Ciao everybody! How are you all? Happy 2014! I hope you all had fun, I surely did ^^
Ha, I just wanted to share this with you all, I know one man called Germano. Germano. It's a very normal name here, but I noticed the connection only some time ago... MEIN GOTT. o_o
Ah-hem! Anyway, I hope you all had a great time, and on to the chapter!
Please sit back, und ENJOY!
Antonio felt the cold foreign object pierce from side to side through his forearm, which he had put to his right to protect his flank. But it wasn't enough, the knife's blade was longer, and managed to penetrate between his ribs as well. He felt its edges scrape against two ribs, and then... it stopped.
He fell forwards, clutching the offending object's handle, teeth clenched. His knees met the wet, muddy earth, and they slipped under him, making him fall sideways.
In that exact moment, the first lightning bolt of the storm struck, and together with the thunder, he heard another roar, a human one.
"ANTONIO!"
Even in that situation, the Spaniard recognized the voice. Unmistakably Romano's. And he had a vague idea of what was about to come next, even before his head hit the mud.
"You motherfucking bastards! Fottutissimi russi del cazzo!" Was the outraged snarl. The detective heard a few gunshots, and then he felt four hands grab him and drag him behind another stony shelter of some sort Antonio couldn't quite see.
"God fucking damn it Antonio, why the fuck are you here?! Damn you nosy detectives! See, at least you got what you deserved, bastard!" Romano shouted over the gunshots and the rain.
"Boss..." The grey-eyed henchman said, as if wanting to remind him there were more pressing matters at the moment.
Antonio coughed, and tasted blood, but that was because he had bitten the inside of his cheek while the two had dragged him. "I... I wanted to stop you from," he coughed again "...whatever you were planning to do...!"
In his blurred sight, he barely distinguished Romano from the henchman. But he clearly saw the Boss scowl. "I fucking knew it. Stupid detective. Now stay put and don't cause any more trouble, you hear me? I'll deal with you later."
He made a move to stand up and return to the fight, but was stopped by Antonio grabbing his sleeve with his left hand.
The Spaniard was actually a little offended, and his left eye twitched. "Hey, I just saved your life, you kno-ARGH!" He groaned through his teeth as the henchman pulled out the knife from between his ribs, albeit it was still left piercing his right forearm from side to side. He released his grip onto Romano's sleeve.
However, that sentence seemed to make the Boss hesitate for the slightest of moments. He looked at the grey-eyed henchman. "Did he?"
The man nodded. "He did. I am ashamed to admit it, but I hadn't seen that Russian."
Romano blinked, and then suddenly ducked as a stray bullet almost hit him. Hiding behind their stony shelter again, he looked the Spaniard deep in the eyes. Antonio sustained that gaze, panting.
The detective decided he should say what he and Ludwig had thought. At least a bit of it.
"Look, I just know there is more to you and Feliciano. Much, much more. You two hide so much and so deep under the surface, and unfortunately that's the only thing I can see. I want to know what's under it." He grabbed the sleeve with his good hand again and tightened the grip, twisting the fabric, "Let me understand. Please."
There was a moment of silence, excluding the roaring storm and the raging bullets. Then, Romano freed his sleeve from the Spaniard's grip and distanced himself from him, in a position that was somewhere between crouching and standing. "Fucking fine. But not now, idiot! I have to deal with those assholes. And you," He looked at the henchman while his gun reappeared in his hand, "make sure he doesn't die of blood loss."
The man nodded, and Romano bolted behind a tombstone not too far away, a wary look in his eyes because of the not so small minefield-problem.
The henchman tore off both sleeves of his suit's jacket, and used one to apply pressure on the wound to the Spaniard's side, and the other to keep it in place. The makeshift bandage was tied with a tight knot, and Antonio hissed. Then the man tore off another piece of his jacket, and used it to bandage his wounded forearm, but he didn't extract the knife.
"T-the knife..." Antonio suggested, thinking the man had somehow absurdly forgotten about it.
