You stabbed us in the back!
Before Othello or anyone had time to dwell on that thought, bullets flew into the room, and sounds of shattering andsplintering wood filled the air. Thinking quickly, Othello shoved Don Alessandro behind him and then flipped the table over, using it as cover.
“Stay down,” Othello yelled, but his voice was barely heard over the sound of gunfire.
In all the commotion, he’d lost sight of Iago, who he was certain was next to him when it all happened. Putting his worry for Iago aside, he focused on getting them out of there alive. Using the table as cover, Othello remained standing, aiming his gun, and fired at any moving target. Bullets were coming and going from all directions as both factions took cover, unsure of who they were fighting against. Amid the chaos, Othello felt a searing pain tear through him, causing him to clutch his chest, stumbling back and struggling for a second to stay on his feet.
“Boss, you’re hit!” Tallen, one of his most loyal soldiers, shouted, rushing over to him.
Gritting his teeth through the pain, he waved off Tallen’s worry. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.” He pushed Tallen next to Alessandro. “Protect the don. No matter what happens to me, get him out of here alive.”
Tallen nodded, and Othello turned his focus back on the shitstorm happening. He was no doctor, but he could tell his wound was serious. The table had been a good cover for the moment, but it wasn’t foolproof. If whoever shot had perfect aim, they would have hit his heart. He didn’t want to think that someone was gunning for him because that would make no sense when everyone had bullets flying full speed at them. Othello was just happy that the don hadn’t gotten hurt. His other worry was Iago. He prayed his friend was still alive.
Sweat drenched his body, mixing with his blood-soaked shirt. He stumbled when he felt another burning sensation in his side too close to his ribs, causing him to stagger a little and hit his head on the table so hard his vision blurred, and he could feel blood running down the side of his face. But it didn’t stop him from firing his gun until it ran out of bullets. He hurriedly fumbled for a fresh magazine.
During the confusion, Othello couldn’t help but wonder what faction the attackers were from.How come they have so many fucking expendable men?Just as the thought crossed his mind, there was a loud whistle that cut through the gunfire, and the attackers began to withdraw as if they had accomplished their objective, which was unclear to everyone, but their damage didn’t go unnoticed. The warehouse looked like a war zone.
The warehouse suddenly fell into an eerie silence. The air was thick with smoke, and the stench of blood, along with the groans of the wounded, interrupted the stillness. Othello stumbled once more and knew he was going to hit the ground hard this time. But he was saved when an arm wrapped around his waist, allowing him to lean on someone.
“Hold on, Son,” came Alessandro’s deep voice next to his ear. “Someone come help us!”
Othello looked at the older man and smiled, hoping to ease the worry etched in the don’s eyes. Othello wanted to say something, but his knees weakened and buckled, bringing him down despite the don holding him up.
“Boss!” Tallen rushed over, knelt next to him, and pulled his shirt open, hissing. “Fuck, boss, it’s...”
“I know,” Othello gasped. He didn’t need to hear how bad it was. The bottom line was that he was fucked.
Tallen pulled off his jacket and pressed it to his injuries, making him wince.
“Hold on, Othello, we’ll get you some help soon,” Alessandro said, patting him on the shoulder.
Othello looked at Don Alessandro, feeling his strength waning, but he needed to know. “Who...were they?” he panted, gritting his teeth since it was hard to utter a word.
“I don’t know yet,” Alessandro replied grimly. “But we’ll find out.”
Othello tried to move, but Tallen stopped him. “Boss, don’t move.”
Just then, Don Falcon approached them with a slight limp.
“This wasn’t us, Romano,” Falcon said. “We were just as blindsided by everything as you guys.”
Alessandro sighed, giving a slight nod. “We’ll deal with that later. Right now, we need to get our men to safety.”
Othello listened to both dons come to an uneasy truce, but he kept looking around for Iago. Grabbing Tallen’s arm, he got his subordinate’s attention.
“What is it, Boss?”
He was about to ask about Iago when the man’s deep voice rang out in the room, putting Othello’s worry to rest.
“Don, we need to go. The cops are coming!” Iago informed them, rushing to their side. His eyes widened when he saw Othello. “Fuck, O, what the hell, man? How did you get shot?”
Othello would have cracked a joke at the moment, like saying it was part of the job to protect the don, but he was in too much pain to speak. Seconds later, the don gave out a few orders just as they heard sirens wailing in the distance, letting them know they didn’t have much time before they got there. Othello could only hope his injuries didn’t slow their escape.
“Tallen and Iago, get Othello to the car. Marco, clean up his blood. Leave no trace that we were here,” Don Alessandro commanded just as Othello started to go in and out of consciousness.
Iago and Tallen gently lifted Othello. He wanted to stop them and tell them to leave, because with every movement, he felt as if his chest was going to split open and he was going to bleed to death. In the background, he heard Don Falcon ordering his men to sweep the place and get the fuck out. Once outside, Iago and Tallen carefully loaded him into the car, but he could feel his condition worsening by the second. He knew his head was on Don Alessandro’s lap and his legs on Tallen’s thighs. Othello couldn’t tell if it was his sweat or his blood, but his back was soaking wet.
“Papa,” Iago said. “His injuries are too...”
