A Dance of War

by Ellie R. Hunter

  He nods while typing something on his phone’s keyboard.

  “I didn’t give permission for any slayings this morning. Whoever did this acted of their own volition.”

  The car drives through the gates of my estate, and my frustration builds.

  “Find out what you can. I want to know who acted without permission.”

  The driver opens my door, and I leave Trey to go about his business. Inside the house, I pass my purse to Mary and she shuffles away. I close myself in my father’s old office and pour myself a large scotch, dumping two cubes of ice into the tumbler. Kicking off my heels, I walk behind the grand desk and sit in the chair overlooking the back gardens.

  The view of the perfectly manicured lawn and rose bushes is the only reason I didn’t move to a different room after I became the head of the family. When faced with ugly decisions, I can look out at the beauty, reminding me of what I fight for.

  Seven deaths in a matter of hours.

  Thinking of the prophecy, of us rising together hand in hand, I snort and swallow down half my drink.

  The only place his hands will be is cut from his wrists and shoved up his ass.

  Scrolling through the plans emailed to me from the city council, my hatred for Marocchi rises at his insistence of modernising Vita with expensive homes and shopping malls. But as long as I have breath in my body, it will never happen.

  Technically, neither of us have any say with the council, but nothing is finalised without our permission. This isn’t the first time he’s requested permission, and I doubt it’ll be the last.

  Trey barrels through the door, loosening his tie, and proceeds to help himself to a glass of scotch.

  “I’ve been everywhere, but no one’s confessing to killing Marocchi’s men. Most everyone is still sleeping off last night’s celebration. And the kicker is, Marocchi has yet to claim the Guidice killings.”

  Frowning, I hold my glass out for a refill. “So, we have seven dead men, and no one is coming forward to claim them?”

  “Strange, isn’t it?”

  Very strange. Claiming a kill against the enemy is bragged about the second the victim takes their last breath.

  “Even for Vita, seven deaths in one morning is excessive. Mayor Salvatore will soon want answers.”

  I’m not worried about the mayor. He can demand answers all he wants, but it doesn’t mean he’ll get them.

  The door opens, and Michael, Trey’s second, rushes in and turns on the TV.

  Speak of the devil and he will appear.

  Alexander Salvatore is standing on the steps of the mayor’s mansion, conducting a press conference.

  Michael turns the volume up, and I listen to what the mayor has to say.

  “The people of Vita, as well as myself, have had enough. Seven men have lost their lives in a fight that should’ve ended ages ago. You’re all wondering how much longer we’ll have to spend caught up in this war, and I’m telling you now that as of today, if there is one more death on our streets because of the Camarco and Marocchi families, if there is one gun fired or one blade unsheathed, I will bring in the army, and the family heads will be held personally accountable with nothing less than life behind bars.”

  Cheers from citizens behind the cameras echo through the room, Salvatore eating up their devotion. Though there are more citizens devout to me and the Marocchi’s, there are a few who would love nothing more than to see us both removed from the city.

  “We should act now and get rid of Salvatore. We can push our own candidate to replace him,” Michael advises.

  He’s usually calmer than this and thinks before he speaks.

  “No. That’s exactly what the Marocchi’s will be thinking. We’re going to do the unexpected,” I say.

  “Such as?” Michael urges.

  “If we kill him, the people of Vita will turn on us. Most of the city wants an end to the slayings, but if we bring him closer, we can suppress his threats.”

  Trey sits forward, shoving his empty glass onto the desk. “No, Mila. This isn’t you.”

  Michael’s confused gaze darts between Trey and I.

  “Explain.”

  “You can’t destroy family if you are family.”

  Michael’s face scrunches up, still clearly confused, and Trey sighs angrily.

  “She’s going to marry him.”

  The mayor’s mansion is a hive of activity during the day, and I’ve often wondered why he doesn’t work from the town hall. Not so long ago, it was on par with a nightclub, and now it’s business as usual. There isn’t one person here who doesn’t know who I am, and because of that, I don’t need to make an appointment.

