A Dance of War

by Ellie R. Hunter

  “I have two soldiers following her for security.”

  A drink is shoved under my nose and I tear my eyes away from the body and take the whiskey. It burns as it goes down, but does little to calm me.

  “You should really put the trash out.” Looking up, I see Sienna stepping over the body as she makes her way toward me. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen a dead body in Dad’s office.”

  There were many times we would come across dead bodies in our father’s office of men who had wronged him, or just simply annoyed him. Whatever the reason, we soon grew unaffected by death.

  I remind her, “It’s been a while since you’ve been here, and it’s my office. It hasn’t been Dad’s in a long time.”

  Rolling her eyes, she makes herself comfortable in the chair opposite of my desk, completely unfazed by the dead body.

  “What do you want, Sienna? As you can see, we’re a little busy,” Cristian snaps at her.

  “I want to return to Paris. This isn’t my home anymore, and I wish to leave as soon as possible.”

  Leaning back in my chair, I sigh. “No.”

  “Brother, you don’t want me here, and I don’t want to be here. Fire up a jet and I’ll be on my way.”

  Cristian goes to say something, but I lift my head, signalling that I’ll deal with her.

  “I’ll gladly have the jet ready to go when it’s safe to do so. You were kidnapped and held hostage for two months, and you want to go back to a place where I can’t protect you? You’re unbelievable sometimes.”

  “Send some of your men with me until the danger has passed. Father would have.”

  Oh, no, she’s not using our father against me. “Our father would’ve had you married off on your eighteenth birthday if he were still here. You should count yourself lucky that I’m arrogant enough to form alliances without having to bargain your pussy to do so. Now, you’ll stay here until this fight has ended, and you’ll not bother me again.”

  “This fight has ended?” she huffs. “Hello? This family has been fighting forever. It’ll never be over!”

  The last of my patience snaps.

  Slamming my hand on the desktop, I growl,

  “Enough!” just as an explosion rattles the windows.

  Shooting up from my chair, Cristian is hot on my ass as I rush to the windows, where far off in the distance you can see smoke and flames licking the air.

  “Find out what that is!” I order Cristian before turning back to Sienna.

  Grabbing her by the arm, I haul her out of the chair and onto her feet.

  “Stay near the back of the house. If for any reason we get overwhelmed from an attack, hide yourself in the panic room.”

  “Raphael—”

  “Go!”

  Shoving her toward the door, she heeds my order and skitters off. Only then do I turn back to Cristian.

  Covering his phone’s speaker with his hand, he tells me, “DiMarco’s are hiding pipe bombs. Half of Angel Street is gone.”

  Pulling his phone away, he sees another call coming through.

  “Trey?”

  He listens to the prick as I wait impatiently to learn why he’s calling. Mila made it clear she was running things.

  Hanging up, he informs me, “Word is, the tunnel Mila sent her soldier to was booby-trapped. She’s going on the assumption that he didn’t make it.”

  “So what’s she doing now?”

  He only shrugs, and I growl when more shots are fired off in rapid succession. So many bodies out there, and I can’t see a single one of them from here.

  Cristian’s phone rings again. Answering it, his face pales as he listens to what’s being said.

  “Mila’s car is surrounded…”

  I’m running for the door before he finishes relaying the message. Jumping in behind the wheel of my car, he’s quick to slide into the passenger seat.

  “Where is she?” I bark at him.

  “In the market square.”

  Slamming my foot on the gas, the wheels spin out and we shoot forward, whizzing through the gates as I head for the market square. The gunshots we heard faintly grow louder the closer we get. The streets are nearly empty, and we soon find it’s because everyone’s congregating around the market.

  Taking the last corner, I brake hard, jolting the car to a stop. Everywhere I look, there are men fighting, guns firing, and bodies dropping on both sides.

  “We need to get out of here!” Cristian yells, clicking away on his phone.

  “Not without Mila.”

  I don’t particularly give a shit about Trey, but Mila is everything. If she goes down, so do I. There won’t be a third time I stick around, thinking she’s dead.

  “Get her on the phone and put it on speaker!”

  Edging the car forward, a bullet bounces off the windshield. Lucky for me, they’re bulletproof windows I had custom made when I brought the car.

  Her car is twenty feet away. Three bodies lie in the road, unmoving. Taking my chances on them being dead, I roll the car over them to get up beside her.

