Chapter 16 – Azrael
“Cassian,” I choke—voice breaking, rough—dropping beside him, my gun clattering to the floor as I grab his shoulder, squeezing hard, willing him to stay. “Fuck—hold on, you bastard—don’t you fucking leave me—not now, not after this.”
His hand—weak, trembling—grips my wrist, blood slick between his fingers, and he coughs—red flecking his lips—a faint, grim smile flickering before his eyes flutter shut again, head lolling against the crate.
“Az—did it—Leone’s… gone,” he rasps, voice wet, fading, barely there, and pain rips through me—sharp, searing—a blade twisting in my gut, tearing at the joy we’d grasped moments ago.
Isolde’s beside me—kneeling, her hand on my back, steady despite the tremor I feel in her touch—her voice low, fierce.
“He’s alive—barely—we’ve got him. Marcella—pressure, keep it—he’s not done yet.
” Marcella nods—teeth gritted, hands pressing harder—blood soaking her sleeves, her face pale but set, and I cling to that—Cassian’s breath, shallow, ragged, a lifeline I can’t let snap.
I stand—slow, unsteady—my hands shaking as I wipe them on my jacket, the pain shifting, deepening into sorrow—a heavy, hollow ache that settles in my chest like a stone.
The hall’s a graveyard—the world we knew is gone—burned, bled out, a pile of ashes at our feet—and sorrow washes over me, cold and relentless, for Cassian, for the dead, for what we’ve lost to stand here.
“Fuck,” I mutter—voice low, thick—turning to Isolde, her green eyes meeting mine, shadowed with the same weight, the same grief. “We won—but look at it—Cassian, Marcella’s men, our families—gone. What’s left?”
She steps closer—her hand finding mine, gripping tight, blood and rain binding us—and her voice trembles, sorrow threading through its steel.
“Us—what’s left is us. Leone’s dead—his empire’s done—but this—” She gestures at the hall, the wreckage, Cassian’s blood pooling beneath him.
“This is the cost. The mafia—it’ll never take us back, Azrael—not together, not after this. ”
Love surges, cutting through the sorrow like a blade, fierce and raw, warming my chest as I look at her—alive, standing, mine.
She’s here—fought beside me, took Leone down with me, her gun pressed to his temple as I fired, her strength a fire that’s kept me going through this hell.
“You,” I say—voice low, thick—turning to her, my hand sliding to her neck, thumb tracing her pulse, steady and strong beneath the grime and rain.
“We’re still here—together—because of you.
I’d burn it all again—every fucking thing—for this, for us. ”
Her eyes meet mine—green, blazing, a storm of their own. “You’re why I’m standing, Azrael—why I fought, why I chose. I’d do it again—all of it—for you.”
For a moment, it’s just us—love a shield against the wreckage, Cassian’s rasping breath a faint thread beside us, Marcella’s quiet strength holding him—and I feel it—pure, unshakable, a lifeline through the ashes.
But then—indecision creeps in, cold and sharp, slicing through the warmth, pulling my chest tight as reality crashes back.
“What now?” I mutter—voice low, unsteady—pulling back, my hand dropping to my side as I turn, pacing a tight circle across the slick marble, boots crunching glass and bone.
Isolde steps forward—slow, deliberate—her gun holstered, her voice calm but trembling, indecision shadowing her green eyes as she meets my gaze.
“Rule the ashes—or disappear,” she says—low, raw—a choice laid bare, heavy with the weight of what’s lost, what’s left.
“The mafia—it’s done with us. Leonardo’s men, Emilio’s—they’ll hunt us, kill us before they’d follow us together.
We’ve won—but there’s nothing to win, not here, not anymore. ”
I stop pacing—breath fogging in the chill—my chest tight, indecision clawing at me, a tangle of joy turned to pain, sorrow turned to love, and now this—uncertainty, a fork in the road with no clear path.
“Rule it,” I say—voice hard, testing it—my hand flexing around the Beretta, the weight of it a lifeline, a tether to the fight I’ve always known.
“Take what’s left—whatever scraps we can pull—force it, make them kneel, lead the fucking ruins. ”
Her eyes narrow—sharp, searching—stepping closer, her hand on my chest, fingers curling into my jacket, stopping me.
“And then what?” she asks—voice low, fierce, cutting through my resolve.
“Rule ashes—fight every day, bleed every night, just to hold it? Leonardo’s out there—Father’s men, Emilio’s—they’ll never stop.
We’d be kings of nothing—trapped, hunted, no peace.
Or—” She pauses—breath catching—indecision flickering as she looks at me, love and sorrow warring in her gaze.
“We disappear—run, leave it all, find something else—somewhere they can’t touch us. ”
“Run,” I echo—voice breaking, soft. Joy at our victory—Leone dead—fades to pain for Cassian, sorrow for the world gone, love for her burning bright, and now this—run or rule, a choice I can’t fucking make, not yet.
“Leave it—Cassian bleeding out, Marcella fighting, everything we’ve lost—and what?
Hide? Start over? I don’t know how, Isolde—I’ve only known this—war, blood, leading. ”
She steps beside me—close, steady—her hand finding mine again, gripping tight, rain-damp fingers warm against my cold skin.
“I don’t either,” she whispers—voice raw, trembling—her green eyes locking on mine, love and indecision mirrored back.
“I’ve been D’Angelo—strategy, fighting, blood—my whole life.
But this—” She gestures at the ruins, Cassian’s shallow breaths, the bodies piled around us.
“It’s gone—Father’s cast me out, Leonardo’s hunting me, your family’s the same.
We could rule it—force it—but it’s ashes, Azrael.
Or we run—find something new, together. I don’t know what I want—just you. ”
Her words hit—hard, fierce—love surging again, a tidal wave washing over the pain, the sorrow, the indecision, and I pull her in—arms wrapping tight, her body warm against mine, rain soaking us as I hold her, breathing her in—mud, blood, her.
“You’re all I’ve got left,” I mutter—voice thick—my forehead pressing to hers, the storm’s echo fading into a heavy silence outside.
“We’ve got to choose—rule it or run—but fuck, Isolde, I don’t know—I don’t know how to let this go, or how to keep it. ”
She pulls back—slow—green eyes searching mine, love fierce but shadowed with the same indecision, her hand gripping my jaw, steadying me.
“We don’t have time,” she says—voice low, urgent—the drizzle outside a soft hum against the silence settling over the ruins.
“Cassian’s hanging on—Marcella’s men, what’s left—they’ll follow us, but not for long.
Leonardo’s coming—Emilio too—bounties won’t stop.
Rule or run—we’ve got to decide, fast, or they’ll decide for us—end us. ”
I nod—slow, heavy—the weight slamming home, joy turned to pain, sorrow to love, now teetering on indecision, a choice we can’t dodge but can’t make, not yet.
“Together,” I say—voice rough, a lifeline—my hand squeezing hers, rain dripping from our clasped fingers, the villa’s wreckage a silent witness to what’s gone.
We stand—contemplating, the world ashes around us—run away or rule it, love binding us, pain and sorrow fueling us, indecision paralyzing us, and I know—time’s short, the clock ticking, and we’ve got to move, fast, before the ashes bury us too.