  Leaving Trey and Michael waiting in the car, I walk through the foyer toward Alexander’s office.

  His secretary—a young, pretty thing—smiles broadly, informing me,

  “Mayor Salvatore is having lunch. His next appointment isn’t for another thirty minutes.”

  “Thank you.”

  I don’t bother knocking and waltz into his office. Dropping his half-eaten sandwich onto the wrapper, he dusts his hands off and rises to his feet.

  “Jamila, I wasn’t expecting you. Please, have a seat. What can I do for you?”

  Taking a seat opposite of him, I cross my legs slowly.

  “I caught your speech this morning, and I have a proposition for you,” I begin. “I feel I’m often misunderstood. My family’s rivalry with the Marocchi’s is long overdue to end. I grew tired of the fighting long ago.”

  “As have many in Vita.”

  “I agree. I’ve come to realise, I can’t bring peace on my own. However, if we were to form an alliance, it could still happen.”

  His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t shoot me down. He’s intrigued.

  He scoots forward in his chair. “Alliance? Do you not have any faith in the prophecy anymore?”

  “If it hasn’t come true by now, surely I’m not alone in thinking it never will. Alliances are made in war all the time. If you and I were to unite, do you think it would be possible?”

  I pose it as a question, hoping he comes to the same conclusion as me. Only, he leaves me disappointed.

  “Unite how?”

  “The people would have to see us as one. We’re stronger together than apart, and if we were to marry, that would be the leverage we’d need to bring peace.”

  I smile to myself when he chokes on air, then coughs, trying to hide his surprise.

  “You would marry me? For Vita?”

  I try not to snap when I explain, “It wouldn’t be for love, Alexander. It would be an arrangement that benefits us both. It wouldn’t be the first time a marriage has developed from a business connection, and it won’t be the last.” Rising from my chair, I straighten my jacket. “Take some time to think it over.”

  He sits in silence as I walk across his office, glad to be getting out of here, when he says, “A marriage between us would show a united front, and I would be more than happy to reap the benefits it would bring. Come, sit, and we’ll discuss this further.”

  Chapter Three

  Raphael

  My father would’ve sent soldiers to take out the mayor before the night was through at his audacity to threaten us. However, as I stand before my father’s grave, I foresee it would’ve been a mistake to act as he would have.

  It would be sloppy.

  Inhaling deeply on my cigarette, I flick the ashes over the grave. I have no respect for it, let alone his corpse lying beneath the dirt. I’m the one who took him out and paid for the extravagant funeral. The cost of his headstone alone is worth more than what most of the people of Vita earn in a decade.

  Cristian steps up beside me and hands over a white and gold gilded envelope with my name handwritten across the front. It feels expensive. Ripping it open and pulling out the stiff card, I have to read it three times before I believe what I’m seeing.

  I’ve never had to deal with her potentially getting married. She’s been alone for ten year
s, and quite frankly, I hadn’t thought of the possibility. But as I stand here, clutching the invitation to Jamila Camarco and Alexander Salvatore’s engagement party, I have to laugh.

  “I didn’t think you’d find it funny, Cousin,” Cristian huffs. “Didn’t think she’d settle for Salvatore, either.”

  “She’s not settling. She’s making moves.”

  “Yeah, using her pussy. I thought she had more class.”

  I would agree with my cousin if I didn’t know her so well. I’d put money on her keeping the mayor at arm’s length until their wedding night. Alexander will be so busy relishing in the attention of the people, he won’t look too hard at her reasons for keeping him out of her bed, or that she’s using him to keep Hell from raining down around her.

  “What’s the plan now?”

  “Nothing changes. We go after Salvatore when I make the call. And as far as Mila Camarco is concerned, she’s already dead.”

  Throwing my cigarette butt to the ground, I head for my car.

