A Dance of War

by Ellie R. Hunter

  Flicking my gaze from the chief to Alexander, the bile lining my stomach threatens to erupt from my throat.

  “I need to be alone.”

  Alexander sighs, but he doesn’t argue with me. Rising to his feet, he nods to the chief and ignores Trey sitting by the window.

  Hearing the front door close, a rush of breath escapes me. Leaning forward, I work to keep myself from being sick. He’s not the only one I’ve shared a vision with. It was the other man I wholeheartedly believed in.

  Clutching my gift for Raphael, I make my way through the garden, careful to keep my pace even so it looks like I have nowhere to go and no one to meet, only taking a stroll through the garden like I do every afternoon when the weather is nice.

  Heading for the trees, I bask in the shade they offer, and my excitement grows knowing he’ll be waiting for me on the other side. The Camarco land reaches toward the mountains, but we don’t make use of it. No one but me ventures out farther than the trees.

  Sitting on a tree trunk, I stop for a moment and take in the boy I’m going to marry. His dress shirt is unbuttoned, making his smooth, tan skin seem darker against the white of the fabric. His hair hangs down, blocking my view of his face as he sits with his arms resting on his knees, his head hung low, as if he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. In some ways, I suppose he does, being the oldest of the Marocchi sons.

  Walking out from the trees, dry twigs crunch beneath my feet, getting his attention. When he sees that it’s me, a smile spreads across his face.

  This is what I dreamed of when I thought of falling in love. The person to look at me like I can fix all the wrongs in their life by simply being in their space.

  Jumping to his feet, he shoves his hands in his pockets as he meets me halfway, stealing a kiss before I can say hello.

  “What’s this?” he asks, noting the fabric wrapped gift squashed between us.

  “Your birthday present.”

  Stepping away, I hold it out toward him. Taking it, he slowly unwraps the fabric and flips over the long slim box from hand to hand.

  “I’d be careful throwing it around like that.”

  Opening the top, his wide-eyed gaze shoots up to mine, and back down to the gold hilt blade with the inscription: By Camarco hand you died, and many more will follow.

  I chuckle when Raphael’s brows raise in question. Taking hold of his arm, I lead him over to our tree and pull him down next to me.

  “This knife is from my family’s collection since they settled here. I don’t know if you’re aware of your great-great-great-grandfather and how he died, but he and my grandfather three times over got into a fight in the centre of Vita. From what I hear, they were arguing because one of your family members had attacked one of mine, and a young child was hurt in the fray. The child was scarred for life, and my grandfather three times over bided his time and made this weapon. The war between our families was already rife, and he knew no one would forget the child’s scars because they were forced to see them every day.

  “He worked on this knife day in and day out, pouring his hatred into the gold and steel, apparently cursing anyone it was plunged into. Legend has it that many Marocchi’s have died by this blade, and I thought it was about time a Marocchi wielded the blade, plunging it into a Camarco. My father, to be precise.”

  I still haven’t forgiven my father for his acts of violence toward me, and I never will. It only breeds more hatred for the man than I already have.

  “I’d love to see the look on my father’s face when he sees you holding it.”

  He runs the tip of his finger along the edge of the blade and twists it so the sun gleams on the steel.

  “Say something,” I urge, unable to bear his silence any longer.

  “It’ll be poetic justice. Thank you. But won’t your father notice it missing?”

  “No. It’s kept in the basement amongst the other antiques. I don’t think they needed it once guns became the weapon of choice.”

  “I might not be able to get close enough to use it on him. The plan was to shoot him from a distance.”

  “Even if you don’t, I’d like you to have it. A symbol that I don’t want any more Marocchi blood spilled by Camarco’s.”

  It’s true. There’s no reason for us to fight any longer. After two hundred years, a simple grudge is no longer a grudge. It’s about pride, and people dying for two men’s pride is nothing but tragic.

  His warm lips crash against mine, forcing us both to the ground. Hovering over me, his eyes look down at me with so much desire, I close my eyes and allow myself to be swallowed in his passion.

  “I love you, Mila,” he whispers close to my ear, trailing his lips down my neck and across my shoulder, lapping over my dress strap.

  “I love you too. But I still have something to tell you.”

  He leans up on his elbow and frowns, sensing the unease in my tone.

  “My father announced at my birthday party that I’m to be married to Mayor Rossi when I’m of age.”

  Getting off of me, he turns away and looks up to the sky.

  “It’s obviously not going to happen,” I say, unable to bear seeing the pain in his eyes.

  “I know, but I’m worried he’ll set a date before you turn eighteen. With your parents’ permission, you can marry before the legal age.”

  “You don’t have to worry. I thought the same thing and asked my mother. She told me the mayor doesn’t want to marry a child, but a woman. Apparently, a year makes all the difference, and a long engagement will be enough time for my father to worm his way into the mayor’s good graces.”

  Placing my hand on his arm, I rub it soothingly until I feel the tension fade away.

  “The only thing that could get in our way is if we’re found out and kept apart. Nothing will stop us from being together and fulfilling the prophecy.”

