Jack could feel his hand go clammy within Concetta's grasp as the priest spoke of the meaning of love between husband and wife. She truly was breathtaking in her wedding gown, he knew, but he felt as if he was separated from the world by a thick wall of glass.
If for the last weeks his chest and mind had been crowded with emotion and thoughts, now it had all fallen away, everything was clear. Concetta smiled up at him with loving eyes and he did his best to mirror her emotions, but his heart burned with righteous anger at himself. What had he done? How could he be Concetta's husband if a single smile from Phryne Fisher, a few silly roses and pansies could throw him for a tailspin?
He fought down the urge to flee. Barely. This wasn't wedding flutters. It was a mistake, had been a mistake all along. As much as he wanted to hold someone in his arms tonight, it wasn't Concetta. And as he looked down into her dark eyes, where tears of joy were shimmering, he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he was the biggest scoundrel under the sun. But it was too late. There was nothing to be done without making a mockery of her love and devotion. Nowhere to go but forward.
A pause in the priest's speech made him realise that he had missed his cue.
"John," the young man repeated gently, obviously used to nervous grooms. Jack nodded, with some difficulty shaping his heavy tongue into uttering the words.
His vows drowned in the heartbeat drumming in his ears, mocking him. Too-late. Too-late. Too-late. Too-late. Too-late. Too-late. Too-late.
He heard Phryne scream, shattering the wall of glass. Jack awoke with a snap to see the armed men storming the back of the church, immediately opening fire.
"Everybody down," he yelled at the top of his lungs, a protective hand automatically pushing Concetta out of harm's way, while the other found his weapon. Before he could pull it, however, he was hit by a sparkly, green cannonball. His head hit the floor with a resounding clunk. For a moment everything went black. When he resurfaced, Miss Fisher was lying on top of him, trying to scramble to her feet, not without burying her knees into all the wrong places.
"Come on," she whispered. Without protest he crawled after her behind the freestanding altar. Here they found Father Lorenzo curled up into a ball.
"What do those people want?" the priest asked, his voice trembling.
Phryne shrugged, fishing the golden pistol from her handbag.
"I suspect they are not fond of this wedding," she said happily. The Inspector couldn't help the faint suspicion that they weren't the only ones. But this was not the time to consider how he felt about that. He searched for his own weapon, breathed a sigh of relief when he found it still in place. Phryne raised her eyebrows at him.
"Carrying on your wedding day, Inspector?" she asked.
"And for good reason, it seems, Miss Fisher," Jack said grimly. He glanced at Concetta who was cowering behind the wooden pulpit. She was safe, thank God. At least as safe as anyone was in a church where shots were fired. He spied back into the aisle, where seven men stood, heavy rifles clutched to their chests, bulges in their pants and coats speaking of more weapons. The leader stared right at him.
"Hey, policeman," he taunted in a heavy accent. "Come out!"
Slowly, his heavy boots clunking on the floor, the walked further down the aisle. There were guests cowering between the benches, Jack knew, fully exposed to the bastard's wrath.
"Show yourself, codardo!" the man called again. Jack twitched, but a hand shot forward, gripping his in an iron grasp.
"No acts of heroism, Jack," Phryne said sharply. "Six bullets against their riffles is not an even fight. They won't kill your guests. They are trying to make a statement and need somebody to tell the tale."
He wasn't sure how she could even pretend to know this, but he allowed himself to sink back against the cool stone of the altar.
"Sweet, sweet Concetta," the leader cooed now. "Where are you hiding?"
Breathless silence settled over the church. Jack stared at his bride, who, to his utter shock actually seemed to be crawling to her feet.
"Concetta, no," he hissed, but she either couldn't hear him or wasn't listening. He was about to leave the cover of the altar to stop her, when someone shouted something in Italian towards the back of the church. Whatever it had been, the men didn't seem particularly thrilled with it. They turned and opened fire at the figure of a man who had appeared between the benches and shot a handgun at the strangers with as little restraint as luck. From the corner of his eyes Jack noted a shadow race towards Concetta's hiding place while the attackers were distracted. A muffled cry tore his attention back towards the rows where Bricelli clutched at his arm and dropped the weapon.
