The window to the right is smashed, and glasses crashes to the ground, I can see from the corner of my eye whoever had done this leap out of the window, cutting themselves on the jagged edges.
“Go after them you fucking moron!” I hiss at Lukas. “Cassian!”
“No, no,” Cassian is putting his hands all over him. “Dad. I’m sorry, I?—”
“Stop touching him.” I shove Cassian’s hands away. His face is dripping in tears, but my chest is completely numb. Eyes dry.
I need to see all of his wounds. I need to see if he can open his eyes.
I don’t bother to check for breathing, because he has to be breathing. There’s no other option.
I pull my father’s suit jacket apart and start feeling around where the blood is coming from. All there is…is blood. I can hardly see his skin. The iron smell in the room is so thick that it permeates every part of my nose and throat. I can practically taste it.
“Carmine,” our father whispers. His voice is raspy and weak. Blood sputters up from his mouth and drips down his throat. “My son.”
“I’m here,” I tell him, and grab him by the back of his head. I can feel the gaping hole where the bullet exited the bottom of his skull. It’s wet and fleshy, shards of bone poke into my fingers. Still, I hold his head up so that I can look into his barely open eyes.
“I’m here, Father,” Cassian tells him. “I’m here too. I’m so sorry.” Cassian grabs one of his hands. I can hear our other brothers and the staff within the house running around. Gunshots outside. They’re all just background noise compared to right here and now with my father.
“Cas,” he mumbles. “I-I don’t want…”
I know what he’s trying to say. He doesn’t want Cassian to see him like this.
“You’re going to be okay,” Cassian tells him.
I look back into my father’s eyes as they start to become glossier.
“Carmine…protect…” father struggles to get the words out. Gurgles of breath between them. “Protect…our family.”
“I will,” I tell him. My other hand moves to his chest, and I slid my fingers up to the silver cross he’s wearing around his neck. It too is smeared with blood.
“Promise…” he begs as he gasps for air and fails. His eyes start to roll back in his head.
“I promise.” My throat grows tight, but I ignore the burning in my eyes. I shove the heavy ache back inside myself as deep as I can.
“He’s going to be okay,” Cassian whispers, as faint and sad as a ghost.
Father goes limp, and the crackling of breath in his lungs stops. I let his head rest down on the hardwood floor.
“No, he’s not.” I stare at him. The dead body of my father drenched in blood and gunpowder.
I’m not sure how long I sit there, how long Cassian is sitting there beside me.
A buzzing starts up in my ears, and anger wells up in my chest.
“See what you’ve done,” I tell him.
“What?” he asks me.
I snap. I reach over and grab him by the back of the neck. “This is your fault.” I shove him closer to our father’s corpse. “Look at him! He’s dead, because of you!”
Cassian fights against my hold, but he’s younger and much smaller than me. Not even an adult yet. In this moment, it doesn’t matter.
“Carmine, let go of him,” Alessio, my first brother, demands as he rushes into the room.
I feel his hands on the back of my shirt, shirt that’s now soaked in our father’s blood, and I fight against him as he tries to pull him up off the floor, but it’s of no use. I stumble onto my feet, taking Cassian with me, but not for long.
“Why was he watching father’s door anyway?” I huff, my hand slipping off his neck.
