A Dance of War

by Ellie R. Hunter

  With one last glance at the rumpled sheets, I clutch the bottle and stumble my way down to the kitchen. This bottle of liquor isn’t going to last long, and I need a constant flow to take me back under just so I can see her again. I thought I could survive without her, knowing she was across the city from me. I was prepared to live, suffering in silence, as long as she was here, but her death has ripped that suffering to shreds, replacing it with misery and bottomless anguish.

  Draining the whiskey, I drop the empty bottle by my feet and pluck another from the liquor stand. Twisting the cap off, I gulp down a few healthy mouthfuls, stopping only when the burn becomes too much. Fire and burning bones. Closing my eyes, I see the flames and hear the screams. God, her screams.

  Throwing open the doors leading to the patio, I step outside and tip my head back to look up at the stars.

  “Where are you, Mila?”

  Is she a star now?

  Is she amongst the angels looking down over us?

  Sometimes, I went years not laying eyes on her, but I knew everything she was doing. I knew every trip she made to church, every visit to the women’s refuge. Now, I have no idea where her spirit lingers, and because of that, I can’t take a single breath as easily as I once did.

  It’s been three months of absolute torture. The only reason I haven’t ended my life is because I deserve to live, if only to feel this perpetual pain. This is my comeuppance for the choices I have made.

  Gunshots echo in the distance, like a bad beat of a song I recognise all too well. My men fighting the so-called good fight, every shot fired done so under my order. Orders that lack conviction now. What’s the point in fighting when I have no one to conquer? Lives lost now is purely wasteful.

  The mayor pleads with me every day to call for peace, but I ignore him. My cousin seeks it as well, and gets the same response.

  “Hurry, put him on the table!”

  Spinning on my heel, I see soldiers carrying Cristian through the kitchen and laying him on the table. Even from here, I can see he’s losing a lot of blood. Dropping the bottle, I rush to his side.

  “What happened?” I demand from Lucio, Cristian’s second.

  “We were ambushed down by the river while making the rounds. The Camarco’s are brazen these days.”

  They’re not brazen. They’re fighting back against the loose orders I’ve given my men. They’re surviving. The Camarco’s are still fighting for her, in her memory, and for her legacy.

  “Cousin, talk to me,” I urge, grabbing his hand. “Stay with me. I can’t lose you too.”

  A ghostly smile curls at the corner of his mouth. “It’s nothing but a scratch,” he pants.

  Lucio rips open his shirt, and the wound in his abdomen starts to bleed heavily. Pressing one of the dish towels over the hole, the blood soaks through immediately.

  “Has anyone called the doctor?” I yell, concentrating on his wound.

  If this is to be his last night, I’ll be the last face he sees.

  “Yes, he should be here—” The doorbell rings. “That should be him now.”

  If Cristian dies, so will everyone else in Vita. I’ll make sure the city is destroyed once and for all.

  Lucio works to make room for him, shoving my ass into the nearest chair.

  “Let the doctor fix him up. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

  I haven’t slept properly in three months, to be precise, but I stay on my ass, keeping a watchful eye on the doctor’s every move. He’s saved a lot of my men, and I have to trust he’ll do the same for my cousin.

  “Who’s giving the Camarco’s orders?” a soldier asks, stepping forward.

  I recognise the boy, but I don’t know his name.

  “They’re not taking orders. They’re fighting for her ghost,” Lucio grumbles, helping himself to the fruit on the island. The sight is weird.

  “They must be taking orders from someone. They’re coming at us with purpose, orchestrating planned attacks. If they were fighting in her memory, there would be no structure.”

  Lucio turns to me. “Come morning, you, Raphael, will sort your shit out and lead us like you once did.”

  The papers laid out before me, placed on my desk by Cristian last week, don’t hold the satisfaction they once did. Plans and drawings for a new apartment building in the middle of the city would bring in millions of dollars. Plans that Mila never failed to block, as she was always against my moves to modernise the city.

