A Dance of War

by Ellie R. Hunter

  Police sirens blare all over the city as I speed down every street, flying around every corner. I know what the sirens are for. The Camarco limo is currently crawling with officers guarding the dead bodies of Alessandro and Giana. Jamila has to be at home, and as I come to a stop at the entrance of the Camarco estate, the iron gates I’ve hidden in front of many times are wide open. There’s no movement out front of the house, so I put my car into gear and drive through the open gates, screeching to a stop by the front doors.

  In a rush to get to Mila, I leave the car running and my door wide open. The front entrance is open, and I skid to a stop at the sight of Mila sitting on the bottom step of the grand staircase, holding a phone to her ear with one hand, and her other wrapped around a black shooter. Tears stream down her face, and for a brief moment, I’m unsure if she can even see me through them.

  Her gaze lifts, settling on me, and I get my answer when sheer scorn shields her usual joy at seeing me.

  Dropping the phone, she uses the banister to get to her feet, but she doesn’t come closer.

  “Is it true?” she chokes out. I don’t have to ask what she’s talking about, but I do, just to see what she knows.

  “Is what true?”

  Shock ripples through me when she raises the gun, aiming it straight at me.

  “Mila?” I whisper, unable to speak any louder.

  “Have you been deceiving me all this time? Did you give the order to have my mother and I killed alongside my father?” she demands, her chest heaving.

  All I want is to soothe her, yet I know she won’t let me near her right now.

  “Not you, or your mother.”

  A sob escapes her, her hand trembling around the gun. “I refused to believe it, knowing your father is evil, but…”

  Though the pain in her voice breaks my heart, I keep my distance. “Let me explain.”

  “You don’t need to. I’ve seen the video. Your father gladly sent it to me. I saw you give the order. You didn’t even flinch.”

  My own father set me up? I should’ve known when he told me he knew about Mila and me that he’d pull something like this. Anything to keep the war going.

  “You’ve been lying to me all this time, and I’m the fool for believing every word. Every time you snuck around to see me, I worried that you’d be caught and killed, when all along you had your father’s men watching your back. When you told me two days ago that you stole your grandmother’s ring, it was really your father who gave it to you, knowing I’d never wear it because you’d eventually give the order for me to die. You’ve lied about everything, and if you don’t leave now, I swear I’ll kill you.”

  I don’t know whose heart is breaking more, hers or mine.

  “Who was you on the phone to just now? Was it my father?” I inquire, taking a step closer.

  “Like you don’t know. I’m surprised you bothered to come here when you could’ve just let me go, or are you here to finish the job?”

  “Mila—”

  “No, you don’t get to speak to me anymore. You killed my mother, the one person who has never lied to me, and I’ll never forgive or forget. Leave, or I’ll pull this trigger, so help me God.”

  “You’re not going to shoot me, Mila. You know me. Whatever my father has told you is lies. All lies. I swear to you, everything I’ve shared with you has been real. I didn’t find out till today my father’s known about us for some time, and he found a way to use it against us. Can’t you see? It’s so he can claim Vita now that your parents are gone.”

  “I thought what we had was real, but it wasn’t. I don’t trust your father, but I don’t trust you either, not anymore. I don’t know anything anymore. I’m so sick of everyone telling me what’s right and how to live. You need to go.”

  Taking another step, she unlatches the safety catch and I freeze. “You love me, Mila. You won’t shoot me.”

  Famous last words.

  The shot echoes off the walls, and a single bullet hits me in the arm. For a few precious seconds, I feel nothing but numbness.

  Men come running from the back of the house, drawing their weapons as they take their places behind Mila.

  “Raphael Marocchi, you’re nothing but a liar and a replica of your father. You can tell him yourself that he has no claim over anything. There’s still one Camarco vying for Vita, and over my dead body will I ever believe the lies of men. You have broken my heart, but you will never break me. You have five seconds to walk out of here before I steal your last breath, just as you stole my mother’s.”

  Holding my arm, trying to add pressure, blood continues to seep through my shirt and between my fingers. She shot me. That wasn’t my Mila holding a gun on me. But before nightfall, I’ll make this right and bring her back to me.

  Running out of the house, I jump in the car and slam the door shut. Now that I’m away from her, the pain in my arm intensifies, but I push through it and drive across the city. I can’t drive as hard, only having the use of one arm, but I make it back without fainting from the loss of blood, and find there are more men standing guard around the grounds. Good. When my father dies, it will be because of me, not a Camarco.

  On the way to my room, I find Cristian hovering in the hall. He starts to relax when he sees that it’s me, until he notices the blood.

  “Where have you been? And what happened to your arm?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  All that matters is that I make this right, and make sure Mila believes me when I say I didn’t know about her mom being in the car.

  Pushing past my cousin, I barge into my room and head straight for the box on the top shelf in the closet.

  The blade Mila gave me for my birthday falls at my feet. Bending down to retrieve it, I go lightheaded and almost fall.

  “What’s going on, Raphe? Talk to me.”

  Turning, I come face-to-face with him. “Do you have my back?”