"It has to stay there for the time being. It helps to stop the blood flowing, if you take it out right now, and in this rain, it will only be much worse." The henchman stated, fixing the fabric around the wound and the knife so it wouldn't move.
During this operation, Antonio followed Romano with his gaze as he carefully treaded behind the tombstones, towards the barricaded chapel, until he left his eyesight. Then, his eyes travelled around his surroundings, until they rested onto the tomb that had exploded when he had confronted the eighth Russian.
His brow furrowed when he noticed some tattered bouquet flowers in the muddy grass, flowers which still had some petals hanging onto them.
They were yellow.
Strangely enough, he didn't recall seeing any other yellow flowers in the cemetery before. Sure, there had been a lot of colours, but... no yellow.
Suspicion dawned to him in a second. How could the Russians know perfectly which graves were the booby-trapped ones? The flowers would be a perfect way to conceal it to outsiders and show it at the same time only to those who knew. Very clever... he had to warn everybody-!
As soon as the henchman had finished, he heard another explosion, and a scream. Then, Romano shouting a name, probably the victim's.
Antonio rolled from his half-sitting position around his shelter, and saw where the explosion had occurred. Earth was still flaking down from the incriminated area, but Antonio saw something far more interesting through the rain, something that confirmed his suspicions.
A couple of yellow petals.
"Italy!" he yelled, calling out for the Boss he couldn't see with as much force as he could muster, so that he would hear him over the storm. "The yellow flowers! They mark the booby-traps!"
Thirty meters away, the Italian heard him, and his eyes widened. "Holy mother of fuck." He muttered as he looked around himself, and noticed that the closer you got to the chapel, the more yellow flowers there were.
"Fucking hell! Men! Stay away from the yellow flowers!"
Even further away, the head Russian in the chapel had heard both the Spaniard and the Boss. He muttered curses in his native language, and resumed shooting with other of his men at his side. That minefield had been their trump card... now they really were trapped. Even if they were barricaded in that marble fortress, they were highly outnumbered. The eighth henchman, another of their strong cards, had just been killed and was lying sprawled in the mud. Also, a ricocheted stray bullet had hit one of them who was inside. They were six now, plus three hostages, against an angry mob of barely less than twenty Italians.
But there was a man out there that had piqued his interest somehow, the one that had stopped the eighth man. And then Italy Vargas had shouted 'Antonio'...
His eyes widened. It couldn't be. His heart swelled up in rage at the memory of one year prior, in Paris.
Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, the Spanish dog that had shot his Boss, the mighty Braginski. They, and most of all, Ivan had really risked to get caught and even die that night. Because of detective Carriedo. A lightning bolt struck again.
The head Russian, Aleksei Volkov, roared in rage as he forced the chapel's protective iron gate open, officially exposing everybody inside to the danger.
But Aleksei didn't care. And he bellowed, "Carriedooooooooooo!" while striding to the Spaniard, whom he had seen lying on the muddy ground.
Completely blinded by rage and thirst of revenge, the Russian shot left and right, without really looking where he was aiming, his bullets only chipping off some statues and basements.
Romano saw his chance. The chapel's gate couldn't be closed anymore, as that Russian had practically deformed the bars.
"Avanti!" he roared to his men, pointing at the chapel. The Boss was fairly sure the left Russians had to be desperate right now, even with hostages.
He then noticed the head Russian that was barrelling towards them at a frightening fast speed. He had seemed so sure of himself, so cold-minded and calculating... what had gotten into him to be so mad...?, Romano asked himself.
Both he and Antonio pointed their guns at him, and were about to pull the trigger to stop the rampaging bear of a man, when the Russian made a fatal mistake.
His boot happened to sink deep into the mud near a tomb, which was decorated with a bouquet of yellow flowers.
The man seemed to have an instant of clarity, as his eyes widened in realisation, before the earth around him got thrown in the air with a mighty explosion.
Antonio blinked, having recognized the man before he was blown up. A cold shiver went down his spine at the mere thought of the name Aleksei Volkov, one of Braginski's the best men. He surely was lucky that the man had fallen in the trap he himself had set up.
