrong.
Every mission the Ricci Family carried out had a doctor on standby—just in case. And tonight, it seemed that precaution was once again necessary.
Dominic's gaze darkened as he noticed Lorenzo slumped in the front seat of the private jet, his usually sharp eyes hazy from blood loss. Despite his condition, Lorenzo sat rigidly, refusing to move toward the medical cabin.
Anxiety flickered across Dominic's face. Earlier, he hadn't realized the extent of Lorenzo's injury—his black shirt had hidden the spreading stain. But now, the dark fabric was soaked through with blood, the metallic scent heavy in the confined space.
"Damn it, Enzo," Dominic muttered under his breath. Without hesitation, he stood and pulled Lorenzo to his feet, ignoring the cold, warning look that flashed in those green eyes.
When they reached the medical cabin, Doctor Santino was still tending to several wounded men. Dominic's deep voice cut through the low hum of the engine. "Doctor Santino, check the boss—he's hurt."
At once, the others waiting in line stepped aside, making room. The men lowered their heads in respect as Dominic guided Lorenzo forward.
Lorenzo despised appearing weak before his subordinates, but his strength was slipping fast. Unable to resist Dominic's grip, he allowed himself to be led to the examination table, his jaw clenched and eyes cold with suppressed irritation.
After helping Lorenzo sit on the bed, Dominic stepped back, allowing Doctor Santino to approach. The doctor's eyes flickered briefly with unease. Even though Lorenzo was clearly injured, not a single groan escaped his lips. His face remained calm—cold, almost detached.
Doctor Santino had seen this too many times before. It was always Dominic who dragged Lorenzo in for treatment, while Lorenzo himself remained utterly indifferent, as though pain were something that belonged to other people.
If he hadn't known that Lorenzo was suffering from congenital insensitivity to pain, doctor Santino would have thought he was some kind of monster.
Lorenzo stood and began to undress. He first removed his black jacket, then stripped off his blood-soaked shirt without hesitation. His pale skin was streaked with blood, yet his expression remained unchanged.
Dominic knew that Lorenzo didn't like having anyone around while he treated his wounds, so he signaled for the other injured men and women to step outside with him. After leaving the cabin, he closed the door behind him, and the room fell quiet.
"You can start," Lorenzo said coldly as he sat back down.
Please check out my two other new books—one is an Historical Harem novel and the other a fantasy Romance novel. I hope you can continue to support your author!