His version of events are much different than mine, but I lean forward, nodding, wanting to hear the next part of the tale.
“I went up to my room and hurled my guts up, and then I… I took my gun and stuck it in my mouth. I couldn’t live in a world without you, not even for a day. One second is all I had left before Cristian charged in and took the gun from me, screaming that you were alive. I don’t remember driving across the city to go see you, but I remember knowing I had to get to you.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. He speaks the truth. I know that much, and a tear falls from my eye.
Pouncing forward, I wrap my arms around his neck and claim his mouth before he can react. He doesn’t stiffen or freeze. He kisses me back with as much as hunger as I’m pouring into him.
As he lifts me, I cling to him, never once breaking our kiss. If my eyes were open, I’d see us passing through the house and climbing the stairs to my room. I’m too lost in him—his tongue assaulting mine, his teeth nipping at my top lip—to notice anything until my back hits the mattress. Our first time together resurfaces, and I find the need for him has intensified from then to now. I can’t shimmy out of my jeans fast enough as he unbuckles his belt and kicks off of his pants. Ripping my sweater over my head, I toss it over the edge of the bed and onto the floor. Left in my underwear, I find Raphael’s eyes burning as he takes me in while unbuttoning his shirt. Desire and need overwhelm me. I struggle to catch my breath, not wanting to give away how much I want him. In this moment, as he leans on the bed, hovering above me, I don’t care if I’m wearing nothing but a coat of vulnerability before him. I don’t care that all my needs are on show for him.
I just need him. Reaching for his face, I grip onto his hair and pull him to me.
“Fuck me, Raphael.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Raphael
The sun wakes me, and I lift my head from the pillow to look at the time. The miniature grandfather clock says it’s just after five, and I relax.
Rolling my head to the side, I see Mila—a naked Mila—sleeping soundly beside me, her leg pressed against mine. She’s changed so much, but she still feels like she used to—mine.
Making myself comfortable on my side, I lean on my elbow and run my fingers down her back and up again until she stirs. I know the moment she wakes, but she doesn’t move to face me.
“Good morning,” I murmur, continuing to rub her back.
“Is it? Is the fight over?”
A silent chuckle escapes as I lean down and trace my lips where my fingers just were. She smells of me, of us together, and it arouses me to no end.
“I’m afraid not. Although, I’d say one fight has truly ended.”
Reaching down for the sheets without moving so much, she covers herself as she turns to face me, but there’s no trace of humour.
“Don’t think last night changes anything.”
This time, my laugh is loud, as I’m clearly amused. “It changes everything.”
She’s woken without the need to fight me, and goes to get out of bed. After last night, I’m not letting her get away so easily.
Before she can move, I shift myself on top of her, brushing away her hair so I can see every inch of her face. “Waking up lying next to you, knowing I’m the first person you see, it’s already how I plan to spend every morning going forward, and I don’t care if I become addicted.”
“Raphael—”
“Don’t,” I warn. “You desire me as much as I do you.”
“Desire leads to distractions, something we can’t afford.”
“It’ll be more distracting if you continue to be stubborn. You think I’ll be able to think straight if you’re in danger, regardless if we share a bed or not?”
She turns her head to the side, trying to shield her face from me. She’ll soon learn she isn’t hiding from me ever again.
“Too much has happened.”
“So you keep saying. Destiny brought us together, but it’s down to us to make this work, and it can work, Mila. If my father hadn’t ruined everything, we would have married a long time ago. We would’ve had a family by now, our own businesses… we would have had everything. Stop thinking about the past.”
“It’s that easy? You expect me to trust your word? You expect me to love you the way I once did? You expect too much.”
“Love doesn’t change, Mila. I’ve seen how you work lately, and if you truly wanted me dead, I’d have been in my grave a long, long time ago. We both missed countless opportunities to kill one another, all intentionally, so don’t tell me you don’t love me.”
I drop my head to take her lips, and just as I’d hoped, she doesn’t shove me away.
Her legs tangle in the sheets as she works to wrap them around me, pulling me against her.
“I’ll say it a thousand times until it sinks in. I love you, Mila. Always have, never stopped, and always will.” As my lips travels down her neck, I add, “You don’t have to say it back. I want forever with you, and I’ll wait forever to hear it.”
We’re drinking coffee in the kitchen when Trey and Cristian walk in.
Trey seeks out Mila as soon as he steps over the threshold, then focuses his attention on me. Smirking, I raise my mug and he scowls before turning to pour his own drink.
Assuming he’d been the one to pleasure Mila over the years never sat well with me, but knowing it as fact now, has me wanting to kill him. Of course I won’t, but accidents could happen and poof! He’d be gone.
Cristian’s phone pings with texts as he takes a seat across from me at the table. Pulling it from his jacket pocket, Trey’s goes off as well.
Reading through them, Cristian sighs.
“Thirteen more deaths overnight. Not sure how many DiMarco’s, though.”
Just as long as some of DiMarco’s men have fallen.