  Mila’s voice comes through the line. “I’m a little busy. What do you want?”

  “You couldn’t just stay at the house, could you!”

  “Now is not the time to scold me.”

  A group of six men—our men—cling to the wall, firing their weapons as they round the corner, dropping DiMarco’s soldiers from where they were holed up behind a van.

  “How outnumbered are we?” Mila asks.

  “We need more men,” I snap, seeing another three of our men pumped full of bullets.

  Closing my eyes to the carnage, I tighten my hold on the wheel and think. We’re sitting ducks here, and between Cristian and I, we only have two weapons on us.

  “Trey, when I say, you and me will switch cars. You and Cristian head to Dermalen and gather more men.”

  “Dermalen has been drained of men courtesy of DiMarco before he got to Vita,” he advises.

  “There are always men willing to fight. Between you and Cristian, you can find them. They’ll listen, wanting revenge for losing their own.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m not leaving Jamila.”

  “I’ll be fine. We need more men and we need them now.”

  I can’t see through her tinted windows, and nothing is coming over the phone, but I guess he’s pleading with her silently to keep him at her side.

  “Now!” she snaps.

  “Fine,” he growls. “Say when.”

  There’s a lull in the shooting, and it’s now or never. I quickly instruct Cristian, “Get in touch with Germaine. I want every weapon he has here by the morning, and be safe out there.” To Trey, I say, “On the count of three, we’ll open our doors and switch places. What side are you on?”

  “Passenger.”

  Excellent.

  “I’m on the driver’s side, so we’ll have the doors for protection. One, Two, Three.”

  I swing my door open the same time he does, the exchange swift and successful.

  Slamming the door closed, I shoot Mila a quick look, needing to see she’s okay. She is. “Reverse out of here, and don’t stop for anything.”

  Throwing the car into gear, she slams her foot down on the pedal, thrusting me forward. I barely have time to brace my hand on the dash.

  “Your place or mine?” she asks, spinning the car around and driving up City Street.

  “Your estate is closest.”

  “How did you know where we were?” she asks rather calmly, given our situation.

  “Cristian had two of our men tail you.”

  “And you rushed to my rescue?”

  “Something like that,” I mumble. “And I don’t want to hear you had yourself covered,” I add, because I’m not in the mood for it.

  The Camarco estate is at the top of the street, and I’ll breathe easier when we’re through her gates and in the safety of her home.

  “We need to make sure fighters from Dermalen come. We’re losing ground h
ere, and there’s no way we’re letting DiMarco take us down.”

  “It won’t happen,” she vows.

  “I suppose this is what it would’ve been like if our forefathers acted more aggressively.”

  She doesn’t agree or disagree with me, and as we approach the gates, they open when Mila presses a button on the dash.

  I frown when I look ahead. “Whose cars are those, and how did they get in?”

  “I have no idea,” she murmurs as the door on the Bentley opens.

  “Stop and get out of here,” I say, but it’s too late.

  The car rounds the water fountain and brings us close to the front door.

  Craning my neck, I have an unobstructed view of an older gentleman, sharply, dressed, pulling himself from the car next to a soldier, and it’s not DiMarco.

  “These aren’t our men.”

  “I gathered that,” I murmur, counting the cars.

  There are seven, none with tinted windows, each one filled with DiMarco men.

  “If we get out, we’re dead,” I tell her.

  “If we stay, we’re just as dead,” she counters.

  “So we try and run to the house.”

  “There could be people in there,” she quips.

  “They’re out here. Either way, we’re trapped. We have to take the chance.”

  “Fine.”

  “I’ll get out, and you climb over to my side. You’ll be a clear target on your side.”

  As soon as the door opens, the suited guy steps forward, and I keep my eyes on him as Mila shimmies across and climbs out beside me.

  “Mr. Marocchi, Ms. Camarco, I’m glad you’ve returned. We’ve been waiting for you.”

  “And you are?” I call out.

  “My name is Damien DiMarco. I believe you’ve already met my brother.”

  No one else exits their vehicles, but I’m still not happy to stand out here. The guy isn’t here for any other reason than to see Mila and I dead.

  “Let’s get inside.”

  Reaching down for Mila’s hand, she lets me take hold of it as we turn for the door.

  We make it to the top step when my leg buckles.

