A Dance of War

by Ellie R. Hunter

  Trey steps up beside me and hands me a cup of tea.

  “What do you think Raphael’s up to?”

  He quirks his brow. “I have no idea, but I can try to find out if you come back in the house.”

  I agree, if only to get him off my back and seek the warmth from the fire he lit an hour ago in the sitting room.

  Turning on the TV, I switch over to the news channel where the city’s top reporter, Jacqueline Johnson, is standing outside of a bar on fire. With the firefighters struggling to put it out, an explosion somewhere close makes everyone duck for cover.

  “Mila, Leo Marocchi was found shot dead in his bed with a whore,” Trey informs me, and I smile.

  “That explains the unrest. At least we got one thing right.”

  “No, this wasn’t us. I was yet to finalise the details.”

  Muting the volume on the TV, I spin around to face him.

  “Who was it, then?” I snap.

  “He was killed in his bed. Whoever it was got past Marocchi’s security, killed Leo and his whore, and vanished. From what I’ve gathered, Raphael wants the intruder caught. It was a professional.”

  What is going on? Who would kill Leo at the same time I put out the order to take him out? Something isn’t right, because the only person I spoke to about the hit was Trey.

  “Violence is rife on the streets. Marocchi’s soldiers aren’t going to stop until the city is in ashes. You need to get out of here, if only for a while, until we know what the hell is going on.”

  Not this again. I made it perfectly clear how I felt about running and hiding the last time he broached this subject.

  First, there are seven dead bodies no one claimed. Then, Michael is found dead, with Raphael vowing it wasn’t him, and now this? There’s not a doubt in my mind that Raphael blames me for his brother’s death.

  “If I go into hiding, it makes me look guilty. And as you say, this wasn’t us, I have no reason to run.”

  “No, but Raphael will pin this on you.”

  Trey’s eagerness to have me away from the city bugs the shit out of me.

  “Okay, fine. I’ll go, but I’ll only go as far as Dermalen.”

  His obvious relief raises more questions, ones I intend to ask about when we’re in the car.

  Digging his phone out of his pocket, he tells me, “Go pack, and I’ll make the arrangements.”

  I make it to the door before he adds, “Thank you, Mila, for agreeing to do this.”

  The impression I’m getting from him is that he sees this as a permanent solution, raising more concerns.

  There’s more to it. This can’t just be his love for me.

  The church is always cold in the winter. Even with the old cranky heater switched on, it never seems to warm up. But in Raphael’s arms, the chill doesn’t reach me.

  It’s far too cold for us to meet at the old well, and the snow has settled over Vita like a white, glistening blanket. Until Spring, we’ll meet here at the church, and by summer, everything will have changed, as we’ll be married.

  The days are creeping by faster and faster, and as they do, my excitement grows.

  “Father?” He pauses in lighting the candles and turns to me, wrapped in Raphael’s arms in the third pew from the front. “How did you receive the prophecy?”

  I’ve been meaning to ask for a while now, but I felt it was considered rude in some way, like I’m intruding on a personal moment that happened to him, regardless of the prophecy being partly about me.

  A warm smile—much warmer than his church—stretches his mouth.

  “I received it from God himself.”

  Shuffling in Raphael’s arms, I sit up straight and lean my arms on the pew in front of us.

  “You heard him speak? What was it like?”

  Shaking his head, he steps closer and takes a seat in the front pew, turning sideways to focus on me.

  “No, Jamila, I didn’t hear him speak. I was at home, watching the news. The entire city knew both your mothers were pregnant, but none of us knew your due dates. For all we knew, one of you would come in the summer and the other in the fall. But this night, it was announced that Raphael had been born, and then word came through that you, Jamila, had been born too. Two healthy babies on the same night. And then we learned you were born at the same time. I remember it so vividly. As I was taking a sip of my wine I thought, what are the chances? And then, like a movie being played out like a fast-paced movie in my mind, I saw you both grow separately, born to hate each other without ever meeting. But it changed, and there was peace in Vita. The two of you were holding hands and the sun was shining, while the people laughed and sang with joy.”