He observed as Romano led the charge towards the chapel and the last Russian survivors, whose number was decreasing by the minute. After seeing their leader die, they had officially panicked and forgotten they even had hostages, as they set up a last desperate defence. Antonio tried to help too, leaning onto a tombstone for support and brandishing his pistol in his left hand.
In a couple of minutes, everything was over. A lightning bolt struck the top of the hill looming over the cemetery. The Italians cheered when they saw their three comrades emerge from the depths of the chapel.
"Vittoria!" They all cried out.
Antonio smiled, happy that the battle was over. Looking around himself, he noticed that the cemetery had literally turned into a warzone. The grey-eyed henchman had ran to aid other wounded, only very few graves were still in one piece or even standing straight, statues' faces or limbs were damaged, big gaping holes in the muddy earth showed where the bombs had exploded, and the chapel had practically turned into a colander due to the many bullet holes.
The Spaniard felt faint, his side hurt and so did his arm, but he felt relieved as well. It was over. Now he'd get some answers from Romano, or at least he hoped so, before the Captain's arrival.
He smiled, until he saw a body covered in mud still move.
It wasn't supposed to that.
Aleksei was supposed to be dead...!
Antonio's eyes widened when he saw he was still wielding a gun.
Under a layer of mud one bloodshot eye opened, and then lips parted, mouthing one word. 'Die'.
And then a shot echoed through the graveyard.
Antonio fell for the second time that afternoon.
Ludwig's head was still spinning because of the amount of information he had just received, and he fell down on his seat again.
What was he supposed to do now? Just let them get caught? It seemed so... not right.
And Feliciano wasn't moving. He was simply accepting it all.
No, that wasn't going to happen. Ludwig took a drastic decision, and stood up again. All the foundations of his previous judgement had definitely crumbled to pieces now. He briefly wondered what had happened. If confronted with the same situation only a month ago, or even a week ago, he wouldn't be doing this.
"Ludwig?" Feliciano asked, looking curious.
After some moments of silence, the German spoke. "...Feliciano. Please stand up."
The Italian blinked, now looking confused. "Why...?"
"Because I'm getting you out of here. Whether you want it or not. And then we're going after your brother." Ludwig stated, resolute.
Feliciano seemed surprised. "B-but... I don't want to. I'm staying here...!"
"No." Ludwig pulled out the Walther P5, glad he hadn't handed it over to the henchmen earlier. "You're definitely not staying here. I'm sorry I have to do this, but it's for your-"
The doors burst open and Ludwig had a déjà-vu when armed henchmen barrelled into the room.
"I knew the crucco could not be trusted! Get him!" One man shouted, Ludwig recognized him from before as Marco.
Ludwig quickly smiled apologetically to Feliciano, seized him and pointed the gun first at his head, and then to the henchmen.
"Men, listen to me. I'm trying to-"
"Let go of Boss!" Marco shouted, but the henchmen all halted, afraid that the detective would shoot, either at them, or at the Italian in Ludwig's grasp.
"Just listen to me! Please!" The German roared. Satisfied of the following silence, he continued. "I just want to save your Boss, like you. I'm doing this for his sake! Do you know what will happen if he stays here?!"
The answer was unsure looks exchanged between the men.
That was enough for Ludwig. "The Captain, Kirkland, will get here and arrest him. I know everything now, and I'm willing and trying to help you all, by getting him out of here. Only, he doesn't want to! That's why I pulled out the gun, even if I know it's totally barbaric. Please believe me. And please, help me get him out of here...!"
Feliciano struggled weakly in his iron grasp. "Ludwig, stop it! I-I'm okay with it! I'm staying!"
"But I'm not okay with it!" Ludwig retorted. "And judging by your men's faces, they're not either." He added.
Indeed, even Marco seemed to be of the detective's same opinion.
"You're interfering with justice!" Feliciano tried.
"It's not justice if it's going to get you two brothers in jail!" Ludwig retorted again.
