Chapter 38

Ana

I crouch behind the altar, surrounded by a chorus of gunshots and screams. My body trembles uncontrollably, tears stinging my eyes.

It’s all gone wrong.

I think of running as Cas said, but even in my terror, I know that I never will.

This mess is mine and Cas’ creation, this blood on both of our hands. I can’t just flee while others die for my choices.

My husband is down there, our families as well.

I cradle my head in my hands, feeling my heart beat heavily behind my eyes. I have to get it together. I have to try and fix this.

I peer cautiously around the side of the altar, my eyes roving wildly across the bloodbath that the room has become.

Bodies lay crumpled across the floor, cries of pain and fury mixing freely in the air like some horrific symphony. I shudder at the sight, knowing that I will never be able to wash my mind of the horror I’m witnessing.

Panic races through me as I sweep the crowd for Cas, my eyes raking desperately over the chaos.

After a moment that seems like an eternity, I finally spot him.

His face is covered in blood, his gun clasped tightly in one hand. He stares intently towards the ground, teeth bared in primal fury.

I follow his gaze, my eyes pulling towards a large, crumpled form at his feet.

The bloodied body is achingly familiar.

Yuri.

A jolt of hope flashes fleetingly through my mind at the sight.

Yuri is dead.

It takes my frenzied thoughts a second to truly understand, though. His death no longer means salvation. It’s gone too far, everything having coalesced into this moment.

There’s no going back now.

Around me, the battle continues, bodies still piling up around the room.

I stare around at the faces of the bloodied men, knowing that nothing less than a miracle could stop them now.

I spot Nico in the commotion, his usually smiling face now cloaked in severity, his gun making quick work of the opposing men. He seems to glide around the room, his feet expertly avoiding the myriad corpses even as his bullets hone precisely in at their targets.

I’ve never seen this side of Nico, this cold and practiced killer.

Guilt weighs heavy on my heart, knowing that it’s only for us that he’s in this situation.

Suddenly, he stills, his feet halting as a shudder seems to pass through him. He turns, his eyes widening alarmingly, a stain beginning to form on his shirt.

No.

He raises his gun slowly, looking around in shock for a moment before his body crumples to the floor.

“Nico!” I hear Cas’ terrified voice, finding me even from across the room.

I see him now, running towards the bloodied form of his brother, bullets narrowly missing him as he crosses the room.

Panic like I’ve never witnessed pulls heavily across his face, his lips tearing into a snarl as he nears.

He drops to his knees beside Nico, reaching desperately towards him.

The scene seems to unfold in slow motion: Cas screaming, his hands clinging roughly to his only brother. Blood pours steadily from the wound, pooling on the ground between them. Cas’ eyes track fiercely around the room, searching for threats as he grabs for Nico’s arms, pulling him slowly towards the nearest pew.

I watch in horror, my eyes drawing to the trail that stains the floor in their wake.

All hope shrivels in my chest, my will seeming to drain from me in a flood.

This is it. The end of our story.

It’s written in blood.

My hand pulls towards my stomach, gently caressing the skin like a goodbye.

My dreams crumble in my mind, thoughts of what our lives might one day be turning to dust.

Everything we had hoped for is gone, the loss racking through me in waves.

I watch the battle continue to rage around me, feeling removed, distant.

In my mind, I idly track the outcome, realizing that the opposing sides are evenly matched. Corpses in suits and in waiter’s uniforms dot the ground in near equal number.

The fight seems futile, both sides sustaining heavy losses, both sides fighting onward regardless.

I imagine nothing but a room of bodies, realizing with a shudder that neither side will ever relent. We’re all doomed even before anyone surrenders, which is exactly what’s going to happen now.

We’re all dead.

I look towards the pew where my husband crouches, seeing him occasionally rise up to take another shot.

In my mind, I’m saying goodbye, willing my thoughts to find him.

I close my eyes, feeling the sting of tears and no longer trying to fight them.

“ENOUGH!”

The word carries loudly around the room.

My eyes fly open, my gaze raking around for the source.

“I said ENOUGH!”

I look towards the sound, my heart skipping a beat as I see my mother.

She stands resolute at the side of the room, her eyes burning with passion. She seems to look through the danger around her, ignoring the guns and bullets alike.

“Ceasefire!” she shouts.

Every person in the room seems to hesitate, guns wavering at the command.

Cas stands, looking amazedly towards her.

“You heard the woman!” he calls. “Lower your guns.”

The silence is startling in the wake of such madness.

My mother stares around the room, her hands bunching into fists at her sides as if she’s warring with her own thoughts.

“Andreas,” she finally continues. “I accept.”

A murmur runs through the room, confusion and relief echoing in equal measure.

“You accept?” Cas asks, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.

“Yes, I accept your truce. If you’re still offering, that is.”

Cas’ eyes find me, amazement flashing through them.

“Yes,” he says simply.

My mother turns, her eyes falling to my father. He stands in the corner of the room, his shirt stained with blood, his gun still poised in his hand.

A question seems to flicker across her expression, her eyes pleading.

Slowly, he lowers his gun.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice sounding surprisingly gentle.

She nods.

“Enough men have died today. I can’t bear the bloodshed anymore.” She looks toward the altar, her eyes finding me as I stand. “Yuri is dead. Our plans have failed regardless of what we do next. What do we have to lose?”

Her voice is full of pain, her stance pleading as she gestures around the room.

The floors are painted in blood, the wounded and dead lay scattered together, groans of pain still heard, echoing off of the walls in a ghostly melody.

All eyes turn to my father, tension heavy in the air.

Russians and Italians alike seem to hold their breath collectively, waiting for the decision that will either seal their fates or save them.

After a long moment, he nods once, the action so small I almost miss it.

He tucks his gun slowly back into his holster, turning to look at Cas as he does.

“Very well,” he says, a touch of finality to his words. “We’ll try it your way.”