A Dance of War

by Ellie R. Hunter

  No smile. No raised brow. No sneer. There was a time I could read her like a book; she couldn’t hide anything from me. Not her fears, not her desires—nothing. Though nowadays, she has everything locked down tight.

  “First, I’d like to compliment my fiancée, who’s truly breathtaking this evening. And I’ll be the first to say, I’m a very lucky man.” Guests murmur their agreement. “Father Antonio DeLuca will marry us on June 1st of next year. Once we are man and wife, my Jamila will come to live with me here at the mansion. Together, we will once and for all end the pain and suffering of our citizens. As of tonight, the Camarco’s will lay down their weapons, and will vow before us in this very room to live in peace.”

  Cheers erupt around me, but all I hear is him referring to her as his.

  Camarco’s vowing peace and laying down their weapons? What the fuck is she playing at? Getting close to him to take him out is one thing, but to have her men do such a ludicrous thing is another.

  Seeing the smile on her lips leaves me feeling cold. Shit. No one makes me feel this way. No one.

  Lifting my glass, the waiter supplies me with a refill I throw back immediately.

  “About time!” Dupree cheers, lifting his glass up in the air.

  “First, we eat. Then, we watch history unfold,” Alexander cheers.

  All I can do is swallow my outrage and school my features.

  He nods to the butler, and waiters begin rolling out dishes from the kitchen, setting them before us. I have no desire to eat, let alone anything cooked here. But I grab my fork and pick at the tender pieces of chicken drizzled in whatever the fuck this shit is.

  “I don’t think we’ve met before.”

  Her voice is sultry perfection, and the reason no other woman will never compare. Mila is beaming—a chilly, yet pleasant smile—at Maria, who offers her own guarded smile.

  “You must be special. Raphael doesn’t normally bring a date with him,” Alexander points out.

  I glance over at Maria and see the blush creeping up her cheeks, and the way she’s smiling at me is not acceptable. But when I turn back and see Mila’s jaw clenched, it has me re-evaluating my decision of keeping my date at arm’s length.

  “It’s early days,” I lie through my teeth, causing Mila’s jaw to loosen, only to be replaced with a bitter smirk. The need to wipe it off her delectable face is overwhelming.

  Stretching my arm across the back of Maria’s chair, I sweep my fingers in a circular motion over the back of her neck. And just to drive it home, I lean in and brush my lips across her jawline.

  I get a reaction. It’s just a slight tic in her right eye, but it’s enough to satisfy the monster in me.

  Maria’s eyes widen a fraction, silently asking what I’m up to. Of course, I don’t oblige, and sit back in my seat, keeping my arm draped over the back of her chair, not bothered a bit with my food going cold.

  Mila’s no longer smirking, and soon turns her attention to Alexander.

  After dinner is finished, the staff are swift in removing the empty plates and refilling our drinks. Talk about the upcoming engagement party is rife with excitement—something I could certainly do without.

  Mila pushes up out of her chair. “Please, excuse me. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  As soon as she’s exited the room—under the watchful eye of her fiancé—I remove my arm from Maria’s chair and rest my forearms on the table. It’s bad manners, but at this point, I can’t bring myself to give a shit.

  Dupree, swilling his brandy as he peers at me, inquires, “Does this mean the Marocchi’s will making the same vow?”

  The table comes to a quiet pause, everyone’s attention now focused on me, waiting eagerly to hear my answer. I hate being put on the spot—which doesn’t normally happen—but I suppose with Mila and her men taking the vow, people are becoming brave. Too brave if they’re questioning me.

  “The Marocchi’s were never the ones to act first. If the Camarco’s stay true to their vow, peace will follow.”

  There, that’s a satisfactory reply, and one Dupree seems content with. Of course, it’s bullshit, but public appearances and all that.

  The glow from the chandelier dims out, leaving only the candlelight to cast shadows in every corner of the room.

  The grand doors open, and Mila struts in like she owns the place, attracting everyone’s attention. Following behind her are Trey and Michael, who are then followed by her soldiers, forming three rows.

