Chapter 8 - The Aftermath
Carlo staggered backward, completely stunned, and fell incredibly heavily to his knees.
He looked down in absolute disbelief at the dark red, blooming stains spreading rapidly across his crisp, expensive white shirt.
He let out a terrible, rattling, wet breath from his punctured lungs and collapsed backward onto the floor.
Allessandro stood up slowly from the carpet, keeping his smoking weapon raised and firmly locked on his dying friend.
He walked over slowly, his boots crunching loudly over the shattered glass of the display case.
Carlo was staring up blindly at the ruined crystal chandelier on the ceiling, his breathing extremely shallow, frantic, and erratic.
"You... you were always so much faster than me," Carlo choked out, a bloody, pathetic smile forming on his dying lips.
Allessandro looked down at him with a profound, soul-crushing sadness that he would never publicly show again.
"You died like a dog for absolutely nothing, Carlo," Allessandro whispered, his voice trembling slightly with suppressed rage and grief.
"Blind greed always makes otherwise intelligent men incredibly, fatally stupid."
Carlo slowly closed his eyes, let out one final sigh, and a moment later, his treacherous life was completely extinguished.
The ruined study was completely quiet again, save for the quiet, hysterical sobbing coming from behind the sofa.
Allessandro slowly turned around, lowering his weapon.
Isabella was tightly curled into a pathetic ball, weeping hysterically into her blood-spattered hands.
He walked over to her and aggressively pulled the forgotten gun away from her trembling, useless fingers.
She shrank back against the leather cushions, squeezing her eyes shut, fully expecting a bullet to end her life.
"Please, I am begging you," she cried, hot tears pouring down her ruined makeup and smearing her cheeks.
"I swear to God I didn't know Carlo was secretly involved with them."
"I just desperately wanted to save my little brother from being tortured."
Allessandro stared down at her trembling form for a very long, agonizing time.
He searched his heart and felt absolutely, entirely nothing for the beautiful, broken woman crying at his feet.
The genuine love he thought he had felt for her had completely evaporated the very moment her hand touched that poisoned butter knife.
"Get up off my floor," he commanded coldly, stepping back to give her room.
Isabella scrambled awkwardly to her bare feet, shaking violently as she stood among the corpses.
"Your brother is completely safe now," Allessandro told her, watching her face carefully.
"My loyal men quietly located the Moretti safehouse an hour ago, breached it, and pulled him out alive."
Isabella gasped loudly, fresh, heavy tears of pure relief flooding her wide eyes.
"Thank you, thank you so much," she sobbed, foolishly trying to reach forward to grab his hand in gratitude.
Allessandro stepped back sharply, glaring at her outstretched hand and completely refusing her dirty touch.
"You have exactly one hour to pack your personal belongings," he stated, his voice cutting like jagged ice.
"There is a private, fully fueled jet currently waiting for you at the airport tarmac."
"It will take you and your brother permanently to a remote city in Europe."
She looked at him in absolute, stunned disbelief.
"You are actually letting me live after what I did?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
"I am officially exiling you from my life and my country," Allessandro corrected her harshly.
"If you or your brother ever step foot in America again, I promise I will not be this incredibly merciful a second time."
Isabella didn't dare argue or utter another word.
She ran desperately out of the ruined room, leaving her broken life and her dead dreams behind forever.
Allessandro stood completely alone in the center of the room, surrounded by the bodies of his worst enemies and his former best friend.
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He had decisively won the brutal war for the city.
But the ultimate victory tasted exactly like bitter ash in his mouth.