"Sandro!" Concetta yelled, on her feet already to run to her friend's aid, but Vincenzo reached her just in time to stop her from her suicide mission and dragged her back behind the pulpit, talking at her rapidly. To Jack's left, Phryne was having a silent waving discussion with an unknown subject. Jack stretched to spy around the corner and spotted Cec lying pressed against the floor in front of the benches, gesturing at his mistress.
"They'll try and distract them," Phryne explained quietly without looking at Jack.
One of the thugs had decided that Sandro was someone worthy of a bullet, walking towards the injured and unarmed man with an outstretched gun and a smug grin on his face.
"Ah, Bricelli. Little Concetta still cares for you, eh?" he drawled, sounding not Italian at all.
He spat at Alessandro's feet who stared at him in impotent anger. Blood was spilling from between his fingers where he was still holding onto his arms. "Come out, bitch, or I'll shoot him down right there. Your choice," he called. Behind the pulpit there was a viscous struggle between the siblings. Vincenzo won by the look of it.
"Looks like your faith in the Stranos hasn't paid off after all," the man grinned, cocking his weapon. Alessandro stared him dead in the eye.
"I will not allow you to hurt her," he said, loud enough for the whole church to hear. The Inspector swore underneath his breath. Great, dying for love appeared very much in fashion at the moment. He'd had his suspicions the previous afternoon, but now things were becoming clearer.
"Beats me what yar gonna do about it," the man laughed, pressing the weapon against Bricelli's forehead. A shot fell. Jack squeezed his eyes shut briefly. When he opened them again, he found to his astonishment that Bricelli was still standing. The other man looked down at his chest and then, almost comically slow dropped to his knees. In the benches stood Bert, his gun still aimed.
"How about you try on someone your size?" he asked. The gunmen swivelled around and were greeted by a salve of shots. As they returned fire, taking chunks out of the wood behind which Bert had ducked again, somewhere else in the church bullets fell.
"Our turn, Jack," Miss Fisher said. Jack was already on his feet.
"Eh, Stronzi, li mortacci tua," he yelled. He fired three bullets in rapid succession, supported by Miss Fisher's pistol, then hid again behind the altar, his breath ragged.
"Impressive, Jack," Phryne grinned. "Should I ask how you learned to insult their ancestors?"
"I'd rather you didn't," the Inspector smiled before worriedly opening and closing the cylinder of his weapon. Father Lorenzo prayed quietly underneath his breath.
In the church the round continued. Bert and Cec bounced back and forth, Vincenzo and a couple of his friends had joined in. But their bullets wouldn't last long either, Jack knew. They had come prepared for a wedding, not a gun fight. He could only hope that the thugs, now trapped in the middle of the church and firing in random directions, would run out before them. He looked up at the golden cross crowning the high altar. The might need a miracle.
"How would they have known this quickly," he wondered, half to himself. He didn't say what he was thinking: that one of the few people Concetta had asked to witness her marriage, was bound to be a traitor.
"My money is on Papa Antonio," Phryne said grimly. "He heard of the wedding right from the horse's mouth."
"Are you calling me a horse, Miss Fisher?" Jack asked. She rolled her eyes at him. "I cannot believe he would allow his own daughter to be targeted," the Inspector pointed out more soberly. Miss Fisher merely shrugged.
"For some men the whole world is a chessboard, Jack."
She counted under her breath and they jumped up again, shooting another salve at the men who had drawn dangerously close. Answering bullets flew around their ears as they dropped back down into their hiding place, both out of breath.
"I'm out of bullets," Jack said in quiet resignation. Miss Fisher didn't answer. He knew her small pistol couldn't hold much more than his.
He let his eyes fall shut, tried to catch his breath, still ragged after their close brush with death and enjoyed Miss Fisher's perfume in his nose and her arm brushing his, trying not to think too hard about doom closing in.
"We are going to die, aren't we?" a wide eyed Father Lorenzo said suddenly. Jack had all but forgotten his existence at this point in time.
"You are a true optimist, Father," Miss Fisher quipped. But neither of them could deny that there was no way out. Things were looking very grim indeed. Which was, naturally, the very moment another group of heavily armed men broke through the church door.