“We’ve got a problem. DiMarco’s men are intimidating shop owners into selling,” Trey snarls, speaking only to Mila.
She pushes away from the back door where she’s been watching the birds fly around her feeder on the edge of the patio, and takes a seat at the head of the table.
“They’re trying to take over,” Cristian surmises.
“No shit,” Trey grumbles, pulling out the chair closest to Mila.
I want him to know she was with me last night, that it’ll be me she’s with every night going forward, but a show like that will have her pushing me away, and that’s the last thing I want.
Being inside her was like being at home, where I was always meant to be. I can’t lose that by pissing over her with Trey.
“Choose a handful of men and have them watch over the shops. Let our people know they will never lose their businesses,” I instruct.
That’ll get him away from her for the next few hours at least. The prick looks to her for her confirmation, and I smirk when she nods, watching his shoulders sag in defeat.
“Tell them to be strong, and that this will be over soon. If they have to, close up shop, and between the Marocchi’s and the Camarco’s, we’ll cover their loss of earnings.”
“Oh, we will, will we?” Cristian snorts.
“We will.”
This earns me a scowl from him and a smile from Mila.
“Is it wise to promise so soon?” Trey questions again, speaking only to Mila.
“Soon is our only option.”
“It’d be good if you two are seen out in public together, that the truce is still ongoing,” Cristian offers.
Trey’s obviously not for it. “It’s not safe out there.”
Mila’s face tightens and her right eye tics. I know this tell of hers. I’d seen it so many times when I would underestimate her. She can’t stand it.
And I now know why she never entered a relationship with this man, even though they have been sleeping together. He would try and overpower her, thinking he knew best. Although, I’d like to think it’s because she could never move on from me, but that’s just the cocky bastard inside
me.
“We’ll do it. We can’t let the people fight for us if they feel we think ourselves too important to stand on the frontline with them.”
Everyone nods, and it’s decided. Cristian and Trey have their orders, and Mila and I have our duty to carry out.
We’ve seen barely any citizens lingering around the streets as I drive us through the city. We hear the gunshots and men yelling, but we don’t witness a single fight.
We drive by the church and no one is around, not even DiMarco himself. The doors are shut, and as the clock strikes noon, no bells are rung from the bell tower.
“We’re going to have to make an example of him once we get him,” Mila says, looking across from me.
“What do you have in mind?”
I turn the corner where a group of soldiers are huddled in a shop doorway. I slow down and creep along the curb until coming to a stop beside them, my question going unanswered.
Mila lowers her window and calls out, “Are there DiMarco’s in the area?”
One guy steps forward, shaking his head. “We just took out six around the corner.”
“Good. Stay safe.”
She rolls the window up and I move on. “Do you know the name of every man who works for you?” I ask her.
“I wouldn’t be able to list them off by memory, but if I saw his face, I’d know his name.”
It doesn’t surprise me. She probably takes her time when meeting with her men, even asking about their wives and families.
“You don’t?”
“Not really. I know the names of the men closest to me, but soldiers on the street, not so much.”
It goes quiet, the air turning stuffy between us with unspoken words I can almost hear tinkering around in her head.
“About last night—”
“It was what it was. We had sex. It’s not like we haven’t before. It was good, and today we move on.”
I snort. “Sex was definitely not like that before.”
Her lips roll together, and I know she agrees. The sex last night was so much more than when we were younger, and it won’t be a one-time thing.
“Can we just focus on DiMarco? You confuse me, and we can’t afford to miss a target or have someone come for us because we’re too busy discussing our situation.”
“But you agree we have a situation that needs sorting?”
“If you need to hear that, then yes, we have a situation to sort out.”
It’s like going around in circles with her. One minute we’re sharing intimacy, and then the next, she’s back to keeping me at a distance. It won’t deter me, though, and she won’t push me away again. I let her do that once, and it cost me ten years without her.
“Let’s just focus on what needs to be done.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Jamila
The summer breeze wafts over me as I lean back on the lounger, out on the balcony off my bedroom.
The sun is beginning to rise far off in the distance, bringing another day. Days are no longer filled with fear and blood. They’re long, with laughter and joy everywhere. Birds are chirping, and somewhere in the distance, I hear the water sprinklers going off.
My hand soothingly rubs over my swollen belly, bringing a smile to my lips at the life growing inside of me.
My child.
I never thought having my own child would be possible, but here I am, six months along, moving around slower and peeing more than I used to.
Father Luke used to live by what he sensed, and since the last fight of Vita, I too have begun to live using my senses.
I don’t sense impending pain anymore, just possibilities and wonder. The nets billowing in the breeze are pulled apart and Raphael steps out, the gold band on his finger catching the sun.
My own ring sits heavy on my finger, identical to his. His chest is bare, and I suppress my smile at his chequered pyjama bottoms.
“There you are, my love.” He leans over the lounger and presses his lips to mine. “Couldn’t you sleep?”
