A Dance of War

by Ellie R. Hunter

  “Because even you wouldn’t commit murder in the Lord’s house.”

  “Maybe not. But eventually, you’ll have to step outside.”

  Her coldness seeps into my pores as I call her bluff.

  “Then I ask you, Mila Camarco, will you dare to show your face at my funeral after having me killed?”

  A cruel but stunningly beautiful smile transforms her face.

  “One has to keep up appearances, Raphael,” she sneers, throwing my own words back at me. “Take your chances on your way out.”

  Her heels tap loudly as she walks down the aisle, Trey taking long strides to catch up to her.

  “Well, that went swimmingly,” Cristian mutters sarcastically. “Shall I call Leo and let him know to put two coffins on order now, or just leave it up to him to throw our asses in our graves and be done with it?”

  Turning, I narrow my eyes at him. “You know, it’s beginning to piss me off.”

  “What is?”

  “Your lack of belief that I would walk in here without having various routes of escape if needed. Come on.”

  With everyone at the burial, the place is empty, and Cristian follows behind me as I lead us through one of the side doors and down a series of stairs until we come to a small wooden door locked with a rusted bolt. It takes some finagling, but it comes undone, and we’re faced with the old tunnels that lead out in various directions under the city.

  “If I ask how you know about this, will you give me a straight answer?”

  “No.”

  Cristian taps the torch setting on his phone as I step into the tunnel, knowing exactly which way we’re going to go and where we’ll end up. I know about this tunnel because it was meant to be the route Mila and I would’ve taken after Father Luke married us on our eighteenth birthday.

  He gave me the drawing and made me promise to memorise it before burning it, so there was no trace left to be found.

  I would’ve carried her every mile just to keep her shoes clean, but we never got that far.

  I don’t doubt she would’ve had someone waiting for us as we stepped out of the church today. I pushed her too far with the priest, and she’s teetering on the point of snapping.

  “What I want to know is, how many times have you met with her exactly?”

  This shit is getting old real fast.

  “Only the once,” I say, hoping it shuts him up. “I told you that.”

  “Why do I get the feeling there’s so much more you’re not telling me? I know there was something between you as kids. Hell, you nearly killed yourself when you thought she was dead.”

  Cristian always knew something was going on with Mila and I, but I told him after the first time he questioned me over her not to do it again. Back then, he actually listened. The less people who knew about us, the more chance we had of making our moves. I don’t believe Cristian would’ve given us up if questioned by my father, but I never wanted to put him in that position in the first place. And him hearing the answers to his questions now doesn’t help him or me. As far as we’re both concerned, she’s a Camarco and I’m a Marocchi. The two heads of the longest running war in history.

  “Stop with the questions, or I’ll leave you down here to find your own way out.”

  Twenty minutes later, Cristian and I both have to push our weight against the drain door until it opens. We fall to the ground when it does, and quickly right ourselves, dusting off the dirt from our suits.

  “What about the car?”

  We’re a mile and a half away, and I have no desire to walk the streets just to go back and get it when we went to all this trouble just to get away.

  “Leave it. It’s probably wired to blow, anyway. We’re not far from home, so we’ll walk the rest of the way.”

  His eyes widen at the idea of walking, making me laugh.

  “Before you ask what our next move is, we’re going to wait and see how she strikes back.”

  “Why the fuck would we do that?”

  Because I want to see how far she’ll go to get to me, and how far I can push back before she breaks completely.

  “Because I said so.”

  He drops it.

  No doubt I’ll hear about it again later, but for now, I pull out my pack of smokes and light a cigarette, tipping my head back and exhaling the smoke toward the sky.

  “Raphe?”

  I sigh. “Yes, Cris?”

  “Given the opportunity, could you kill Jamila and finally be done with this war?”

  It’s a question I’ve asked myself a thousand times over the years, and each time, I’ve never given myself an answer. But today? Today must be different, because I tell him, “Without a doubt.”

  I’ve come to the conclusion that, with her engagement to Alexander, as well as her closeness to Trey and the priest, if I can’t have her, nobody can.

  I would rather her be dead and buried in her family crypt than married to another man, or in another man’s bed, seeking pleasure she used to get from me. I’d rather kill her myself than any other fucker take her down. The devil in me wants my face, the face she once peppered with her soft kisses, to be the last one she sees before the last breath flows from between her lips.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jamila

  The midmorning sun offers no warmth today. Pulling my scarf tighter around my neck, I ignore my phone ringing in my purse and continue into the church, taking a seat in my usual spot. It’ll be Alexander. He’s called seven times this morning and left five voice messages. He wants me to come to the mayor’s mansion so we can talk. But he’s the last person I wish to see, and I have no desire to put up false pretences today. The streets of Vita are quiet and have been since Antonio’s funeral. My men said they waited till sunset for Raphael and his cousin to leave the church, but found them gone when they ventured inside to look for them. I should’ve remembered Raphael knows his way around the church better than I do.