"We've killed people, Ludwig! Robbed people of their lives!" The Boss cried.
"But only so that they wouldn't keep robbing others' lives!" Ludwig yelled.
After half a minute of complete silence, Marco slowly put away the gun, mimicked by the other henchmen.
Feliciano sighed. "Ludwig... Marco..." his gaze darted back and forth from the two.
Marco took one step forward, his eyes first on the German, and then on Feliciano "I'm sorry, Boss. But this time, he's right. We're getting you out of here and get the other Boss as well."
"Captain, just what are we waiting for?!" One police officer exclaimed, exasperated.
Arthur Kirkland was having problems keeping his promise with the detectives. He hadn't expected their vehicles to be repaired so quickly, and had already been stalling his men for at least forty minutes. And only two of the three agreed hours had passed.
"He's right, Captain. They're within our reach! We can finally get them!" Another officer insisted.
The Captain was currently surrounded by the officers, who were astounded by his behaviour. Why, oh why wasn't Captain Kirkland, head of the police department, moving out to seize the criminals that had been plaguing their city for two years?!
"What about Delisi?! What about all the other people who have suffered because of this mafia?! Captain!"
Arthur bared his teeth, eyes closed, as if that would shut out the rightful demands of his men.
Bloody hell, he thought, I'm sorry, Beilschmidt, Carriedo. I can't keep my part of the agreement. I have to go, or these men might choose to go themselves and maybe get killed because of their chaos.
"Captain!"
He raised his head, opening his eyes. I'm going.
"All right men! Move out! To Villa Vargas!"
Francis and Gilbert practically threw themselves out of the taxi after they paid the driver, and ran towards the cemetery. In barely a couple of seconds, the two men were soaked to the bone, while glancing at the closed gates.
"Are you sure it's here?" Francis shouted over the roaring storm.
"Listen!" Gilbert shouted back. A rumble shook the earth under their feet, and gunshots interrupted the otherwise almost regular rainfall.
"Merde." The Frenchman cursed. "You're right! Let's move!"
Both of them started climbing the gate, and once on the other side, Gilbert patted his trousers' pockets. "Do you have any weapon?"
Francis shook his head. "No, I'm not that barbaric."
"Ugh, I don't have any either, the police picked me clean of mine. What now?!" The albino shouted, throwing his hands in the air. They really hadn't thought this through, had they? Judging by the sound of it, a real battle had to be going on.
Francis saw something and dashed for it, and returned in a matter of seconds with two objects in his hands.
Gilbert, despite the grave situation, couldn't help but raise an eyebrow sceptically. "We're going against bombs and guns, probably machineguns as well, with a freaking shovel and a pickaxe. Who's barbaric now, huh?"
"Shut up and take the damn pickaxe, Gilbert." Francis retorted with a scowl, keeping the shovel for himself.
"Kesese, awesome!" Gilbert snickered, grinning.
As they ran in the direction of the battle, they noticed all the sounds related to it had died down. The storm was still raging, the wind still blowing and the rain still pouring, but there were no shot sounds, or explosions anymore.
Without even looking at each other, the two increased their pace.
Suddenly, they saw the incriminated area.
Damn, Gilbert thought.
The place looked completely devastated, as if an enormous animal had rampaged through it: multiple holes in the ground, chipped off statues and graves, utterly destroyed tombstones, some missing, others toppled over like dominoes, a chapel looking like an old battered fort and bodies scattered here and there in the mud. Most of them were moving. Some of them weren't.
Francis then let out a gasp. "Antonio...!"
The albino followed his friend's gaze, and saw as well.
His eyesight turned red in rage.
"Bastard!" He yelled over the rain, brandishing his pickaxe as he ran to the place where Antonio lied.
In fact, the Spanish detective lied limp in the mafia Boss's arms, clearly unconscious. A – Gilbert almost couldn't believe his eyes – knife as big as a machete was piercing his friend's forearm from side to side, his flank was bleeding under his shirt, and the left side of his face was covered in blood.
If that bastard killed him, I'll break him in two! Was Gilbert's murderous thought. The Spaniard really looked dead like that.