  His eyes glaze over, as if his mind is travelling back in time. Raphael sits forward, winding his arm around my waist with a big smile on his face, probably having already heard the story, and I smile in return.

  It’s nice to think we were always destined to find each other and experience true love.

  “I didn’t get a wink of sleep that night. I implored the Almighty to speak to me again, but He never came. I worked with what He had already given me, and the next day, I set out onto the streets and spread word of what I saw.”

  “I’m surprised people believed you,” I say.

  “People wanted to believe, Jamila, which made my mission much easier. Two babies from opposing families born at the exact same time? The chances of that happening are next to none. For seventeen years now, the people have been waiting, hoping, and praying for you.”

  “Raphael thinks we’ll have to kill our fathers, and I agree with him. What will He think of that? I shall not commit murder, and thy shall honour thy mother and father.”

  Reminding him of the two commandments spikes my anxiety.

  “He set out the path for you and knows it won’t be easy. Fighting for the greater good never is. You hear about light overcoming darkness, but you hardly ever hear how they got there. As long as you don’t lose sight of the end goal, people only remember the victory, and the how’s of you succeeding will be forgotten.”

  Rising to his feet, he makes his way into his vestry, and Raphael shifts me so I’m facing him.

  “Are you having doubts?” he questions nervously.

  “Of course not. I just want to understand more. I think it will help us better if we have every understanding of what we’re dealing with going forward.”

  He strokes the stray strands of hair away from my face. “We should stick to our plan and keep it simple. We marry, I kill our fathers, and we move on after.”

  “What’s the plan for the soldiers whose hatred is too far rooted, and they don’t want to follow our new path of peace?”

  “They will be dealt with by the appropriate authorities.”

  He always has an answer for everything. It’s comforting in a way, but sometimes the unknown is too much to put your faith in.

  “I sometimes think the city doesn’t want change, and we’ll only cause more upset. What if we just ran away?”

  “No, Mila. As much as I want it to be the two of us now, it’s not the answer. We weren’t born to run. We were born to help others and show what real love is. Are you afraid? Is that what this is?”

  Taking my hand, he leans down and places a kiss on the back of it.

  “Yes, I’m afraid. We’d be fools not to be.”

  “What is it that scares you, and I’ll try to take your fears away.”

  “For one, we could be caught sitting here together. And since it’s you on my side of the city, it’d be you who is killed. I’m afraid our fathers will find out our plans before we get to follow through with them. And most of all, I’m terrified something will rip us apart.”

  There, see how he tries to soothe my fears now.

  “Your worries are warranted, and it’ll be our fear that drives us to succeed. All I can do is promise you that if danger gets too close to us, we’ll get out and lie low. We may be trying to fulfil this prophecy, but I live for you, Mila. I don’
t wish to die when I have the chance to spend a lifetime with you.”

  The conviction in his words hold true in his clear blue eyes. I lunge forward, wrapping my arms around him.

  The thudding of his strong heartbeat lulls me to relax enough to murmur, “We stay, then. No running.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Raphael

  Hundreds of mourners line the cemetery as my father’s coffin is carried into the family mausoleum. I follow the pallbearers as they walk the stony path with my brother and sister behind me, my mother at my side. Her tears are acid to me. She can’t see it, but she’s free of him now. No longer can he hurt and humiliate her.

  For as long as I live, I’ll never forget his doubt that I would kill him before I plunged my blade into his heart.

  He laughed at first, thinking he could talk me around, but the second it hit him that I wasn’t backing down, his palpable dread excited me as it washed over him like rain.

  Sitting in his chair behind his desk, always in his fucking office, is where Stefano Marocchi died. As the rain beat against the windows, my heart screamed in agony over the torment of Mila’s rejection.