  I keep expecting Antonio to walk in and sit behind me, the way he used to, but the silence is my only friend. I promised myself this morning I wouldn’t hang my head and hide from the cross today like I have every other day, so I raise my head and stare at the replacement cross. If I’d had a gun with me the day of the funeral, I would’ve put a bullet in Raphael’s head in front of the entire congregation. I doubt the chief of police would’ve arrested me for it. He’d probably be glad this fight was finally over.

  “Alexander has been blowing up my phone, wanting to know where you are.”

  I should’ve heard Trey approaching, but I didn’t. Unlike Antonio, Trey sits beside me.

  “If he knew me, he’d know I would be here.”

  “He says he has a surprise for you, and that you need to get over to his place as soon as you can.”

  I’ll just jump right on that, then, all because he said so. Yeah, right.

  “His surprise can wait.”

  Alexander can most certainly wait. Glimpsing the cross, blood red fills my vision, and I blink rapidly to make it go away.

  “Raphael has a lot to answer for. He must feel how I feel.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “We’re going to attack—an eye for an eye. We’re going after Leo Marocchi.”

  “You want to go after his bloodline?” His surprise too much for my liking.

  Turning my head to face him, I say, “Are we not at war, Trey? Besides, he’s the easiest target.”

  “Yes, but you’ve never given orders to go after his blood before.”

  “Raphael’s never gone after anyone this close to me before. Make the arrangements.”

  “Once I make the call, there’s no going back. This will escalate like never before.”

  “Then I’ll be one step closer to achieving everything my father never could.”

  Leaning forward, he rests his elbows on his knees and hangs his head.

  “Raphael will come for you like never before, and he won’t stop until he’s got you. You’re going to have to go into
hiding and let me and the soldiers carry out your orders.”

  Frustration ripples through me. Standing, I look down at him as he looks up at me. “I’ll do no such thing. Camarco’s don’t hide, and you suggest it again, I’ll have you shot.”

  Suddenly, a visit to the mayor’s mansion is more tempting than listening to Trey wanting to hide me away like a fragile child who needs protecting.

  His footsteps grow louder behind me, and he grabs my arm and spins me around.

  “Mila, you’re the fiercest woman I know. I’d rather have you at my side than any man walking this earth. But you know how I feel about you, and you can’t blame me for wanting to keep you safe.”

  Dropping my eyes from his softening gaze, I focus on the angel statue to our side.

  “And that’s why you’ll never have me the way you want me. You still don’t understand that I am who I am because I don’t let others fight for me. I may not pull the trigger on our enemy, but never forget their lives end because I say so. If I pull away from the fight, it’ll be because there’s a reason to, not because a man is blinded by love for me and thinks he knows better.”

  He certainly knows better than to show an act of intimacy toward me, yet he brings his hand up and strokes the back of his knuckles over my cheek.

  “I don’t underestimate you, Mila, I want you to succeed.”

  “If I were my father, would you advise him to hide?”

  “Yes, I would.”

  Stepping out of his embrace, I hold my head high.

  “Then he would’ve had you shot and your body thrown into the river. Camarco’s don’t hide from a fight.”

  Walking around him, he follows me out, but wisely keeps his distance until we’re in the car. Instructing the driver to take me to the mayor’s mansion, I sit and mull over my move after Leo’s body is found, riddled with bullets.

  Raphael will come for me, and I’ll be more than ready for him.

  Alexander isn’t alone when I’m shown into his office. The priest from Father Antonio’s funeral is seated on the small couch, sipping on a glass of red wine. It’s a little early for wine in my opinion, but I don’t comment, and plant a fake smile on my face.

  “I’m sorry it took me a while to return your calls. I was at church,” I inform him.

  “It’s okay. You’re here now, my love.”

  My love? I was under the impression the engagement was off. Rather than keep my distance and take the armchair farthest from both men, I cross the room and press my lips to Alexander’s cheek.

  “I’m not keen on surprises, but I find myself eager to hear what yours is.”

  It’s a lie that rolls so easily from my tongue. I do hate surprises, and I’m not eager to hear what his is.

  He sweeps his hand out toward the priest. “I’d like to introduce Father DiMarco. He’ll be taking over Father Antonio’s role at St. Mary’s until the Vatican sends us someone more permanent.”

  Keeping my smile in place, I cross the room and shake the man’s hand. Inside, I’m seething. Alexander must’ve known he would take Antonio’s role before the funeral, yet he said nothing.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Father.”

  “The pleasure is all mine, Ms. Camarco, I assure you.”

  He gestures for me to sit across from him, and to keep the peace, I do.

  “Mayor Salvatore has been filling me in on your wedding plans.”

  That’s funny, because I haven’t made any. And I told Alexander I would take care of them. Maybe he can fill me in too regarding the murder of my friend. “I’m embarrassed to admit, I’ve fallen behind with the plans.”

  “No, Jamila, don’t you concern yourself with it. From now on, I’ll handle the wedding plans. I’ve hired an event organizer to come in and take the pressure off the both of us.”

  Ignoring Alexander, I ask the priest, “Will you be here long enough to conduct the ceremony for us?”

  Sitting forward, he places his now empty wine glass on the small table and stands.

  “I’m not sure, but it will be an honour if I am.” He glances at the clock. “I’m afraid I must be on my way.”

