Othello was too far away to get to Des, and his breath caught in his chest. He relaxed somewhat when he spotted Zoraki’s figure, who had landed next to Des and the man holding him hostage. “Zoraki, get Des out of here!” Othello shouted, his voice barely rising above the roar of bullets and fighting, but he was glad the man heard him. Zoraki took down Des’s captor and got Des out of the chaotic warehouse.
While everyone else was distracted, Othello stepped forward, a growl tearing from his throat as he landed a vicious punch to Iago’s face. Iago stumbled back, shocked by the sudden attack, but Othello didn’t let up. Blow after blow, he drove Iago back, away from the bullets, away from everything. Each hit reverberated with rage and hurt from Iago’s betrayal.
“Never call my lover a whore,” Othello snarled, slamming his fist into Iago’s ribs. Iago gasped, struggling to regain his footing.
“I call ‘em like I see ‘em,” Iago countered, fighting back more fervently.
“You fucking caused this shit, Iago,” Othello said, raw emotions building inside of him.
“You brought backup?” Iago spat, blood dripping from his split lip. They traded blows like old times, as if locked in some twisted memory. “What? Don’t you trust your own men?”
Othello grinned, his face twisted in mockery. “Who said they’re not my men? Your boy toy Roderigo paid for them without even knowing it. How could you use him like that? I might have hated the guy, but I wouldn’t have given him false hope. You’re fucking disgust me, Iago.”
The jab hit Iago hard. His eyes flared with rage as he swung back, landing a punch square in Othello’s stomach. “Did you kill him? I never used him. Anything he did for me was of his own will.”
Before Othello could respond, an animalistic roar ripped through the chaos.
“Moor! You bastard, I’m going to kill you!” Cassio’s voice ripped through the room, his eyes wild as he charged toward them, gun raised. Othello’s blood turned to ice. “This is for my lover.” Time seemed to slow as Cassio squeezed the trigger, the gun kicking back with each shot. Othello wanted to move—he needed to—but his legs felt rooted to the ground. A million scenarios flashed through his mind in that split second—if he could just dive for the gun at his feet, if he could just find cover—anything.
But none of that mattered.
Before Othello could react, Iago stepped in front of him. The bullet tore through Iago’s chest, the impact sending both men crashing to the floor.
“No!” Othello’s scream echoed in his ears as the world snapped back into harsh focus. He knelt beside Iago, panic clawing at his throat as blood bloomed through Iago’s shirt, staining the white fabric with a dark, spreading circle.
“Why can’t you just die already?!” Cassio’s enraged shout barely registered as Othello grabbed the gun he’d seen moments before. In a blind fury, he fired round after round, the recoil jerking his arm back as the bullets found their mark. Cassio staggered, his body jerking with each hit before collapsing to his knees.
"Fuck," he gasped, and fell forward, lifeless.
The room fell eerily quiet except for Iago's faint gasps.
“Iago, stay with me!” Othello pleaded, his hands shaking as he pressed down on the wound. Blood seeped through his fingers, warm and terrifying. “Don’t you dare die on me.”
Iago’s breath came in ragged, shallow gulps, his once-confident expression now contorted with pain. He coughed, blood staining his lips. “O, I… ”
Othello’s heart twisted, tears streaming down his cheeks, mixing with Iago’s blood. “Save your breath,” he said hoarsely, choked up with emotions. “You’re not allowed to die. Do you hear me? I won’t forgive you if you leave me.”
“S-stubborn to the end,” Iago panted, blood filling his mouth as he tried to force a smile. “Tell S-sandro Ma—Maria, sorry.”
“Tell them yourself, you bastard,” but as he said the words, he could see Iago’s eyes fading, his grip on life slipping. Othello did not want to admit it, but Iago wouldn’t make it. “No,” Othello cried.
“I love her,” he panted. “Take care of them.” Othello nodded as Iago struggled, lifting one of his hands. Othello caught it and brought it to his cheek. “I’m sorry.” With those words, Iago closed his eyes and died.
Othello pulled Iago to his chest as a gut-wrenching cry erupted from deep within his soul. He didn’t care who was watching. He felt more pain than the burning sting in his side. The only pain he could feel was the ache in his chest that felt as if it was going to explode. His brother was gone, and no one could bring him back. He held Iago, crying and letting out all of his pain until his world went dark.
SCENE III
Othello stood in front of the mirror, running his fingers over the tattoo that covered the gunshot wound on his side. It was another reminder of what had happened two years ago: the bullet that went through Iago and clipped Othello in his side, not damaging anything major but leaving a scar.He had woken up in the hospital, suffering not only from the bullet wound but mostly from dehydration and exhaustion.
"You're not ready yet?"
Othello smiled while buttoning his shirt and greeted Alessandro, who had entered the hotel suite. Alessandro was wearing a black tuxedo, matching shirt, and blood-red tie.
"Are you nervous?" Alessandro asked.
"A little," Othello admitted. "It is not every day a man marries the love of his life."
"I'm happy and proud of you, Othello. I don't know if I tell you that enough. I only wish Iago were here to see this. He'd be the one to take your nerves away by saying something outrageous."