  Blinking the memory away. No one lines the cemetery for my brother. No one knows he’s being laid to rest with my father and ancestors before him. All I needed was a coffin and a priest. Leo will have no fanfare. One, I don’t have the time to keep him on ice until a proper funeral can be arranged. And two, he doesn’t deserve anyone’s respect, being that he never once earned it. There would only be a hoard of whores here crying for him anyhow.

  My father was a lot of things, but he worked hard, and he gave generously to his people. Leo gave nothing.

  Under the black clouds sweeping lazily over Vita, Cristian and I listen to the priest give his elegy as Leo’s coffin is taken inside the stone crypt. The dead whore found beside him belonged to the Marrizi family, and from what I hear, they woke up and received the newspaper reporting her death that morning, grateful for the large sum of cash we wrapped inside of it. It sounds like she was as loved as my brother was, and in fact, won’t be missed all that much, if at all.

  “This has to be the saddest funeral I’ve ever been to,” Cristian mumbles, lighting a cigarette and passing it to me.

  “I didn’t realise you two were that close.”

  “I didn’t realise you two were that disconnected. This is a sham of a funeral, Raphe, and you know it.”

  Inhaling deeply on the cigarette, I keep the smoke down until it burns my lungs, and only then do I exhale.

  “He’s dead, and no one will cry for him. Besides, it’s better this way. It saves time we don’t have, and money we don’t need to spend.”

  Flicking the cigarette to the ground, I turn my back on the priest who’s finishing his elegy and head for the car.

  Cristian keeps his thoughts to himself, and I rest my eyes until the car pulls up outside of the house.

  The drive from the cemetery wasn’t particularly long, but the driver had to take a different route due to gunfire and soldiers fighting in the middle of the streets.

  “What’s the deal with Trey?” I ask as we step into my office.

  “The Ghost has planted a bomb in his car, so the next time he drives… BOOM!” he declares.

  “Where was it?”

  “The Camarco estate, so Mila will have a front row view to the last of her confidants being ripped away from her. I’ve got eyes on him who will report back the minute he’s dead.”

  “Very well.”

  It’s only mid-morning, but I pour Cristian and myself a large measure of vodka and pass it over to him before taking my seat behind the desk.

  “What’s the plan once Trey is out of the picture?” he questions, sitting opposite of me.

  “We go after Alexander and the chief of police.”

  It’s a bold move, much bolder than the war against the Camarco’s, but it’s one I’m going to take.

  “I meant with Jamila.”

  I know what he meant, but I’m more concerned with the people wrapped around her, keeping her safer than she should be.

  “We planned to take out the people around her, and that’s what we’re going to do. She has no trust in the mayor or the chief, but they’re still her allies.”

  “The city will fall into true anarchy without structure.”

  “It won’t be for long, and then we’ll set up a new council.”

  “You still haven’t told me what you plan to do with Jamila once she’s on her own.”

  The doorbell rings incessantly, and we both grab for our guns, on full alert until it stops.

  Cristian is on his feet and opening the office door before I can round my desk. Seeing the maid leading one of our soldiers to stand before Cristian, we relax.

  “I have word on Trey,” he announces as the maid scatters away. Cristian, pulling the man inside the room, closes the door.

  “And? Is it done?”

  The soldier, no more than twenty, is far too smug to be bringing us bad news of a failed attempt.

  He nods once, holding his hands together behind his back and says, “Yes. And you’ll be glad to know he wasn’t alone.”

  I don’t know why, but I’m pulled toward him, until I’m the one standing before him.

  “Who else?”

  My heartbeat seems to beat in time with the seconds ticking away on the old grandfather clock as I anticipate his answer.

  “Jamila Camarco.”

  My body grows cold. Grabbing him around his throat, he tries jerking away, but I tighten my grip and growl, “Tell me everything, now!”

  He tries to speak, so I loosen my hold, but not by much.

