The Devil In Disguise

Epilogue

As the sun began to rise on Christmas morning, casting a pale, cold light over the bloody scene, the reality of the night's horror settled in the quiet aftermath. Cal sat beside Gianina on the floor of Rufus's living room, his hands pressing firmly against her deep shoulder wound, blood staining his fingers as he fought to keep her alive. Her face was pallid, breaths shallow and weak as she drifted in and out of consciousness, occasionally murmuring in her dazed state. Each time her eyes fluttered open, his heart clenched, guilt gnawing at him like a vice.

Marcus was nearby, shoving pieces of evidence—bloodstained cloths, ropes, and other traces of their grim handiwork—into a bag. His gaze darted to Gianina occasionally, his face a mixture of conflicting emotions. A bitter smile tugged at his lips, and he couldn't resist a dig at Cal, his words dripping with a dark satisfaction.

"You know, it's funny," Marcus muttered, pausing to look down at them both, his smirk widening as he took in Cal's focused expression. "For all your desperate little games, she chose me. I'm the one she said she loved."

Cal's jaw tightened, but he kept his eyes on Gianina, his hands steady over her wounds. "Save your breath, Marcus," he replied icily. "If you cared at all, you wouldn't be standing here gloating while she's bleeding out."

Marcus's smile faltered, his fingers tightening around the evidence bag. He glanced at Gianina, a flicker of concern flashing in his eyes, but it quickly faded as he put up his mask of indifference. "Don't act like you're the hero here, Cal. You knew what we signed up for. She's always loved me. I regret even letting you get close to her. I should have never agreed to let you get so close."

Cal's gaze hardened, a quiet rage simmering beneath the surface. He didn't respond, his focus entirely on Gianina's fragile breaths, the faint rise and fall of her chest that he couldn't bear to let slip away.

With a sigh, Marcus turned away, his voice cold but touched with a hint of frustration. "Fine. Take care of her, if it makes you feel better." He moved toward the door, glancing back with a frown as he watched Cal tending to her wounds. "I'll handle the rest. But remember, Cal, she'll never forgive you for what you did. Not now, not ever."

He gave one last look to Gianina, hesitation, love, and regret flickering in his eyes, then vanished through the door, disappearing into the dawn with his bag of damning evidence. The door clicked shut, leaving Cal and Gianina alone, the silence thick and tense.

Cal exhaled shakily, glancing down at her face, pale against the dark floor. He pressed down harder on her wound, whispering softly, "Stay with me, GG. Just stay with me a little longer." His voice trembled, the weight of guilt bearing down on him. He could feel her blood pulsing under his fingers, each beat a reminder of the betrayal he'd been forced into. He cursed himself for the moment he'd allowed the plan to go this far.

Her eyes fluttered open briefly, her gaze meeting his with a mixture of pain and confusion. "Cal...I love you" she murmured, her voice faint, the sound barely more than a breath.

"Shh, don't try to talk baby," he whispered, voice thick with emotion. He brushed a strand of blood-matted hair from her face, the sight of her fragile and broken before him almost too much to bear. "I'm going to get you help. Just hold on a little longer."

She blinked, her eyes glassy with pain, but something in her gaze told him she understood. Despite everything, despite the betrayal, there was a hint of trust there—a belief that he wouldn't let her die. His throat tightened, and he forced himself to keep steady, to push away the regret that threatened to overwhelm him.

The sirens blared in the distance, growing louder as they neared, and Cal steeled himself, preparing to face the authorities. He carefully lowered Gianina to the floor, standing up and moving to the doorway to meet the first responders. As the paramedics rushed inside, Cal stepped back, hands raised, his face etched with worry and resolve.

"I found her," he explained to the officers, his voice steady but tinged with the appropriate amount of panic. "I woke up and realized she and Rufus were missing, so I went looking for her. When I got here, I found them like this."

The officers nodded, their expressions hardening as they surveyed the scene. One of them motioned for him to stay put while they worked, his hands still red with her blood as he waited, heart pounding as he fought to keep his story straight.

The paramedics lifted her onto a stretcher, her face pale against the stark white sheets as they checked her vitals, attaching IVs and stabilizing her for transport. Cal's gaze remained locked on her, barely breathing as he watched her slipping in and out of consciousness, fighting for every breath.

Just before they wheeled her out, she opened her eyes one last time, meeting his gaze. There was a mixture of anger, betrayal, and something softer there—a flicker of understanding that made his heart ache. She didn't speak, but the message was clear.

He nodded to her, swallowing hard. "I'm here, GG," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I won't let anything happen to you."

As she slipped back into unconsciousness, Cal turned to face the officers, knowing that from this moment on, everything would change. The weight of what he'd done, the choices he'd made, settled heavily on his shoulders.