  His eyes continue to search the sky for something I can’t see. The weight of Vita is returning to shadow his usual joy at being with me, and it’s so frustrating that I can’t take it away from him.

  Was I wrong to gift him the blade?

  “Tell me what’s wrong, Raphael?” I plead.

  “There’s nothing wrong. I was just thinking.”

  “About?”

  “What it would be like to plunge this into your father. After he hurt you, I imagined doing much worse to him. Yet every day we get closer to our plan becoming a reality, I try to learn how to separate what’s right and wrong, and what has to be done for the greater good.”

  I understand, and I hate that he’s in this position. We’re meant to do this together, but it feels like he has to do this alone.

  “What if you take care of your father, and I step in and take care of mine?”

  That way, we’ll both have to live with the outcome, and we can truly understand what the other had to do and how it felt. But he’s shaking his head, dismissing my idea without even thinking it over.

  “No. There’s no way you’re going to end your father. I can and will do this. When you fall asleep every night after, you won’t have the memories haunting you.”

  “But it’s fair that you do?” I snap.

  “You misunderstand, Mila. The deeds won’t chase me in the dark. I’m just trying to figure out the best way to come at this without failing you and Vita. I know I’ll only have one chance at each of them. If I fail the first time, it’ll be a long time before I get a second chance.”

  Resting my head on his shoulder, his warmth soothes me, but nothing can fully soothe the worry etching its way into my soul.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Raphael

  I watch the chief of police drive away in his cruiser and straighten my black tie.

  I know exactly where he’s going, and I’m glad I could send him there without any answers to the many questions he’s been asking me every day since last week when Father Antonio’s body was found.

  His insinuation that I was involved was clear, but he knows
nothing. I know this because I only know a little more than him. I gave the order, but everything that happened after was news to me, just as it was to the rest of the city. I learned of it when his murder was announced on the news. It was the reporter’s gruesome description of his murder that I learned of how he died.

  I don’t take joy in his death, but I now have Mila vulnerable and alone.

  Once my driver pulls up in front of the house, I make my way to the back door with Cristian on my heels, his disapproval of my next move abundantly clear. Fuck, I can almost taste it.

  “This isn’t wise, Raphe. There’s nothing to gain from attending his funeral.”

  I ignore him, saving myself from having to repeat that life goes on, and it shows as we make our way through the streets. Woman are pushing their babies from shop to shop, buying their groceries. Businesses are open and taking advantage of the dry weather.

  It’s not until we reach Camarco territory that the scenery changes. Shops are closed. There are no mothers out with their children. The streets are lined with mourners, weeping, dressed all in black.

  Was my mother’s ramblings about today? No, they can’t be. There’s a better chance of Mila bending the knee to me than there is of me weeping for the priest.

  “Pull up as close as you can to the reporters,” I instruct the driver.

  I’m not stupid. Two Marocchi’s walking the streets in Camarco territory, in broad daylight, is dangerous, and just asking for a bullet in the head. But with camera’s around, and it being a priest’s funeral, no one will step out of line today.

  The car stops beside the alley I used to meet Mila in, and I look away from the past. Today I’ll be walking through the main doors with everyone watching.

  “If I didn’t know any better, I would say you’re growing bored and don’t care whether you live or die, Cousin,” Cristian murmurs as we climb out of the car.

  All around us, the people of Vita are throwing curious—some hateful—looks our way. Their whispers grow louder until they’re confident we’re alone and bringing no trouble.

  Inside the church, I plan to sit in the back, but every pew we pass is already filled with mourners. It seems luck isn’t on my side, being that the only seats available are in the front pew. It’s like the Lord is screaming for me to see the error of my ways, to witness the fallout of my actions. Fuck the Lord.

  I take my seat, and Cristian scoots in beside me. The church is different, seeing it for the first time packed with people. The last time I was here, it was only Mila and I, our voices echoing into the emptiness. I take in the cross hanging on the wall, but it’s not the gold one that hung there before. Picturing the priest’s body hanging there, his blood dripping from his lacerations, I have to refrain from smiling.

  From the corner of my eye, Mila’s movements garner my attention.

  Her black veil covers her face, but I can see the depths of shock in her brown eyes, as if they weren’t hidden behind the black lace. Her shock of me being here soon turns to disgust, and then anger. I’m ready for her revenge. I need it to want to wake up to another day.

  Trey sits beside her, and the mayor beside him. Glancing down at her hands, they’re gloved, but there is no bulge where her engagement ring would sit.

  The song of death grows louder, and everyone stands as Father Antonio’s coffin is carried in.

  “This is so wrong. We shouldn’t be here,” Cristian whispers.

  I don’t respond, growing tired of his rambling.

  The coffin is laid on the table under the newly hung cross, and everyone takes their seats when a priest I’ve never seen before takes his place behind the podium.

  He begins with a prayer in Latin, and I remain still when everyone makes the sign of Christ over their chests.

  “Today we’re here to say goodbye to Father Antonio DeLuca, cruelly taken from us in a violent and torturous manner.”

  Cries and sobs fill the church from behind me, and I continue to stare forward. They wouldn’t cry for someone on my side of the city.