  “Her maids were bringing out a couple of cases and put them in the trunk before Ms. Camarco and Trey Lastra came out. It was Jamila who got in the car first.”

  Cases? Was she planning to flee? Perhaps she didn’t think her attempt on my brother’s life would truly come to fruition, so when she heard she’d been successful, she went on the run, knowing I’d strike back harder, more ruthlessly than ever before.

  “What happened next?” Cristian snaps, coming up beside me and pulling my hand away from the soldier’s throat.

  “One of her men spotted me and gave chase. As I went to run off, the car exploded and knocked us on our asses. I managed to get up before her soldier and circled back for one more look. A guy, who must’ve been her cook, was screaming her name into the flames. I didn’t stick around, but there was no saving her. Turn on the news, I’m sure they have camera’s there by now.”

  I don’t move a muscle. It’s Cristian who crosses the room and turns on the TV, flicking through the channels until he finds the news and turns the volume up.

  I keep my focus on the man as I listen to the reporter.

  “It’s still unclear who was caught in this obvious attempt on Jamila Camarco’s life… We’ve just received word there are two bodies being pulled from the burnt-out car.”

  Slowly turning around, I look beyond the reporter to the gates surrounding the Camarco estate. Through the bars, you can see a fire engine and numerous officials lingering around what’s left of the black, charred car frame.

  I’m no doubt still breathing, but I don’t feel any breaths being taken. My blood still pumps through my body, but it’s neither cold nor boiling. I feel absolutely nothing.

  “Hold on,” the reporter interrupts, pressing her finger to her ear, no doubt listening to someone through an earpiece. “I’m being told the two bodies pulled from the wreckage is one male and one female. The chief of police will soon come out and fill us in on more details.”

  Behind the gates, two body bags are lifted onto gurneys. Catching sight of the one being lifted with ease, I struggle to swallow.

  As the chief walks up the drive, I wait with bated breath as the gates open and the lights flash with other reporters wanting their pictures. I don’t need to hear what he’s going to say. The chain dangling from his hand, attached to a cross I designed mysel
f, is more than enough proof for me that Mila was in the car.

  Launching my glass of whiskey across the room, it shatters into hundreds of shards, yet it still doesn’t equate to the number of pieces my heart has now been ripped into.

  “Shouldn’t you be happy, sir?”

  By the time I spin around to face the soldier, my gun is raised and I squeeze the trigger. His body hits the carpet, his blood seeping from his heart and onto my white double thread, handwoven rug from Paris.

  “Raphe!”

  The gun is snatched from my hand and I’m pushed onto the nearby couch. I spring up as soon as my ass hits the cushion, not knowing what to do with myself. Hearing the chief of police clear his throat, I turn my attention to the screen.

  “Today, Jamila Camarco and Trey Lastra lost their lives in what looks to be a car bombing. There are six witnesses who saw them both get into the car before it exploded.”

  The chief holds up the cross, and the initials I’d had engraved all those years ago are still as bright as the day I got it.

  “The prophecy is dead. The peace we all waited for was for nothing. Jamila Camarco and Raphael Marrocchi are not our saviours, nor have they ever been. So listen to me now. If social order isn’t upheld by the end of this day, measures will be taken by the Vita Police Force. The mayor has also given permission for us to use any force necessary. So be warned, we will use force and clear our streets of violence once and for all.”

  She said one day one of us would kill the other, but I never truly believed we would. The only time I have shed tears has been for her. And as I stand here, rooted in place, a tear rolls down my cheek and drops onto my jacket.

  “You’ve been trying to kill her for so long, but I now know why you never succeeded.”

  I glare at my cousin, not caring to listen to what he has to say, but he carries on regardless.

  “It’s because you couldn’t. You needed her, if only from afar, but you still needed her. I knew you were hiding more from me when we were kids, but I never questioned you. All the times you disappeared and wouldn’t say where you’d been, you were with her, weren’t you?”