  “Is she, Cousin? Because you finally had her in your arms at the ball, and she’s still breathing.”

  What the fuck is his problem?

  Stopping, I turn to face him. “Would you have me escalate this war in a room full of citizens?”

  Cristian looks away. “You haven’t given anyone orders regarding her for a long time, Raphe.”

  Walking back across the grass in my handmade leather shoes, I get within an inch of his face and growl,

  “Remember who I am, Cousin.”

  Turning once more, I walk to my matte black Lamborghini. Slipping behind the wheel, I slam the door shut and toss the invitation onto the passenger seat.

  Well played, Mila. Well fucking played.

  The sun is beating down over the city, not a cloud in the sky. I linger in the shadows between the church pillars as the clock tower strikes noon. Being a Marocchi in Camarco territory, not one Camarco soldier would hesitate to put a bullet in my head. But seeing Jamila again is worth the risk.

  I knew who she was the second she stepped into the ballroom last night, walking alongside her mother and father. The whispers reached our table first of the Camarco girl, out in public for the first time. Everyone wanted to get a peek at her, but no one more than me. Her beauty was beyond compare, captivating me from the moment I laid eyes on her.

  If the prophecy is true—which I believe it is—I’ve been blessed with an angel, sent to stand by my side and end this war between our families.

  “Sorry I’m late. My father only just left the house.”

  I spin around, and there she is. Running my tongue over my bottom lip, I nod, unable to breathe a word. Her black hair is flowing down her back in waves of silk, her eyes wide with wonder and nervous excitement.

  “You’re here. That’s all that matters,” I finally say, finding my voice.

  Just then, Father Luke steps out through the side door with ten choir boys, and I pull Jamila closer to the wall, out of sight. She doesn’t flinch under my touch, her skin just as soft as I imagined when I thought of her while drifting off to sleep last night.

  “I’m not sure why I’m here, though. If my parents find out I’m with you, they’ll kill us both.”

  Her voice is like music to my ears—shy, but curious.

  “I’ve always believed I’m different from my father. I believe my part of the prophecy because I don’t want to continue with all this murder and violence running rampant over the city, all for power and money. My question to you is: what do you believe?”

  She looks away, frowning, and confides, “My mother says I’ll be married soon after I turn eighteen. I won’t reach the level of power to change anything.”

  She doesn’t sound happy about it.

  “That’s not what I asked. What do you believe when it comes to the prophecy?”

  “I don’t know if I believe in the prophecy. I’m nothing but a girl in a man’s world. Yet I’ve always wondered why we, babies brought into a war, were born at the same time?”

  Relief surges through me. “Being a girl doesn’t mean you’re weak.”

  “You don’t even know me,” she argues.

  “We were born into a prophecy, which means we were born with the strength to carry it out. All we have to do is find the courage inside of us to make it happen. Whether you believe it or not, our destiny won’t lead you into a marriage if it’s not for love.”

  Her eyes narrow, searching mine as she takes in my words. I burn to reach out and cup my hand over her cheek. When the burn intensifies, and as if the Lord himself is watching over us, a group of sisters file out of the church, causing Jamila to move closer to me, afraid of being caught. I’ve always believed in destiny, and moments connecting to the next for a reason. With her light perfume filling my senses, I find my hands clasping around the sides of her head and lean down, pressing my lips to hers while turning us, keeping prying eyes off of her.

  She goes stiff in my hold until my tongue sweeps out over her bottom lip. After a moment, her fingers latch onto my shirt, her warmth seeping through the cotton. It was never a part of my plan to steal a kiss from her today. All I wanted to know was what she thought about the prophecy, and if she saw the possibilities of it being brought to fruition. I can’t bring myself to feel guilty, though. When her grip tightens and she inches up on her tiptoes, I lose all sense. I’ve kissed a few girls in my life, but kissing Jamila Camarco blows them out of the water. The longer our lips are connected, the faster those other kisses fade from memory. She tastes of mint and innocence, and I almost moan when she pulls away, stepping out of my embrace.

