A Dance of War

by Ellie R. Hunter

  “You were questioning my actions tonight?” he drawls, his voice growing close behind me.

  “Do you blame me? You did try to kill me. Blow me up, to be precise.”

  Fire and burning bones. A small shudder runs down my spine thinking of Father Luke’s vision, and how close it was to coming true.

  “Not you! I ordered Trey to be killed, but never you. I killed the messenger because he was gleeful when he said you were in the car as well.”

  Sceptical is a far lesser word to describe how I feel in this moment.

  “You bent the knee to shut me up. Don’t you dare deny it.”

  “I bent the knee because I’ve prayed every day and every night since your death that I’d do anything if He brought you back to me. The Marocchi’s are no longer your enemy. I’ll make it official by sunrise.”

  Closing the distance between us, I struggle to move, to keep space between us. He cups my cheek and looks down to my lips, causing the air to lodge in my throat.

  “I am at your mercy, as well as your command.”

  “How am I meant to trust you?”

  A soft sigh passes through his lips as he swipes his thumb across my cheekbone.

  “Hand in hand, they will rise. The Camarco’s and the Marocchi’s will stand together and deal with this new threat to our city.”

  “And when we’ve dealt with this problem, what happens then?”

  He smiles. “My Mila, a new day will begin, and our city will thrive.”

  Why do I believe him? This man who tricked me into loving him, trusting him. The man who had me willing to follow him into a fight between two families, who’s had people closest to me killed in the most horrific ways. Yet there’s something different in his eyes when I watch him speak.

  However, I’m not stupid. I step away from him, forcing myself to not jump into this truce so fast. He’s proven nothing of his vows.

  “I’ll meet you at the church after morning prayer. We’ll start by introducing myself properly to DiMarco.”

  “You haven’t met him before now?”

  “I have, but he met the version of me I put on for the mayor. Tomorrow, he’ll meet the real me.”

  He stands there, unmoving, staring at me like I’m truly a ghost.

  “It’s late. You should go.”

  Reaching out for my hand, he places a kiss along my knuckles.

  Yanking my hand back, I step away, out of his reach.

  “It’s agreed, then. We work together to bring down the DiMarco’s?” he asks.

  “No. You need to assure me that your vow was genuine. You work for me, not with me.”

  I expect him to throw his weight around, but the corner of his mouth quirks up.

  “Of course. Until tomorrow.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Raphael

  Mila’s guards watch us closely as Cristian and I walk through the house and out to the car. Cristian’s sigh of relief tells me he’s glad to be leaving, but I feel like I’m leaving something behind.

  A new strength washes over me, and I find I’m breathing easier again. It’s her. She’s my reason to breathe.

  In the back of the car as we drive out of the Camarco estate, I order, “Spread the word through our men the truce is real and will be upheld. Mila will do the same.”

  “I saw your face when she walked in tonight to the mansion. Are you finally going to admit you’re in love with her?”

  Glancing over at my cousin, the one man who has stood by my side since we were boys, I finally admit, “I never stopped. I’ve been in love with her all my life and didn’t know it until I first laid eyes on her.”

  “Everything we once knew is about to change. Do you think our men are ready for that?”

  “They’re paid to do as I say, and they are paid well. They’ll follow the money.”

  This is the way it should have always been. It took eleven years, and while Mila doesn’t trust me now, she soon will when I prove my word with each passing day. We will fight this new war we face together, and when we seek victory, I will claim Mila as mine so we can finally make up for the last eleven years.

  I don’t remember what I dreamed, but I wake slowly, listening to her laugh. It rings between my ears and lingers as I sit up, ready to throw the sheets off.

  I’m halted by her figure, standing with her back to me at the foot of my bed.

  Mila? Did I dream last night?

  She doesn’t move as I climb out of bed, treading lightly as I come up beside her.

  She’s focused on the painting on the far wall. The painting of the fallen angel being cast out of heaven.

  “This is the painting from the mayor’s mansion, isn’t it?” she asks, her voice musical, and so real.

  “Yes. I bought it from him as a wedding gift to you, but as it didn’t happen, I couldn’t bring myself to return it. I’ve woken up to it every morning for the last eleven years.

  “Why? We’ve been trying to kill each other for that long. It doesn’t make sense for you to have kept it.”

  I move around her and block her view. “I haven’t been trying to kill you, Mila, just everyone around you. I wanted you left with no one to turn to but me.”

  Confusion swims in the depths of her dark eyes, and as I wait for her to say something, the door swings open with Cristian filling the doorway.

  “We should leave soon. Morning prayer is due to finish in thirty minutes.”

  Glaring his way, he gets the hint and leaves, closing the door behind him.

  “Too much has happened since we last stood in front of this painting. We’re not those people anymore. We’re who we were always destined to be. Get dressed, and be ready to leave in the next fifteen minutes.”

  Taking in my bare chest, she sweeps her tongue across her bottom lip.

  “Father Luke warned us that our path would be dark. And while he didn’t put a time frame on how long it would take us, I’d say we’re back on track. I gave you my word last night. This truce is genuine, and you should believe it.”