  “Father Antonio wanted peace in Vita, and it’s unfortunate he was taken from us so soon. I implore the powers that be bring peace to the city of Vita, ridding the evil that resides here. This madness has to stop!”

  This is new. Even at my father’s funeral, the priest wasn’t this energetic. The congregation mutter their agreements, and I take a moment to peek over at Mila. She’s still staring at me, and not one tear has fallen from her eyes. It’s not because she doesn’t care, it’s because she won’t show her grief in public. She was taught by her father how to act, which is something that has served her well to this day.

  The priest continues his prayers and declarations, and I close my eyes to the coffin before me.

  “Raphael, stop! I can’t breathe!”

  I pause my tickling assault on her stomach and lean down to claim her mouth, catching her breathless giggles. Her hair is splayed out around her head along the blanket we now hide by the old well to save me from lugging it around when I visit.

  Breaking our kiss, I admit, “I dream of these moments with you.”

  “Me too. Although, I dream of us being able to walk through the city hand in hand as well.”

  Sighing wistfully, I lean up on my elbow and look up into the thousands of green leaves. Before long, those leaves will fall to the ground, announcing the arrival of winter. Where summers in Vita are blistering hot, the winters are dreadfully cold, with snow blanketing the city for months on end.

  “It won’t be long before your dreams come true,” I remind her.

  I too have had dreams of a life we’ll share after we’re married, and it can’t come soon enough. I want the world to know she’s mine, and that I’m hers.

  “I’ve been taking more interest in my father’s men.”

  “Really? Why don’t I like the sound of that?”

  Slapping my arm, she raises up to a sitting position. Wrapping her arms around her legs, she rests her head on her knees and smiles at me, explaining, “Not like that. There are three men who hang around the house and execute his orders. It doesn’t matter what they are, they do it without hesitation. They might be a problem when it comes time to kill my father.”

  “Leave that to me. I don’t want you worrying about such things.”

  “Who says I’m worrying about it? I want to do my part, and I don’t want anything left to chance. Imagine something happening to one of us because we weren’t prepared. I couldn’t bear it.”

  Sitting up, I shift around so I’m face-to-face with her.

  “I don’t want you having to live with something you might later come to regret.”

  “Do you not know me at all, Raphael? If something happens to you, I couldn’t live with that. I don’t want to be there when our fathers take their last breath, but I can do my part and help ease the path to their deaths for you. Let me do something.”

  Let her? I’d never stop her from doing anything, but my fear for her safety makes me to think twice.

  “Fine. But be careful. If your father catches you, or you raise suspicions, we both know he isn’t afraid to hurt you.”

  She leans back on her hands, and my cross catches the light from the sun. I can only imagine how powerful it’s going to feel when I see my ring on her finger and hear her referred to as Mrs. Marocchi.

  It keeps me up at night sometimes that she won’t want to take my name, but I fall asleep telling myself she wouldn’t want to marry me if she was ashamed of it.

  She catches me staring at the cross and beams. “I haven’t taken it off since you gave it to me.”

  “Good. I like knowing there’s a piece of me with you when we’re apart.”

  “Soon we’ll never have to part. What do you think life will be like for us?”

  Prowling over her, she lowers herself onto her back once more and I hover above her.

  “It’ll be whatever you want it to be. When I see the future, I just see you by my side and us living free.”

/>   “Free. I like the sound of that.”

  Opening my eyes, the past fades away, and the Father’s coffin is the first thing I see. The priest is rambling on, reading a poem about love and light, and I begin to regret my choice in coming and having to sit through this.

  I have respect for the dead. I’ve been to countless funerals of the men who have died for my family, but sitting here for appearances’ sake is proving to be harder than I expected.

  “The chief hasn’t taken his eyes off us since he walked in,” Cristian murmurs under his breath.

  “Then don’t give him anything to catch,” I whisper back, trying not to move my lips.

  The chief already knows it was me who ordered the hit on Father Antonio, but with no proof, there’s no arrest.

  Cutting my eyes over to Mila once more, her head is bent and her lips are moving beneath her veil, no doubt praying for the Father and lacing it with vows of revenge aimed at me.

  The service drones on for another hour before Father Antonio’s coffin is carried out to be buried in the cemetery behind the church. I remain seated, as does Mila and Trey until everyone has left.

  Resting my arm on the back of the pew, I half turn to face the woman who has caused me so many sleepless nights.

  “Would you dare show your face at my funeral after having me killed too?” she snaps. I must admit, this is the angriest I’ve ever seen her.

  “One has to keep up appearances, Mila. You know that.”

  Her top lip curls, her anger feeding into my need of having her attention on me.

  “If I never find peace, nor will you. I guarantee it,” she warns.

  I can’t help but laugh. “Peace? You still think peace is achievable? You’re a fool if you do.”

  Rising to her feet, her startling black dress clings to her body: her heels adding five inches to her height.

  “I warned you what would happen if you showed up here again, yet you didn’t take me seriously. Why?”

  Dragging my ass up to my feet, I come face-to-face with her, noting Trey’s jaw tensing over her shoulder.