  “I should go.”

  Her hair becomes a blur as she spins around and runs away from me. As I’m about to call out her name, I remember where I am. I spooked her, and now I don’t know when I’ll see her again, or if at all.

  I stick as close to the church as I can while making my way through the alley and back to my car. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I feel a scrap of paper that wasn’t there this morning. Pulling it out, I see a phone number scribbled across it, and I smile.

  The prophecy is the furthest thing from my mind as I drive home. My only thoughts are of Jamila Camarco, and how with one kiss from her soft lips, she’s captured me, body and soul.

  I’m completely done for.

  Chapter Four

  Jamila

  The invitations have been sent out. Alexander has wasted no time in apprising the city of our upcoming nuptials, and that our engagement is to be celebrated on Saturday. From what I’ve heard, the city is all too happy to attend another spectacular event.

  Besides myself, Trey, and Michael, the rest of my men believe the engagement to be legitimate, and flowers have been arriving at the house all morning. I don’t bother reading the cards of the well-wishers, and have my butler run the flowers over to the hospital to brighten up the patients’ day, as they’re nothing but a reminder of what I’ll have to endure over the upcoming months.

  The people of Vita have welcomed the news. One, because the wedding will be a public event for all to attend. And two, they’ll expect peace from my side. Trey walks in, his suit as sharp as any other day, and passes me a note.

  * * *

  I request your presence.

  Father Luke

  “Who dropped this off?”

  “A porter from the Vita nursing home,” he replies.

  Father Antonio took over for Father Luke ten years ago, where he’s stayed ever since. I visit from time to time, but he’s never once sent for me.

  “Bring the car around.”

  Filing the plans I’d drawn up to renovate the children’s orphanage away in the top drawer of my desk, I slip my heels on and grab my purse on the way out.

  Fisting the note in my hand as I make my way toward the door, my heels clacking against the marble foyer, it crosses my mind that this could be a trap. I stop short when I find Mary at the door, signing for another bouquet.

  Only these are nothing
like the ones that have been delivered so far. There must be a dozen long stemmed black roses, covered in thorns.

  “I don’t think these are suitable for the hospital, Ms. Camarco,” Mary points out, arching her brow.

  Tied to the stems with a bright red ribbon is a card. Tugging it away—careful of the thorns—I pluck the card away and read it.

  * * *

  If I had a cunt, I’d have made the same call. Well played.

  RM.

  Raphael Marocchi. Though his message is vulgar, a small smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I slip the note into my purse.

  “Please take the roses to my room, Mary.”

  I wait for Trey to force his opinion on me, but it doesn’t come. I head outside, thankful I’m wearing a jacket.

  The clouds are grey and heavy. The forecast is calling for rain this afternoon, and it looks as if it’s on its way. A storm is brewing, and I want to be back home by the time it arrives. Slipping into the back of the town car, I scoot across the seat as Trey takes his place opposite of me.

  “First you dance with him, and now you’re accepting his flowers. I don’t understand you, Mila.”

  Taking a deep breath, I look over at him and exhale slowly.

  “How many people have died for and because of the Camarco family?”

  “Too many.”

  “And how many people have died for and because of the Marocchi’s?”

  “Not enough.”

  “It’s time to act in ways that aren’t expected. Violence isn’t always the answer—the unexpected is. I accepted this year’s dance because no one, especially Raphael, expected it.”

  “How do you explain the roses?”

  “Jealously doesn’t become you, Trey. I happen to like them, that’s all.”

  His eyes pinch together, but he doesn’t correct me on my accusation. Over the years, Trey and I have gotten caught up in moments of desire, but I’m not interested in giving myself to him completely. He brings me moments of pleasure, but they’re fleeting, never lasting longer than a few raspy breaths. He’s always known his place, and I’m careful not to cross a line that will ruin our friendship, because I value his companionship and loyalty immensely.