  It’s obvious to me she’s not being truthful in this showing of her numbers. I know for a fact she has many more men at her disposal.

  Trey and Michael stand in front of the first row of soldiers. Trey’s eyes find mine, emanating a cold, undeniable violence. Getting into his mind is as difficult as getting into Mila’s. He’s her right-hand man, always at her side, which has often made me wonder just how close they’ve been over the years.

  Slipping my phone out of my pants pocket, I keep it under the table and quickly shoot off a text to Cristian, telling him to be ready for anything if I send word. Being the only Marocchi in a room full of Camarco’s isn’t the best scenario for me, even if they are declaring a bullshit vow of peace.

  Silence fills the room as Mila, her dress lapping at her feet as she moves, walks over and stands in front of her men.

  “You’re all aware of my desire for peace. You have been loyal to the Camarco name and brought honour to yourselves, to your families, and to me. However, it’s time for change. We have spent two hundred years fighting and dying, causing upset and mayhem for a war that should’ve ended long ago, for something that will never be achieved. Tonight, I release you from your oaths. Lay down your weapons and do your part to bring peace to Vita.”

  Trey and Michael are the only ones who look prepared for her speech. Her soldiers, on the other hand, look to one another, confused, wondering what the hell is going on. If this is a show, they’re acting out their parts perfectly.

  “There’ll be no more needless deaths because of an age-old feud. Before the fine citizens of Vita, lay down your weapons and go home to your families.”

  As one, the soldiers begin pulling out guns and blades, laying them at their feet. Once they’re done, Mila nods and glides over to stand in front of her two closest men. Michael produces a white gun with a gold hilt and a switchblade from his jacket pocket, and lays them at his feet as the others did.

  She then turns to Trey. I can’t see her facial expression from here—no one at the table can—but she obviously conveys something to him, because he relents and lays his gun at his feet. Standing straight, he pulls out a hunting knife, but he doesn’t place it with his gun. He steps forward and passes it to Mila. His brows shoot up and relax a moment later.

  There’s definitely more to them than they’ve let on, and it leaves a sour taste in my mouth. He’s been by her side since her parents were killed on my order. He’s been there for everything, when once upon a time, it would’ve been me.

  “From this moment on, any blood spilled will not be our doing.”

  The doors open, and the soldiers file out, with Michael following behind. Trey lingers a few seconds longer, but once he does leave, Mila’s left there, surrounded by weapons of death, and fuck me, if it isn’t a stunning sight to behold.

  The guests are speechless and look on as Alexander quickly makes his way to her side.

  Wrapping his arm around her waist, he presses his lips to her forehead, the act seeming gentle and warm.

  “As of next year, the Camarco name will be nothing but a memory.”

  Her father would be rolling over in his grave at hearing his daughter speak of such a thing. It would reaffirm, however, his desire to marry her off as a pawn instead of bringing her into the family “business.” She was his only heir to the Camarco name, and he still wouldn’t raise her to take over simply because she was a girl. He didn’t believe she was strong enough to fight for their name and this city.

  I watch her closely as Alexander
leads her back to the table, his hand placed low on her back, but all I can see is her smug look of triumph.

  This is some lengths to go to just to end someone’s life if that’s her plan.

  One thing I’m sure of is that I’ve had enough theatrics for one night. Rising to my feet, I hold my hand out for Maria.

  “This evening has been enlightening, Mayor Salvatore, Ms. Camarco, but it’s time I called it a night. I promised to show my date a good time, a display I’m sure you wouldn’t appreciate in front of your guests.”

  Alexander stands and shakes my hand, laughing. “No. No one would appreciate that kind of display.”

  The fucker keeps hold of my hand and tightens his grip. I’m three seconds away from reminding every fucker here why the Marocchi’s have held such power over the last two centuries when he wisely releases me.

  “We all hope to see the Marocchi’s follow my fiancée’s lead soon.”