  Turning my back to her, I head for the bathroom when she gasps. I freeze, waiting for this to turn into a nightmare where she crumbles to a pile of ash on my bedroom carpet. I go to turn, but stop when her fingertips run across my shoulder blades and down my spine before disappearing.

  “You had your family crest inked on your back?” her voice is nothing but a whisper as I slowly turn around.

  “You left me angry and your enemy. I couldn’t have led my men without it. Like I said, I wanted everyone close to you dead, and I needed them to make it happen.”

  “And like I said, we are who we were always meant to be. This tattoo proves it.”

  Turning on her heels, she heads for the door, leaving a trail of her perfume lingering in the air.

  “Once we’ve defeated the DiMarco’s, you will be nothing but a businessman, and I’ll go on carrying out my work. There will be no fighting, no prophecies guiding us in the wrong direction. You, Raphael, will be who you always wanted to be. I suggest you find a good tattooist and have your ink covered with something more suitable.”

  She walks out, leaving the door ajar. She’s definitely real, and I’ve never been so fucking hard listening to her give orders without having to raise her voice to be taken seriously.

  Fifteen minutes later, I’m walking out to my men watching Mila and Trey talking amongst themselves.

  Catching my attention, she goes to climb into her car.

  “It’s better to be seen together,” I call out, opening the door to my car as she halts.

  “The people saw you submit to me. We’ll travel in my car,” she instructs rightly, and I push my door shut.

  “Was it you who let her into my room this morning?” I ask Cristian, keeping my voice low as we walk toward Mila’s car.

  “Yes. I thought it was about time you woke up to her in your room, even if she hadn’t stayed the night.”

  His laughs catches the attention of Trey, waiting for us before jo
ining his boss.

  I end up sitting opposite of Mila with Cristian beside me, and Trey sliding in on Mila’s right.

  Mila looks perfectly relaxed as the car rolls away from the house. Trey keeps glancing between me and Cristian, but his attention doesn’t stray from her, and never for long.

  I’ve always known Trey has been loyal to her, but I sense more than loyalty. He has love for her.

  Over the years, to my knowledge, Mila has never been in a relationship, so could Trey be the one who sees to her needs? Heated jealously courses through me, imaging him with her behind closed doors, touching her in places only I had been once upon a time. The need to spoon his eyes out for seeing the undeniable beauty she hides under her clothes nearly drowns me in.

  “When we get there, you and I will walk in alone. Trey and Cristian will wait outside at the door. No one will be allowed to enter.”

  I swing my gaze from Trey to Mila, who’s looking directly at me.

  Before I can agree, Trey jumps in, forgetting his place.

  “Mila, I shouldn’t leave your side.”

  I watch on closely as she places her hand over his in the empty middle seat between them. Such a gentle act, one I’ve rarely seen since I was on the receiving end, and my jealousy intensifies.

  “You’ll do as I say.”

  Her tone is firm but quiet, her words final. Glaring my way, I can’t hide the smirk playing around my mouth.

  My jealousy cools somewhat, now seeing that whatever he feels for her isn’t reciprocated in the way he wishes.

  When the car comes to a stop, Mila withdraws her hand and gingerly caresses a cross hanging from her neck. I haven’t seen it before, and it’s much larger than the one I gave her.

  The four of us climb out, but it’s Mila and I who walk side by side up the concrete steps to the church.

  “I saw you the day of my funeral leave this church and face off with Alexander. You had a lot of guns pointing at you, but you looked like you didn’t care. Why?”

  She can’t seriously be that naïve.

  “I believed you were dead, Mila. Why the fuck would I care if I lived or died? And for you to ask me why tells me you still don’t believe I’m now at your mercy and command.”

  She stops on the top step and turns to me. “Like the city of Vita, trust has to be earned. Father DiMarco is about to find that out. No one comes in and tries to take what isn’t theirs.”

  Over her shoulder, Trey steps forward, and she informs us, “Try to get along. The more people who see us working together, the better.”

  I nod to Cristian, who nods in return, understanding he is to follow her order.

  Facing the grand wooden doors, it’s a day I hoped I’d see, me standing at Mila’s side like we were always prophesised to do. But, it’s still a day I never expected to see.

  “You shouldn’t be drinking that. It’ll make you bleed more.”

  Gazing at my cousin, he sits over the back of the chair while the tattooist works on the family insignia across his back. I’m next up, and it’s a bittersweet moment. It was the one thing I wasn’t going to get—the Marocchi family crest permanently inked on my skin.

  “You think I give a shit about a little blood?” I grunt, taking another swig of the bitter amber liquid.

  I bled more after being shot by the love of my fucking life. It’s only been twenty-four hours, but it feels like a lifetime ago. The only reason I’m having this fucking tattoo done is so the soldiers will fight for me. They need to see I’m in this as deep as they are. Then, once I get Mila back, it can be covered up.

  “Are you going to tell me what happened yesterday, or do I have to keep guessing?”

  Clutching the bottle, I dig it into my thigh and close my eyes. Mila needed me the most, yet she wouldn’t let me near her. I have to bite down on the inside of my lip to stop the anger taking over completely, reliving her believing every word my father spewed down the line, obliterating her trust in me.