  Reaching for the decanter, I go to pour myself some whiskey, not caring to drink leisurely measures for the early hour, when a soldier knocks and steps into my office.

  “I thought you’d like to know, Cristian is sleeping, and the doctor assures he’ll make a full recovery.”

  I nod, expecting him to leave, but he hovers by the door.

  “What is it?”

  “Father DiMarco is here, wishing to speak with you. I showed him into the parlour.”

  Once he leaves, I push up out of my chair and inhale deeply, though it doesn’t help. No matter how deep I dig to pull a deep breath from my lungs, it never comes.

  The lack of care in my appearance around my men is one thing, but to show anything less than perfection in front of people outside of them is another.

  Looking in the mirror hanging over the open fire, I run my fingers through my hair before trying to slap some life into my cheeks.

  Father DiMarco has made himself comfortable in my mother’s favourite armchair, one she would sit on while reading to us when we were young. I hold my tongue when he smiles at me, but it’s not warm, nor is it friendly.

  “Since I’ve arrived in Vita, I’ve made it my mission, so to speak, to delve into your history,” he starts, not bothering with greetings. “Two families at war, fighting for power. Then, two babies are born on the same night, at the same time. Yet, instead of working to come together to bring peace, you killed her.”

  I go to object, but he raises his hand to stop me. “I know it was you who killed her. The people of this city know, and more importantly, He”—DiMarco points to the heavens—“knows you killed her. You were both so blinded by your deep-rooted hatred, you couldn’t tell when the attacks were coming from elsewhere, both of you so quick to pass judgement on the other.”

  Motherfucker.

  Wanting to see where he’s going with this, I bite my tongue. He’s obviously here to show me his hand, so the least I can do is allow it.

  “The attacks after last year’s peace ball. The slaying of Jamila’s man, Michael Romano, and your sinful brother, Leo Marocchi, I claim them all.”

  Lurching toward him, he once again holds up his hand, warning, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I have measures in place to take you down if I don’t walk out of here alive.”

  Rage boils inside of me. He has the audacity to sit in my house, claiming the deaths of my men, the murder of my brother, and expect me not to react?

  “I’ll take my chances,” I growl, taking another step.

  I didn’t care for my brother, and I would have forgotten Mila’s part in taking his life. But this man, a man of the cloth, I will not forget, nor forgive anything.

  In the cabinet behind me is a Glock. Swivelling around to open the drawer, I grab the gun and aim for his heart, but he doesn’t flinch.

  “Tell me, Raphael, have you spoken to your sister recently?”

  Swallowing thickly, I glare at him. Sienna has been away in Paris since her eighteenth birthday. She wouldn’t believe I had no intentions of marrying her off. To be honest, I wouldn’t have put that burden on anyone. My sister’s not only a pain in the ass, just as Leo was, she’s worse. She has the intellect to back her sarcasm and wit. I allowed her to live outside of Vita because it gave me a quieter life, and one less person to worry about. Only Cristian and I were to know where she was.

  “I know you haven’t spoken with her in at least two months. In a café in Paris is where I first saw her, and let me just say, she’s simply stunning. Do
n’t worry, though. She’s in safe hands as long as I’m breathing.”

  Son of a bitch.

  He makes a show of struggling to rise to his feet, feigning old age, but I’m having none of it.

  “I’ll be in touch, Raphael.”

  He strolls out as I just stand there, gun in hand. I can’t bring myself to shoot, believing every word he’s spoken.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, I don’t stop until I’m standing next to Cristian, lying in his bed. Seeing my state, he tries to sit up.

  “What is it?”

  “Lay down, Cousin, and rest. I only need you to listen.”

  “Raphe, the look on your face is worrying me.”

  “We had it all wrong. The killings, Leo’s murder… They weren’t on Mila’s orders. It was Father DiMarco.”

  The lines across his forehead deepen as he frowns, and I continue before his confusion grows.