  I keep my reply to myself, stunned when Mila rises to her feet and makes her way around the table.

  Leaning up, she kisses each of my cheeks, and the small gasps around the table hit my ears like a drum.

  “May peace be with you,” she purrs.

  Leaning down, careful to keep hold of Maria’s hand, I kiss her left cheek in return, and lean in closer when I move to her right.

  “Fuck your peace,” I whisper, pressing my lips briefly to her soft fucking skin before straightening.

  Numerous sets of eyes watch Maria and I as we depart. When we finally make our way outside, I close my eyes for a brief moment and breathe in the fresh air.

  We both know she has the upper hand right now. I dig my teeth into my bottom lip to stop myself from making the one call that would bring on a war the likes of which they’ve never seen before.

  The driver jumps out and opens the door for us, and as Maria climbs in, scooting along the back seat, I order him to drop her off at home first. I’m not interested in spending time with her when I don’t have to.

  Chapter Six

  Jamila

  After the dinner party was over, I dressed in my leisure wear and made my way to the church. Knowing that no one will see me here at this hour, I relax in the front pew and stare up at the cross hanging on the solid gold brackets.

  Over the past two hundred years, every head of the Camarco family has donated enough money to make the church as lavish and rich as possible. My father didn’t like Father Luke much, but he always said it was good to have the church on our side. I didn’t understand what he meant at the time, but after he died, and I was thrust into the position of how to run his business, I learned it was because the Father was the delegate between us and the gangs outside the city. Father Luke only discussed such things with me when it had to do with our business. I caught on quickly that he didn’t care much for having to be involved in such activities.

  Rubbing the cross hanging around my neck, I seek the patience needed to see my plan through without acting irrationally and putting a gun to Alexander’s head. He took full advantage of small touches and lingering chaste kisses in front of the dinner guests tonight, and it’s a miracle I hadn’t vomited all over him.

  Footsteps echo softly from behind me, but I don’t bother turning to see who it is. There’s only one other person with a key to the church.

  “I have news,” Father Antonio announces, coming to a stop in front of me.

  He looks as tired as I feel, with heavy bags sitting snugly under his eyes. If I could stand to be in the same room, let alone the same bed as Alexander, I might actually think it to be a good idea marrying him. A marriage with the mayor would no doubt bring peace to the city, but it would be at the cost of my sanity.

  “And?”

  “They’re dead.”

  “What? How?”

  “That part isn’t clear. The rumours circulating are that they were ambushed by a rival gang, and they… well, they lost.”

  I haven’t heard of a rival gang in Dermalen.

  “What gang?”

  He only shrugs.

  “What are we to do? I had my men lay down their weapons on the premise they would walk out and have them replaced in the shadows. They were only meant to be without weapons for less than an hour.”

  Just because the people of Vita believe the Camarco soldiers are for peace, doesn’t mean it’s true. I would never leave my men unprotected.

  “There’s another option, but you won’t like it—a temporary option, of course.”

  I wait for him to explain.

  “I can approach the Marocchi distributor and offer a higher price.”

  I’d normally say over my dead body without hesitation, but this isn’t the time for my pride to get in the way.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Dismissing him, I begin to think on his proposal as he slips out the main doors.

  The people of Vita are sick of the gun violence. Every shot fired is another reminder of the lives lost on a daily basis.

  Blades are messy, but they’re silent, and just as effective. Then again, blades don’t beat guns. They wouldn’t stand a chance against a Marocchi with a shooter. Still, we need to be more creative to win this war once and for all.

  “I should’ve known you spend your nights with the Lord.”

  Jumping to my feet, I spin around to find Raphael Marocchi standing in the middle of the aisle, in my fucking church—in my fucking sanctuary.

  He’s still in his tux, minus the bow tie, with the top three buttons undone on his shirt.

  “I would’ve thought you’d be entertaining your date at this hour?” I quip, keeping my composure.

  I won’t give him the satisfaction of questioning how he got inside, seeing as how he used to sneak around this church enough to know how to get in undetected.