  “You know I do.”

  “Even against my father? Your uncle?”

  “Against everyone. Why? What do you need me to do?”

  “Come with me.”

  My father is seated behind his desk with his feet perched over the top, a thick cigar between his lips.

  “Why?”

  “Why what, son?”

  “Why did you call and tell her all those lies?”

  He taps the cigar over the ashtray, flicking off a chunk of ash.

  “Because I could. This is the way it’s meant to be. Two hundred years can’t be changed because one old man says it can.”

  His eyes go to the blade, but the arrogant asshole doesn’t move to prepare himself for an attack. Not even when I take long strides to cross the room and stand before him.

  “I will get her back, and Vita will know peace. Unlike you, we’re not blinded by hatred. This could’ve been so different.”

  Mila didn’t want any more Marocchi blood spilled by this blade, but as I plunge it into my father’s heart, I reckon she’ll be pleased it took out the Marocchi who deserved it the most.

  “Raphael!”

  Cristian grabs at the back of my shirt to pull me away, causing me to stumble and fall back on my ass. Pain shoots up into my shoulder, and I hiss through the burn that settles in its place.

  “What the fuck did you just do?” he yells, falling to his knees before me.

  “I cut the snake’s head off. Now, get me a fucking doctor.”

  Falling back on the carpet, I stare up at the mural painting on the ceiling. It seems like the more blood I lose, the more the cherubs seem to move.

  I doubt I’ll die from this, but if I do, it’ll be better than living without my Mila. Her trust in me was shattered, and she wouldn’t believe a single word I said. One phone call from my father had her believing him wholeheartedly. She had men who knew her father was dead, and still ran to protect her when they heard the gunfire. They’re going to form a wall around her, and she’s going to use them to keep me away. Anger creeps in and replaces the shock
of her actions. Rolling my head to the side, my father’s lifeless body slips from the chair, just as a shrill scream batters my ears. My mother stands in the doorway, looking between her dead husband and her bleeding son.

  Soldiers rush past her, quickly filling the room. Lucien is the first one to check my father for a pulse, shaking his head no to Ricardo.

  Pulling the blade from my father’s chest, he looks over the inscription.

  “Camarco,” he hisses, generating a violence I’ve never felt before from the men.

  “Raphael!” a voice calls, and then someone—I don’t know his name—is hovering over me, giving my arm the once-over.

  “Help me up. Cristian went to get the doctor.”

  Two men quickly haul me up and help me over to the couch.

  “What do you want us to do, sir?”

  Looking up, I take a moment to read the situation, and realise he’s waiting for me to give them their orders.

  “Take my mother to another room, she’s giving me a headache. Then, round up our men and hunt down every Camarco soldier they can find. No one is to touch Jamila. I want her myself.”

  “Understood.”

  He himself straightens and turns around to repeat my order before instructing three soldiers to remain with me, to protect me with their lives.

  “With your father gone, it’s you who rules the family now. Are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  But not in the way he’s thinking, I’m sure. Once Mila has heard me out, I’m sure she’ll come to see the lies she’s been fed are just that, and we’ll move on with our lives, together, just as we’d intended.

  “Then we’ll follow you as we did him.”

  Their heavy boots thud over the carpet as they leave. Resting my head on the back of the couch, I close my eyes, shutting out the sight of Mila’s heart breaking to plan for the future. Even if I have to take out every Camarco soldier to get to her, that’s what I’ll do. She’s mine, and always will be.

  Cristian nudges my arm, snapping me back to reality as her coffin is carried out of the church, no doubt on its way through the city to her family crypt.

  I don’t make a move until the church empties. Even Cristian leaves when he gets no response from me.

  The only person remaining, apart from me, is the new priest. Clutching his bible, the bottom of his robe brushes along the floor as he moves toward me.

  “We haven’t been introduced. I’m Father DiMarco.”

  Holding out his hand for me to shake, I can only look at it until he gets the hint that I’m not going to return the gesture and drops it, clutching at his bible once again.

  “I’m surprised to see you here, or did you want to make sure she was gone?”

  Snarling, I rise to my feet and tower over the old man.

  “Victory doesn’t always taste so sweet, does it, Mr. Marocchi?”

  How fucking dare he speak to me, today of all days, like this. Does he not remember what happened to the last man in charge of this church and who ordered his death? Not that he’s heard me admit to it.

  His robes flit around his feet as he takes his time walking down the aisle toward the doors. Looking back over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth curls.

  “Nor does victory ever last long.”

  He leaves, and I’m finally left alone. Closing my eyes, I listen for the echo of her voice, letting memories of our time spent here, in this very church, flood through me. All the times I made her laugh within these four walls. The times she’d question Father Luke, absorbing the knowledge he provided. I can almost feel her lips on mine when I stole kisses from her in the vestry. And when I open my eyes, I can faintly see where we would’ve been standing if we had made it to the alter.

  Walking down the aisle, I’m plagued with all the what-ifs. There’s no bride beside me, no prophecy for us to carry out. There’s nothing but me and my despair.