He perches himself on the end by my feet, running his palm up and down my bare leg, applying the right amount of pressure.
“Your son decided he wanted to practice karate about an hour ago.”
His hand travels farther up my leg as he shuffles higher up the lounger, his hand reaching up to caress my stomach.
“My son is strong,” he murmurs, “just like his mother.”
The scene around us morphs, and we’re in the market square, walking hand in hand.
The sun is warm, but Raphael’s touch is boiling in mine.
I blink, and darkness envelopes us as we climb into bed and under the sheets. Rain beats against the balcony doors as thunder rolls across the sky.
“The power must be out,” Raphael says, edging across the bed to lie beside me. I fall asleep in his arms, the sound of the rain lulling me into slumber. Suddenly, a scream rips through me at the pain shooting across my stomach and into my back. Raphael’s face hovers above mine, but he’s so out of focus, I can barely make out what’s real or not.
Candles have been lit, their orange light flickering around the bed, throwing shadows over the woman between my legs. Lifting my head, I strain to look down my body. The sheets are gone, and my thighs are covered in blood.
“What’s happening?”
“The baby’s coming, my dear. Now puuushhhh.”
Raphael’s hand tightens around mine. Confusion, mixed with fear, runs through me.
This isn’t right. The baby isn’t due for another three months. Figures move about the room, but I can’t make out their faces.
“It’s a girl!”
No, we were told we were having a boy. They were adamant it was clear to see. One of the figures walks away, clutching the baby to her chest.
“Where are they taking her, Raphael?”
My voice shakes with fear.
“It’s fine, my Mila. They’re checking her over.”
“Go and be with her,” I urge, and the mattress dips as he slips away.
If I can’t lay my eyes on her, I want her father watching over her.
“She’s beautiful, Mila,” he beams, looking back at me over his shoulder.
My eyelids droop, and it becomes a fight to keep them open. I’m so tired, but I can’t feel the pain any longer.
I strain to open my eyes, and then I’m looking down. Raphael is smiling at our daughter beside the nurse while the other figures continue to move around, but I can’t make out what they’re here for.
Raphael turns, his body freezing momentarily before he’s running across the room. Jumping onto the bed, he scoops me up in his arms. My eyes are wide open, but I’m not moving. He’s screaming my name, but I don’t hear a single syllable. In fact, I don’t hear anyone in the room. Tears stream down his cheeks as he rocks me back and forth, holding me close against him.
I blink, and it’s daylight. Blood stains the sheets on the bed, but no one is in the room. I seek Raphael out, finding him seated in the corner of the baby’s nursery while she sleeps in her crib.
The nurse is still here, settled in the rocking chair, watching the babe sleep.
Days turn to nights, and the cycle continues with Raphael weeping as the baby is being looked after by the nurse.
It’s not until I seek him out again that I find him in our room, sitting on the edge of the bed. In one hand he holds a bottle of vodka, and in the other a gun. He stares straight ahead at the painting of the fallen angel and his mouth stretches, as if he’s screaming, I assume, judging by how the veins in his neck bulge from the strain.
Dragging his arm back, he launches the bottle at the angel and jumps up. I try to go to him, but he’s moving fast, and begins clawing at the painting. He’s shredding it, his tears dropping onto the broken pieces.
Out of breath, he drops to his knees, the gun still clutched in his hand. I go to put my hand on his shoulder to calm him when he tips his head back and whispers, “Mila.”
Can he sens
e me? Feel me? No, it’s not possible. It’s coincidental.
He raises his arm and puts the gun to his mouth, inhales deeply, and slides the barrel past his lips.
“No!” I scream, but nothing comes out. He doesn’t hear me, and squeezes his eyes closed, producing fresh tears.
The spark from the shot brightens my vision for a moment, and as I blink, Raphael’s body slumps to the floor.
His blood seeps from the wound, pooling on the carpet where his head lies…
Chapter Thirty-Five
Raphael
I’m woken by Mila lurching up, her body trembling next to me. It’s still dark outside, so I look at the clock, which reads 1:32. Leaning over, I switch the lamp on and turn to see her glistening with sweat, her gaze trained on something in the distance. I don’t think she knows fully where she is.
“Did you have a bad dream?” I ask, my voice startling her.
She jerks away as I go to rub her arm. Dropping my hand, I give her the space she obviously needs.
Her eyes are darker than usual, and I’m desperately wondering what’s running through her head.
“Mila, talk to me,” I urge, trying once again to soothe her.
I’ve barely touched her when she jumps out of bed and drags on her robe, hiding her body from me.
“Mila!” My tone is sharper, louder, which seems to do the trick.
She finally looks at me with a sadness that seems to engulf her.
“We’re always destined to die because of one another.”
I slip out of bed, not caring that I’m baring all, and go to her.
“What are you talking about?” I plead, grabbing her arms.
“We’ll never find peace because we don’t deserve it. You need to leave. From here on out, we’ll have Trey and Cristian relay messages between us.”
A Dance of War Page 23
