Page 31 of Fractured Devotion

“They call me the Angel of Mercy.” She turned with a venomous expression to look at Aleski. “But they were wrong… I’m the Angel of Death.”

Her fingers released the blade with a fluid, practiced motion, sending it cutting through the air. We watched as it found its mark, the point sinking deep into Aleski’s shoulder with a thud that seemed to echo through the tense silence. He staggered, a step backward, as the three of us remained in a brief, collective paralysis, grappling with the shock of Carmela’s sudden and unexpected admission.

Then, as if her action was the trigger for chaos, the building erupted into a hurricane of motion and sound. It unfolded as swiftly as the knife had slipped from her hand. Men poured out from the warehouse, their shouts in Spanish slicing through the air with urgency and alarm. Some had already drawn their weapons as they encircled us, their movements decisive, forming a threatening barrier of flesh and steel around us. The air crackled with tension, each man’s face etched with determination and hostility, setting the stage for a confrontation that seemed inevitable.

“Fuck. Now what?” I glanced at Sofia, who stood amidst the chaos with her hands raised in the air, an incongruous calm about her.

Her lips twisted into a malicious grin as she responded. “Now we wait.”

“For what?” The question tumbled out of me, my voice tinged with confusion and an edge of desperation as I tried to make sense of the spiraling situation.

The sound of gunfire suddenly filled the evening air, piercing and relentless. The men who had just been holding us at gunpoint began to drop one by one, their forms crumpling to the ground in a grim ballet of violence. As the smoke cleared, several figures emerged from the shadows, their expressions a mix of relief and triumph, smiles playing on their lips despite the bloodshed.

“Did you think I’d come here without backup?” Miguel arched an eyebrow, a wry smile touching his lips as he surveyed the scene with a commanding presence. “I wasn’t about to risk anyone dying on my watch.” He paused, his gaze sweeping over us, ensuring we were all unharmed. With a brisk nod, he then turned back toward the chaos, his voice firm and decisive. “Now… should we get the hell out of here?” His tone suggested urgency but also controlled confidence, signaling it was time to leave the danger behind.

I hurried to where Carmela sat, perched on her knees. She held the knife loosely in her hand and stared at the crimson river forming beside her. The stream of blood ran from Andrei’s lifeless corpse through her knees.

“Carmela?” My voice broke slightly as I reached out, gently pressing my hand against her arm. The adrenaline was beginning to ebb, leaving a fearful concern in its wake. “Come on, Baby. Let’s get you home.” My words were soft, a tender plea for her to rise and leave this place of violence and chaos behind us. As I helped her to her feet, my gaze locked on hers, searching for any sign of the fierce spirit I knew.

She moved with astonishing speed, seizing my forearm and flipping me over. I crashed to the ground with a heavy thud. Carmela quickly straddled my legs and leaned forward. My eyes widened in shock when the cool steel of a blade pierced my gut. A fiery pain surged through me as I struggled to draw breath, my lungs burning with each futile attempt to inhale.

“Fuck.” Harlen grunted as he moved to squat in front of her. “Carmela… honey.” Her gaze was unfocused as she glanced toward Harlen. “Alex— fuck. She’s on something. It’s got her fucked up right now. She doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

“I know,” I grunted, fighting through the stabbing pain. “Carmela, baby, it’s me. Alex.” Gently, I reached up and pressed my palm against her cheek, causing her to flinch slightly. “You’re safe now. We’re going home… Massimo and your family are waiting for us.”

“Alex,” Carmela murmured, her expression clearing as if she was truly seeing me for the first time. She flicked a glance between my face and Harlen’s, confusion shadowing her features. “Harlen, I—” Her eyes dropped to the knife buried in my side. “What have I done?” She released the blade and scrambled off my legs.

“It’s okay, baby,” I murmured, each word a struggle as I fought the creeping darkness of unconsciousness. “It’s going to be okay… I love you, Carmela.”

“Alex…” she said, her voice trembling as she scrambled to position herself beside me. Tears streaked her cheeks. “Please, Harlen,” she pleaded, her voice breaking. “Help him… please.”

The ground beneath me grew colder and damper as my blood seeped into the earth, mingling with the dirt as my consciousness wavered, blurred on the edges like a fading photograph.

“Carmela,” I whispered her name again, softer this time. “I love you. Never forget that.” Each word was heavier than the last, sinking beneath the weight of unspoken promises and unfulfilled dreams.

“No.” Carmela’s wail tore through the tense air, her body collapsing to the ground beside me in a heap of despair. “He can’t die.” Her eyes, wild with panic and grief, flicked desperately to Miguel and Sofia, who had positioned themselves on the other side of my body. “You can’t let him die! Oh God, what have I done?” Her voice was a choked sob, her anguish palpable in the dimming light.

My vision blurred, the edges of my sight dimming as Harlen quickly pulled her into his arms, trying to offer some semblance of comfort amidst the chaos.

“We need to get him out of here,” Harlen said firmly, nodding toward Miguel, his voice steady but filled with urgency.

“I’m sorry, Hermano. This is going to hurt.” The warning was barely out before he jerked the knife out. A sharp, searing pain ripped through me, eliciting a cry from my lips. “Give me something. I need to put pressure on this,” Miguel said, his voice tense as he searched for something to stem the bleeding.

“Tell her.” The words gasped out of me, a whisper of breath as the last bit of my consciousness began to drift away. “I’ll always love her.” The declaration was a faint echo, a last testament of my enduring love for Carmela, as darkness edged in, threatening to swallow everything.

eighteen

CARMELA

The irony was not lost on me. For months, I was lost to my family—I refused to come home because I thought the man I loved was dead. Then, in some sick twist of fate, I find he survived—only to kill him myself.

“Carmela,” My sister’s voice jerked me from the barrage of thoughts threatening to tug me under. “You need to eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.” I glanced up at my twin and blinked back the tears.

It’d been six weeks since I’d been brought home from Columbia—two weeks since I’d plunged the blade into the man I loved. The entire time I spent hunting Lipovsky, a blade had been my savior. Now, it was my punishment. A symbol of what I’d lost. Alex lay in a hospital bed as good as dead. And it was my fault.

“Please, Carm. You have to eat something. If you don’t, you could?—”

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