Antonio had trusted the Boss, and he betrayed him. They shouldn't have left him go out alone, and where the hell had Ludwig gone to?! The theory was completely wrong! The Vargas were just ordinary mafia Bosses, killers, not some kind of vigilantes!
"You murderer!" The albino cried out, bringing up the pickaxe, ready to strike the Boss. The Italian looked up from his crouching position, and his face contorted into a snarl.
As he was about to bring down the weapon, Gilbert felt a shoulder crash into him and make him lose his footing onto the muddy ground. The pickaxe slipped from his fingers, and fell God knew where.
A heavy body was keeping him pinned down while he squirmed for freedom, but then hands caught his wrists and sank them deep in the mud. Gilbert's outraged red gaze met a determined grey one.
"Get off of me!" He yelled in his face.
The henchman didn't respond.
"Calm the fuck down, Snow White! He's not dead!"
Gilbert could recognize that voice even in his current position. The crabby Boss. Also, he was the only one that used that annoying nickname for him.
"You liar! You killed Antonio! You fucking killed him! Murderer!" the albino cried from under the henchman.
Francis had followed Gilbert, and now dropped the shovel, bringing his hands up in surrender. Another henchman had appeared, and was pointing a gun at him.
Romano frowned. "And who the fuck are you?"
Francis flared his nostrils. "A friend of Antonio's."
"And of Snow White, I presume." The Boss added.
Francis nodded. "If you mean Gilbert, then yes."
"You seem too fucking calm about this all." Romano commented, glancing at Gilbert thrashing under the henchman.
The Frenchman didn't answer to that. Instead, he swallowed, and "...Is it true? Is he dead?" he said, worried, his eyes trailing down to meet Antonio's bloodied face.
"No. He has the devil's luck, this bastard." Romano snorted, the tiniest of smirks appearing for barely a second.
Francis's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Did you do this to him?"
"...Fuck no." The Italian looked at him as if he were crazy.
"Liar!" Gilbert butted in.
"Shut up for a second, Gil!" Francis snapped at his friend. He turned to the Boss again, eyes narrowing again as he prepared the next crucial question. "Did you, or your brother, give an order to kill Arthur Kirkland?"
At this, Romano seemed confused. "What the fuck are you talking abou-"
Suddenly, Antonio moved. He rolled away from the Boss's grasp, coughing and groaning with his face in the mud.
"Antonio!" Both the albino and the Frenchman cried out.
As Gilbert was still being pinned down by the henchman, Francis was the one to move and crouch beside his friend.
"Antoine...!" He hushed worriedly while hovering over his prone friend. He tried to help him turn and sit up, without touching any of the red parts on his body.
The Spaniard didn't look well, at all. His eyes didn't seem to focus, his world was probably spinning around him. "F-Francis...?" he managed to blurt out, his eyes searching for him but not really seeing. The heavy rain pouring on his face and in his eyes didn't really help either.
"Don't make him sit up, moron!" Romano pushed Francis back, and made Antonio lie down in the mud again. "He just almost took a freaking bullet to the head! Luckily it just grazed his temple, but his head must feel as if a fucking mad bull were rampaging through it. Plus, he's been stabbed and has that shitty machete still stuck in his arm. A man of mine just ran to call the ambulance."
As if to point it out, Antonio moaned, his uninjured hand going for his bleeding temple. "Urrrgh, Francypants, is that really you...? What are you doing here...? Weren't you in France somewhere...?"
"Me and Gilbert met up, and we were worried about you because we think you theory might be wrong." Francis tried to explain as simply and quickly as possible.
Romano scowled, first looking at the albino – who had finally calmed down –, then at the Frenchman, and finally at the Spaniard.
"What fucking theory?"
"Captain, the Villa seems deserted... no one's there, not even the dogs." A confused officer reported to Arthur.
Eight khaki police cars were stationed in front of the mansion's gates, and indeed, everything seemed empty. No one was answering at the bell, there weren't the usual guards pacing around the park, and as the officer had just said, no dogs.