  His eyes go to my ringless finger and smirks. “Turns out, I’m as interested in my date as you are in your fiancé. I would like to applaud you on the show you put on tonight. It’s a damn shame it will never last. You’re playing tactfully, but you know as well as I do that blood and death wins wars. Playing games only prolongs it.”

  The flickering candlelight casts shadows over his face as I walk toward him.

  “A war cannot be fought with an untouchable player making his own moves standing between us.”

  “Then we have the same goal, for now. Alexander Salvatore must die.”

  It’s probably the first time in history that both families have had the same goal. But this time, history will be rewritten. I can’t have the Camarco name tied to his death. I’ll need to be the grieving wife-to-be, mourning the loss of her love. But I’ll know the truth, and so will Raphael.

  “One day, one of us will kill the other, but we can also agree that no one tries to tell us what to do.”

  He smirks. “I just spent three hours with a beautiful woman who would’ve eagerly gotten into bed with me, but I felt nothing. Yet five minutes with you vowing to end my life, my dick has never been so hard.”

  A small part of me is screaming to move away from him, but I’m frozen in place, my cheeks flaming with heat.

  I wonder if the boy I once loved is still in there somewhere, under his crass words and threats?

  He inches closer and says, “Tell me, Mila, do you ever wonder why, at twenty-eight, neither of us have married for love?” Lifting his hand, he runs his knuckles over my cheekbone. “There was a time we knew love. Do you ever think what it would be like if we never parted?”

  There have been rare, fleeting moments that I have, but I’ll never admit it to him. Needing to put as much distance between us as possible, I turn and take the steps up to the alter.

  “Not since you gave the order to kill my parents and me. When I do think about you, it’s to imagine you dead on the street at my feet, your blood running along the dirt in the gutter.”

  His long strides should have me running, but I’ll damned if I show weakness in front of him—again.

  Leaving barely any space between us,
he wraps his hand around the back of my neck, scorching my skin with just his touch.

  “Lying in the Lord’s house?” he tsks. “I’ll tell you what I wonder. I wonder if you’re still as soft under my touch with nothing between us. I wonder if these lips” —his thumb rubs over my mouth harshly— “kiss other men the way you used to kiss me. And I’m wondering if you moan as sweetly with a man between your legs as you did for me.”

  Shoving him away from me, he laughs.

  “You speak like we haven’t been trying to kill each other for the last ten years.”

  Losing his smirk, he turns serious. “If you wanted me dead, you would’ve done it long ago. But you misunderstand me, Mila. I want to destroy your world, but you’re still my weakness.”

  The shock rapidly fades to anger, and I clench my fists, hating he can see he’s getting to me.

  “Then I’ll be your downfall. The past is long gone and buried with our parents. The only reason I haven’t put a bullet between your eyes is because I don’t have a gun in hand. You misunderstand me, Raphael. I don’t live in the past, thinking of all the what-ifs. And I won’t hesitate to take you down.”

  As we stare one another down, I find his startling blue eyes don’t capture me the way they once did. There were times when I could look into them for hours.

  “Blue eyes weeping.”

  But they won’t be crying for me, because I plan to take him down with me if Father’s Luke’s vision is true.

  “It will be me who disposes of Alexander, and the Camarco’s will once and for all reign supreme over Vita. Mark my words, Raphael. If you fight with your heart, it will get you killed. But if you fight with your head, you might live to fight me another day. Don’t stand there and tell me you still believe in prophecies?”

  Losing his cocky bravado, his eyes harden.

  Knowing I’ve struck a nerve, I advise, “The next time you’re feeling brave enough to step into my territory, take your gun and use it on yourself, and save me the bullet.”

  His nostrils flare before he turns abruptly and stalks toward the exit. As soon as he slams the door behind him and he’s out of sight, I breathe in a lungful of air and let it out slowly. What the hell’s gotten into him tonight? We’re not, and never will be, what we used to be. He can’t honestly harbour any kind of feelings other than hatred toward me… can he?