  “The motherfucker was just here, brazen as a whore wanting your money. He sat in the parlour and admitted to it all. And the worst part is, I couldn’t do a single thing, because he has Sienna. He’s had her for the last few of months.”

  “How would he know where to find her? Only we knew she was in Paris.”

  Not even Leo knew where she was. He didn’t care to know, either.

  “Good question.”

  Once again, he tries to sit up, but I stop him by pushing him back down.

  “Raphe, if he has Sienna, you need me at your side,” he argues.

  “I need you alive. I—”

  “You’re a mess,” he hisses. “You haven’t been yourself in months. You haven’t given orders or directed us on what to do. I don’t know where your head is, but it’s certainly not on what’s been going on.”

  Dumping the gun on the nightstand, I kneel on the floor next to him.

  “Cousin, I vow to you, I’m back, with a new enemy to take out.”

  When Cristian’s phone pings, I grab it off the nightstand and I pass it over to him. Opening the message, his eyes widen before shoving the phone toward me.

  Images of Sienna, in what looks to be a hotel room, assaults me. Her blue eyes, so much like mine, are clear in every photo. She’s unharmed, and even eating in one image.

  There’s no message attached, but there doesn’t need to be. I understand. DiMarco’s telling me she’s safe for now, and if I want to keep it that way, I’ll do what I’m told.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Raphael

  I jump from my chair when Cristian, holding his stomach, walks into the kitchen.

  “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

  “I’m fine. You need me here.”

  “I need you healed,” I argue.

  As he heads for the table, I pull out a chair and help him sit his ass down.

  “How about I take it easy when I need to. But under no circumstances am I lying in bed another day.”

  Dropping back into my seat, I finish off my whiskey and coffee before buttering a few pieces of toast for him.

  Looking down at the plate I set in front of him, he proclaims, “You drink every minute of every day, and seeing you drinking that shit for breakfast after what happened yesterday, doesn’t give me much hope. We still have a lot to fight for, Raphe, and you need to be sober.”

  “Am I fucking drunk?”

  “Are you ready to lead our men again? Even soldiers smell weakness, and we need them to get Sienna back.”

  It doesn’t matter who mutters the word weakness. It always feels like a dig from my father.

  If I know one thing, it’s that Mila wouldn’t have wanted DiMarco taking the city, not even from me.

  “Have everyone meet at the old factory and I’ll address them there. Are you happy now?”

  “No, you’re too calm. I don’t like it.”

  I sigh, desperately wanting to down an entire bottle of whiskey in one go. “In that case, nothing I say will appease you.”

  “Talk to me, Raphe. I’m the only person you have you can trust implicitly. It’s not healthy to bottle shit up the way you have been. Look what it’s done to you.”

  “How do you want me to be, Cris? Sienna will be fine as long as DiMarco’s breathing. Mila, however, is still dead, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ll give orders to the soldiers and we’ll go from there.”

  “And what orders do you plan to give?”

  Pushing out of my chair, he reaches out and grabs my arm.

  “You should be promoting peace with Mila gone. It’s worse than ever out there, and you’re walking around here like you’re not the head of the Marocchi family. You’ve become a shell of the man I would follow into Hell and back.”

  Fuck him.

  Shrugging out of his grip, I go to leave when he calls out, “She’s gone, and she’s never coming back. The sooner that sinks in, the sooner we can get this city to settle down.”

  Keeping my back to him, I leave, clutching and twisting my shirt, hoping it will quell the pain in my chest.

  Mila’s gone.

  My mother’s words go through my head, “Blue eyes weeping,” and weep they do.

  The soldiers talk quietly amongst themselves as they wait for me to call for their attention, but I still haven’t decided on how I’m going to approach this. I just can’t muster the strength to light a fire in my chest to rile the men to fight for the city, or for me. I know what I should say, and how to deliver it, but I can’t seem to get to my feet to call for their attention.