  Before I go to open the door, I turn back. I won’t ever step foot in here again, and I find myself focusing on the third-row pew, the one we always sat at together.

  “Goodbye, my Mila. I’ll see you soon.”

  I’ve not taken one foot outside before guns are being locked and aimed straight at me.

  Standing on the top step of St. Mary’s, I hold my head high while looking from officer to officer, noting every pistol. I also see the chief of police holding Cristian by the arm, and he is pissed.

  Today will more than likely be the day of my death, because I’d rather lose my life than be taken away in cuffs.

  Officers begin to squirm as I reach into my pocket, but relax when I pull out my cigarettes and lighter. The people of Vita are standing all around, watching, waiting to see how the prophecy finally plays out. Lighting up, I blow a long stream of smoke into the falling snow that’s settling on the stone ground. If it carries on like this, Vita will be buried in the stuff by nightfall.

  It’s Alexander who steps forward, coming to a stop at the bottom of the steps.

  “Do you, Raphael Marocchi, admit to ordering the slaying of Jamila Camarco?” he yells, clearly wanting to be heard by everyone.

  “I do not,” I whisper, then more loudly reply, “I did not order her death!”

  I want everyone to hear me, loud and fucking clear. Taking one step down the stairs, the officers tense and jump forward, their aims steady.

  Cristian roars, “Marocchi’s!” The sound of guns being locked and loaded ripples through the air. In turn, even more echo through the street as Camarco soldiers, still loyal to their dead boss, train their guns on my men.

  Alexander blanches as he looks over his shoulder. I descend the steps, taking my time as I inhale on the cigarette, giving zero fucks.

  I stop when I’m face-to-face with the man who thought he was going to marry the only woman I have ever loved.

  “Call off your men, or I’ll raise my hand and signal mine to fill your body with bullets,” I warn.

  “You’d die yourself,” he scoffs.

  Cold, and void of any feeling, I bark out a laugh.

  “I no longer care.”

  His shock is the only thing to reach my heart, and I take a small piece of satisfaction in the terrified look in his eyes.

  “It’ll be a bloodbath.”

  The problem with thinking you have the upper hand is that you’re normally always fucking wrong, which makes you blind to an attack from the side.

  “Do as I say and call off your men.”

  His eyes grow hard, but all I see is the weakness of a pathetic man standing before me. He never would’ve been good enough to marry Jamila.

  Shaking his head, he calls out over his shoulder, “Lower your weapons!”

  The officers look to one another, but they do as they’re told.

  My men wait for my order, and when I give them the sign, they step back, putting their weapons away.

  “Will her death finally bring peace, or will it be in vain?”

  I take one last drag on the cigarette and flick it to the ground between our feet.

  “I guess we’ll find out at the next peace ball.”

  For without tradition, there is no class. A beautiful girl once told me that, and whether she’s alive or not, the least I can do is uphold her words.

  That is, if I don’t decide to burn the city down and join her wherever she may be now.

  II

  Battle And Blood

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Raphael

  My bride-to-be stands before me, her face covered with a white veil, and all I can see are her brown eyes staring back at me. I’ve waited for this moment for far too long. The choir’s soft, angelic voices fill our ears as the people of Vita sit quietly, filling every pew, with some standing along the edges of the church. The streets outside are filled with the citizens who couldn’t fit inside the church, waiting to hear our vows being exchanged. Parties and celebrations are ready to begin once our union has been blessed by the Almighty Lord.

  Hundreds of people ha
ve been waiting for this moment, but none as long as me.

  I, Raphael Marocchi, standing before Jamila Camarco, am about to be wed to the love of my life. The soul destined to find mine and lock together for all eternity.

  I step closer to her, finding it strange that I don’t feel my arms as I go to lift her veil. I don’t even feel my heart beating in my chest. But I do feel her beaming smile that’s for me, and only me.

  Her dress, made of lace and silk, clings to the body I intend to worship for the rest of my life. I only hope and pray I live a long and healthy one, wanting every second of it to explore every inch of her.

  Beauty in its truest form is standing right here, and I’m the lucky son of a bitch who gets to call it mine.

  Just as the vows are to be exchanged, the choir’s voices grow louder. I tear my eyes away to see what they’re playing at; they’re ruining the moment.

  Suddenly, a scorching heat penetrates my jacket, burning the skin underneath.

  Out of the corner of my eye, Mila’s smile grows. Ignoring the pain, I reach out to cup her cheek, and just as I do, she crumbles to ash at my feet.

  I jolt awake, shooting up in the bed, the sheets damp with my sweat. Catching my breath, I look at the empty spot beside me. There’s no Mila lying there, and there never will be.

  There has only been one woman I would stand before God and declare myself wed to, but she’s no longer here, and no one could ever take her place. Even now, I won’t disrespect her by attempting to seek a replacement.

  Making my way into the bathroom, I turn on the tap and splash cold water on my face, but it does nothing to cool me, nor take the sting away from my dream—it never does. Drying off, I plod into the bedroom and grab the half-finished bottle of whiskey from the floor and take a generous swig.