  I remain in my seat as Alexander sees him out. When he returns, he takes the priest’s seat on the couch, and I can see that his mood has shifted.

  “I believed you when you said you had no part in the bombing of St. Jacobs, but the amount of bodies dropping dead on my streets is too many not to have been ordered by you, Jamila. And with DeLuca’s death and you hurting, I’m expecting many more murders before the storm passes. Am I right?”

  Crossing my legs, I rest my hands on the armchair, deciding to take a different approach where this man is concerned.

  “You know yourself, for us to live in peace here, in Vita, either Raphael or myself have to die. Since you’re planning to marry me, I’m guessing you wouldn’t want me to be the one on the losing side. Tell me, Alexander, if Raphael were to show up dead, how much investigating would occur?”

  “Does it matter? Everyone would know it’s because of you.”

  “Could you live with that? The people of Vita thinking your wife is capable of such atrocities.”

  “Mila, let me stress to you, they already do, yet I still agreed to marry you. If, and I mean if, Raphael was to show up dead, then of course I’d pay my respects at his funeral, but life would go on, and we could finally establish order on the streets.”

  “Then for the time being, don’t ask me any questions. Keep the chief of police away from my door and expect the streets to be extra brutal.”

  Plans change all the time, and my plan with the mayor is no different. Before, I chose to marry him to keep him from raining hell down over my family if one more person in Vita died because of us. And now it’s shifting to keep him on my side while I carry out the unlawful acts of murder.

  “I could be of help, Jamila. Don’t shut me out.”

  “I’m going to be truthful with you as my future husband. The men who are loyal to my name know they could die at any moment. The men who work for you, don’t. Anyway, it’s better that the mayor knows nothing.”

  “Very well, but I’m here if you need me.”

  Like that will ever happen. The day I need him will be the day I put my gun to my own head and squeeze the trigger.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jamila

  Feigning exhaustion, I made my excuses at dinner and slipped up to my room, making it an early night. My father was glad not to have me lingering around all evening, and my mother kissed my cheek, wishing me a peaceful sleep. I debated whether to stuff pillows under my sheets in case anyone checked on me, but thought better of it. No one will check on me—they never do. Slipping into my flat boots, I pull my hoodie up as soon as my feet hit the ground. Climbing down from my balcony was easier than I thought it would be.

  Dodging the cameras around the estate and staying to the dark corners, I don’t breathe until I’m at the old well, following the path Raphael takes when he sneaks onto the property.

  Tugging my hoodie lower, over my eyes, I keep my head down and my eyes up as I make my way through the streets and across the city.

  The streets are always busy during the day, but I’ve never seen them after dark. They’re just as busy, but there’s not many children around. People openly drink liquor and brawl like animals outside of bars. Funky smelling smoke is blown into my face as I pass two teenage looking boys, their laughter chasings me as I quicken my pace.

  “Hey, pretty girl, come over here.”

  I ignore the order and move into a jog, never looking back. Knowing where I want to go, I weave through the streets until the Marocchi mansion comes into view in the distance. I wish I knew how to drive, as I would’ve been there by now. Raphael promised that he’ll teach me, but it doesn’t help me now.

  Circling the Marocchi’s perimeter, I duck down behind the bushes and look for a way inside. It’s not like I can walk up to the gates and they’ll buzz me in.

  Farther ahead, I
see a tree leaning close to the wall, so I creep along until I’m at the base of the trunk. I’ve never climbed a tree before. Even as a child, I was told proper girls don’t do such things, but I’m sure it’s as easy as it looks. However, it’s not. I slip back down three times before I cling to the nooks in the bark and pull myself up.

  Thank goodness the wall isn’t any higher. I test the weight of the branch at my feet, which doesn’t have much give. Lowering myself, I crawl along until I can climb onto the top of the wall. Bushes line the other side, and I manoeuvre myself so I’m dangling from it. Counting to three, I let go and land heavily on my feet before crashing onto my ass. A rush of adrenaline surges through me, and I keep low to the ground while pulling my phone out of my coat pocket.

  Since the colder weather has set in, it’s been difficult to lie about going for a walk around the garden.

  Shooting off a text to him, I tell him where I am and wait. I hope he gets it, seeing as I’ll need his help to get me back out.

  A light in the far top window is on, and I wonder if that’s his room? It’s still pretty early, so I wouldn’t expect him to be in bed at this hour. I’m about to send him another message when a branch snaps to my left.

  “Mila?”

  I grin in the darkness.

  “Over here,” I whisper loudly as I stand, wiping the dirt from the back of my jeans.

  Raphael steps around a rose bush, his eyes wide when he sees me. He moves lightning fast, pushing me back toward the wall.

  “What are you doing here?” he demands, sounding angry.

  “You’re always risking your life to come and see me—”

  “Because it’s better than you risking yours! How did you even get here?”

  This isn’t the reaction I was expecting from him.

  I try pushing him away, but he doesn’t budge.

  “I walked. It’s not like I drive or could get my driver to drop me off at your gates,” I snap.

  “I can’t believe you’re here. Anything could’ve happened to you on the way. The streets aren’t kind after dark, Mila.”