  “Pull yourself together, Raphe,” Cristian hisses, passing me a cigarette. Lighting it for me, I take a long drag.

  “What would you do here today if you were me?” I ask him.

  “I’d tell them the fight is over.”

  Nodding, I take another hit and stand, dropping the cigarette to the ground.

  Cristian pierces the air with a whistle, forcing the soldiers to quieten.

  “I know many of you have been wondering what we’re doing now, and why we continue to fight when Jamila is no longer…” My breath hitches, and I swallow thickly to unclog it. “I couldn’t give you answers before, but I can moving forward. I’ve recently learned we have new enemies who have snuck in under our radar, wanting to take us out, so we have to be smart. They have my sister, and they’re holding her, using her to keep me from killing them. What I want from you until further notice is to carry on ridding our streets of anyone who doesn’t stand with us—but be discreet. There can be no witnesses or bodies left lying around for anyone to find. Do you hear me?”

  Once the soldiers roar their approval, I turn to go. I’ve said all I have to say, and now that they know what needs to be done, I can return to my home to drink myself into a stupor while dwelling on the past. There’s no point trying to fight it.

  I’m so fucking sick of fighting.

  I walk out of the back door where my car awaits, leaving Cristian to deal with the soldiers.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Raphael

  Her lips were always soft and needy, always desiring more from me.

  My memories never do her justice, and my biggest fear is that I’ll never remember her the way I want to preserve her. We would’ve had children by now if we had kept to our original plan. Mila would have been my wife, with mini versions of the two of us running around at our feet. If she had accepted my offer at the peace ball, thing’s could’ve worked out differently.

  In hindsight, I should have ended my threats against her and worked toward peace a long time ago, but I couldn’t get past the hatred she had for me, or the fact that she believed the lies she was fed while never once letting me explain the truth. We were both so arrogant, believing we had the all the power in the world, that we didn’t bother looking for an outside attack.

  The car comes to a stop outside the mayor’s mansion, where the path leading up to the door is already lined with guests, dressed in their finest dresses and suits.

  The celebrations have already begun, but I’m in no rush to join i
n. I know what the people are expecting, and I have no idea what direction I plan to go. DiMarco has my sister, but there are avenues I can select to get her back. I just have to choose the right one.

  With Cristian’s wound still healing, I slow my pace so we can walk in together.

  Guests move out of our way as we step into the ballroom where Frankie and Carlo are already seated at our usual table, and I find my gaze travelling toward where Mila sat only months ago, and every year before. Cristian bristles beside me, looking in the same direction to Father DiMarco and his followers, who are tonight seated around her table, talking and laughing with Salvatore. I wonder if the mayor knows who he’s really dealing with? I wouldn’t put it past him to be in the know. His loyalty to the Camarco’s has been evident over the last year, and I won’t ever forget it.

  DiMarco, seeing that I’ve arrived, excuses himself from the table and strolls through the guests, stopping in front of me.

  Eyeing Cristian, his gaze then falls to his stomach. “I see you’re still alive.”

  Before he can react, I grab hold of his arm and hold him back. “Be sure to call for peace among your men tonight. If not, I promise you, your sister will pay.”

  Snorting, I release Cristian’s arm and step forward.

  “Answer me this, Father. Did you see me avenge my brother’s murder?”

  “You had Jamila and her sidekick blown up. What was that if not revenge, albeit on the wrong party?”

  A cold smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. “That was planned before my brother’s death. So tell me, have you seen me avenge him?”

  For the first time since meeting him, his arrogance slips.

  “What makes you think I won’t tear this city apart to get my sister back and take the risk she’ll end up dead in the process?”

  I don’t miss the tic of agitation in his left eye.

  “Call peace among your men, or death won’t be the only hell I’ll put young Sienna through. Imagine how many men would pay to use her for their sinful pleasures. You tell me, Raphael. How many Marocchi women have been humiliated in the most degrading ways known to man?”