Strange. This had never happened. The Captain, standing under an umbrella, took a deep breath. Even if the rain reminded him of his home, it didn't calm him down the slightest. There was something fishy about this, as he started thinking about where the hell the two Vargas might have gone.
Also, there was a nasty little voice in the back of his head, whispering that the detectives might have something to do with this. Maybe they had warned them. But he did his best to repress that thought, it was utterly absurd. But what if...
Another officer ran towards him.
"Captain! I heard there is a commotion at Santa Maria dei Rotoli...!" The man said.
Arthur raised a massive eyebrow. "What is the source?"
"A worried family called the station just now, telling there have been gunshots at the graveyard." was the answer.
"Bloody hell. Move it, men! Unit 6, 7 and 8, remain here and guard the gates! The rest of you, to Santa Maria dei Rotoli! And somebody call the hospital already, for all we know there might be some wounded!"
Feliciano was seated to Ludwig's left in the backseat of one of the Vargas cars. As soon as it wasn't necessary anymore, Ludwig had put his gun in its holster again, feeling bad just by pointing it at Feliciano. After all, the doors couldn't be opened from the inside, because the driver had locked them earlier.
"What will happen now?" Feliciano asked. "I don't hear shots anymore... even if it's hard to tell in this rain."
"We'll go and get your brother as soon as your men open up that gate." Ludwig answered, observing Marco looming over two henchmen with an umbrella, as they were working on the lock closing the cemetery's gates. The German turned to look at the Boss, "Do... do you think they'll be alright?"
Feliciano smiled broadly. "Of course! I bet they're both okay." His smile became smaller, but didn't disappear. "Thank you, Ludwig."
The detective blinked. "For what? Getting you caught?" he asked, astonished of the other's serenity still.
The Italian kept smiling mysteriously, eyes closed and not answering his question. Ludwig frowned, and then sighed shrugging. Seriously, he barely even knew this man, but he would never stop to amaze him.
He observed the three outside, working on the gates still. How much longer would it take them? How difficult could it be to open a lock?
"I hope it won't start to hail, because then it would be dangerous to even walk outside..." Feliciano absentmindedly wondered.
Ludwig swallowed, not answering. He had a bad feeling about this, he definitely felt that something had gone wrong inside there. He feared the worst for Antonio, and kept his gaze glued to the gates. Come on...!
Something shifted on the backseat, but Ludwig didn't react to it. Feliciano was not one of those people who usually sat still, he had noticed that during their talk earlier.
But another, strangely enough only slightly different shift made him frown.
He turned, lips parted and ready to speak, but what he saw was Feliciano wielding a gun by its barrel, arm flexed and ready to strike him.
"I'm sorry!" The Italian whispered quickly before striking.
Arthur's car had just made the last turn, and finally the Brit could see the cemetery.
And the black cars stationed in front of the sealed gates.
"Blast it all, there they are!" The Captain pointed to the driver excitedly, the adrenaline of finally catching Moody Vargas - ergo the Vargas twins - starting to affect him.
Their five khaki green units flashed down the straight road, blue lights spinning madly on their rooftops.
"Surround them!" The Captain ordered, and the cars moved accordingly. The vehicles stopped with screeching tires, and the officers immediately jumped out of them. The men in black suits were startled by their sudden appearance, and Arthur could tell they were afraid. They all were looking at one car in particular...
...Arthur followed their gaze, and saw something inside said car. Blond hair and broad shoulders, moving as if struggling against something. He instantly recognized the silhouette as Beilschmidt's.
As his officers restrained the black suited men that tried to stop him, he practically ripped open the back door of the vehicle, pistol ready in his hand.
"Mani in alto!" He cried in Italian, pointing the weapon inside the vehicle.
The sight his eyes met was bizarre.
Detective Beilschmidt was holding the Italian Boss's wrists with an iron grip, while Vargas's left hand held a gun by its barrel. They were struggling, the Italian visibly showing difficulty and tension on his face. The German had his back turned towards him, but the Captain could obviously see he had the upper hand. Somehow however the situation seemed to be stalling.