  “Come on, Cousin, I can’t help you if I don’t know what happened. One minute you were on your knees with a gun in your mouth, and then the next, you were returning with a gunshot wound, and… you know what happened next.”

  I’ll never forget what happened next. Killing my father felt better than I ever imagined it would. Waking up this morning, knowing he wasn’t breathing another day was a euphoric moment, until it hit me that I wasn’t marvelling over it with Mila at my side.

  “You’re all done, man. It’s gonna hurt for a while, but I’m sure you can handle it,” the tattooist smirks, silencing the tattoo gun.

  Cristian winces as he wipes down his back. Glancing down at my fingers wrapped around the bottle, where there’s no ring sitting snugly. Lurching forward, I jump to my feet and shrug out of my shirt, not once putting the bottle down.

  If this is going to happen, I can’t be sober.

  Taking Cristian’s place, I settle in and take another swig while the guy fucks around with the stencil, placing it right from the top of my back down to the bottom.

  Time passes as I wait for Cristian to beg me for answers that I don’t intend to give him, but they never come. I’m pretty sure I fall asleep at one point.

  “Mr. Marocchi?”

  Cracking one eye open, Lucian is standing there, waiting for me to acknowledge him. I hate how I’ve gone from being Raphael to Mr. Marocchi. It makes me feel like I’m my father.

  “What is it?”

  Unless he’s here to tell me Mila has been left alone, all the Camarco men dead at her feet, I’m not interested.

  “Father Luke is here. Shall I let him in?”

  Hope springs through the liquor haze and I nod. If there’s one person Mila will listen to, it’s the priest.

  Passing the bottle to Cristian, I signal for the tattooist to stop and I rise from the chair, now regretting drinking so much.

  Father Luke follows Lucian into the great hall where I’m already waiting for him. Jerking my chin, I dismiss Lucian and he joins Cristian, looking over his new ink.

  “Father, have you seen Mila?”

  “I have been with her for most of the day. She’s not listening to reason. Tell me you haven’t been playing her as she believes.”

  My anger returns. “Of course I haven’t. My father got to her, and she took his word over mine. You have to make her believe me. You have to get her to see me. If I can just talk to her without anyone else around, or a gun in her fucking hand, I can make her believe me.”

  The small shake of his head, as well as the sadness in his eyes gives me his answer.

  “I’ve already tried, and I came here to warn you. She’s changed since we last met at the church. She has no interest in ending this war now. She’s preparing to fight.”

  “What shall I do, Father? I made the call to end her father, but I never would’ve done it if I’d known her mother was with him. You have to believe me.”

  “I do. I’m hoping she just needs time to come around and see sense.”

  Time. The one thing I can’t control, and the one thing I don’t have the patience to give her.

  I need her back now.

  I need her to believe me now.

  Just… everything with her, now.

  However, if I can’t have her now, I’ll have to settle for soon. The Father can’t help me anymore than I can help myself.

  Walking back over to where the tattooist is set up, I take my seat again and let the drill of the gun drown out everyone around me.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Jamila

  Raphael goes to push open the door and finds it locked. Morning prayer ended twenty minutes ago, so the doors should be open and welcoming to anyone who passes by.

  “The doors are usually only locked at night,” Trey points out.

  “We can check the side door?” Raphael suggests.

  “Or…” I unclip the chain holding my cross pendent and pull the key free. I slide it into the lock, and what do you know, it’s opens. Father Antonio
gave it to me a long time ago in case I ever needed sanctuary, and before I left the house this morning, I dug it out of my jewellery box.

  “We can use this door,” I say, connecting the cross back into place.

  Slipping it back around my neck, Raphael smirks down at me and says, “Antonio was very fond of you.”

  “Yes, and he died because of me, didn’t he?”

  I push out the blood-filled memories of finding him mutilated on the cross and push open the door.

  Once over the threshold, Raphael walks beside me to find every pew filled with men. Not to show our surprise, we continue walking until I come to a stop halfway down the aisle and take them all in. Not one woman is among their ranks, making me the most vulnerable person here. Father DiMarco steps down from the alter—not that he was giving a sermon—and keeps his distance.

  “For over two hundred years, the people of Vita have desired peace. It pleases me you have both squashed your quarrels because of me and mine.”

  Remaining impassive, I tilt my head and stare into the eyes of a yet another man who truly believes he’s more powerful than me because he has a dick dangling between his legs.

  “What are your terms for the Marocchi girl to be released?” I ask, not entertaining his ego to one-up us in front of his men.

  “First and foremost, you’ll both bend the knee to the DiMarco’s, and then you’ll sign over all properties and businesses. You’ve profited long enough from our city.”

  Oh, please. I thought it was about pride with my father keeping the feud going with the Marocchi’s, but to dig up a two-hundred-year old grudge from something your ancestors lost is outright ridiculous.

  “Then, and only then, will she be released.”

  Raphael rolls his shoulders beside me, no doubt fighting the urge to use his tongue. “Oh, and you’ll both leave Vita forever. You should be grateful we’re letting you live.”