As soon as the door was flung open, however, the struggling froze. Both men turned to look at him.
The Captain frowned, but realized what was happening. The Boss had lured the German in the car in some way, and then had decided to knock him out and probably kidnap him. Well, at least tried to, apparently.
Captain Arthur Kirkland inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring and ears ringing, as he prepared himself to pronounce the words he had yearned to speak since he came in Palermo. He moistened his lips in anticipation and tightened the grip on the gun pointing right at the Boss's head.
"Italy Vargas, under the charges of disturbing public order, blackmailing Lieutenant Angelo Delisi and Gilbert Beilschmidt, plus a murder attempt, fraud and a current kidnapping attempt, I..."
There was a tense silence that lasted maybe a couple of seconds, filled by the wind's wails and the rain's pouring.
"...I hereby declare you under arrest."
A thunderbolt struck not too far away, blinding everyone.
Feliciano's fingers slowly released the gun they were holding.
The weapon dropped, and in the exact same moment, Ludwig felt his heart drop.
Feliciano was politely pulled out of the car by officers, who handcuffed him. In the meantime, the henchmen tried to protect their Boss, but failed. Ludwig saw everyone being handcuffed, and noticed Marco's annoyed but not accusing glare.
Despite Ludwig's protests to the Captain, the German couldn't stop him. The Brit wouldn't listen. He was too busy with the operation, and the detective completely lost him when the officers opened the gates.
The policemen and the Brit burst into the cemetery.
They found a most astounding display laid for their eyes, a scene that might have been taken from a battlefield.
The German wandered slowly behind the policemen and between the tombs. He felt almost in trance, taking in all details but not really hearing or feeling anything anymore. Not the shouts, not the rain, not the splashing steps of the running officers.
He noticed Antonio, badly wounded, trying to shield Romano from an officer. A henchman with a ripped suit stood in front of them both as a shield as well. Gilbert and a blond man he didn't recognize were lying unconscious on the ground, their backs leaning onto the basement of a half destroyed statue.
Ludwig's head was spinning, because there was just too much happening all at once.
And... those words were still ringing in his head. The words Feliciano had said while they were struggling after he had caught him trying to knock him out. Ludwig had seen the police nearing, and he knew the Boss had too.
Feliciano had smiled apologetically, while trying to resist the detective's iron grip. "I'm sorry, Ludwig. I didn't want them to think you were involved with me. Unconscious, you wouldn't have talked. But this works as well." His smile had even widened. "And again, thank you. For everything."
Ludwig registered slowly what was happening in front of his very eyes, not too far away.
The henchman with the ripped suit was arrested.
Antonio's eyes rolled back in his skull and he collapsed on his back, losing consciousness.
The Captain stepped in front of Romano, who was crouched down near Antonio's motionless body.
The Brit solemnly looked down, raindrops dripping from the rim of his police cap.
"Italy Vargas, under the charges of disturbing public order, blackmailing Lieutenant Angelo Delisi and Gilbert Beilschmidt, plus a murder attempt, fraud, destruction of public propriety and the current shootout... I hereby declare you under arrest."
The Italian looked up, a spark of stubborn irritation in his eyes still. "Fuck you and your arrest, Kirkland. Call a fucking hospital already. Your precious detective is kind of standing in his grave if he doesn't get help soon."
That's all, folks!
I hope I got Arthur's arrest declaration right, I literally have no idea how that is in English. Oh well!
I hope to see you all next chapter!
Ciao ciao!
...
Fottutissimi russi del cazzo! : (italian) Fucking Russian assholes!
Aleksei (Алексей) :Name of a 17th-century czar of Russia
Volkov (Bолков) : Russian surname that means 'Wolf'(sorry for any eventual mistaken Russian, I don't know the language O_O")
Avanti! : (italian) Forward!
Vittoria! : (italian) Victory!
Merde : (french) Shit.
Mani in alto! : (italian) Hands in the air!