  “Running like scared pups,” the suited guys calls out as I near enough shove Mila through the front door before slinking down against the wood, noting the blood seeping through my pants on my thigh.

  “You got hit?” Mila gasps, crouching down to take a look. “I think if it hit an artery, it would be bleeding more. Can you walk?” Craning her neck, she peeks out of the window beside the door.

  “The cars are emptying. If they want in, they’re going to get in. We need to move.”

  “There’s nowhere to hide they won’t find, and Trey and Cristian will be halfway to Dermalen by now.”

  “There’s one way, and we’ve already been warned about it. The tunnel in Father Luke’s vision. It will lead us to safety, but we have to go now.”

  Helping me to my feet, I embrace the pain so I can move without slowing us down too much before she stops at her office door.

  Grabbing the scarf from her neck, she ties it around my wound. “This should slow the bleeding. We don’t want a blood trail for them to follow.”

  “Good thinking.”

  She takes my hand, surprising me, and leads me to the bookshelf along the far wall.

  Yanking out what looks like a random book that looks the same as the others on the shelf, the whole frame begins to move, opening up to a doorway.

  She urges me through first, and I lean against the stone wall while she waits for the hidden door to close.

  Lights come on one at a time, no doubt connected to the motion of the door opening. The tunnel is long and narrow, only wide enough for us to walk in single file.

  Limping along as far as I can, the burning pain becomes unbearable.

  “I need to stop, just for a minute.”

  Using the wall for support, I lower myself down onto my ass and relax my leg.

  “The scarf seems to be stemming off the blood, so that’s good.”

  Banging my head against the brick, it does little to calm me down. Getting shot is the last thing we need. Not that you ever need a gunshot wound.

  “You were right the other night,” she murmurs, lowering herself down beside me.

  “About?”

  “I had a dream, or a vision, if that’s what it was.”

  I wait for her to carry on, not wanting to interrupt her. “It started with us together. There was peace in Vita, and I was pregnant. We strolled through the market where everyone was happy, and we were normal. Then it was night, and the baby was coming. We had a baby girl, and you were so happy, but not long after, I died. After that, it was like I was watching from above. You were hurting so much. You didn’t bond with our child, and after so long, you took a gun and killed yourself.”

  Shit. So that’s why she was shaken and adamant we would never find peace for ourselves.

  “I don’t think it was a vision. I think it was you doubting our ability to make this work, which then filtered into your subconscious.”

  “You’re only saying that because you love me.”

  “I’m not denying that, but you’re only pushing me away to save yourself from future pain. Admit it, you love me back.”

  I can still see the raw pain in her eyes, even in this dimly lit tunnel. When she turns to me, a tear escapes her eye.

  “I’ve always loved you, but I’ve hated you too. And up until you shielded me with your body to keep me from getting shot, I couldn’t let myself love you again.”

  My hand finds hers and drag them onto my lap. “The only visions I worry about are Father Luke’s. They’re subjective, but they fall into place, if not… wonkily.” She laughs, but the sound dies quickly. “I had dreams when I thought you were dead. Every night you were my bride, and we were standing inside St. Mary’s. The choir boys were singing in the background, you were smiling, and I felt complete. But there’d be something to distract me from you, and when I turned back, you were crumbling into a pile of ash. So, as you’ve heard, I don’t believe in dreams. Mila, I want everything with you, and I’ll take any risk to be with you. Question is, what will you risk for me?”

  Her eyes dance warily, and I struggle to breathe as I await her answer.

  “I would risk it all for you.”

  Forgetting my pain, I lean in and take her lips. Opening for me, I sweep my tongue across hers before diving deeper. I’d kissed her so many times when we reunited in her bedroom, but this is our first kiss that feels like the ones we shared all those years ago.

  “We really should move on. We’ll have all the time for this once we defeat the DiMarco’s.”

  I’ve got my Mila back.

  With one last kiss, she hauls herself up and proceeds to help me until I’m steady on my feet.

  We walk for what feels like hours before she says, “We have to assume my estate has been taken over.”

  “We’ll get it back, don’t worry about that.”

  The tunnel widens the farther we walk, and again, we stop to rest. And just as I slump down the wall, the lights flickers before cutting out completely.

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t paid your bill?” I say to lighten the mood.

  “The lights are connected to the main circuit. They must have cut the power or something.”

  “How much farther till we’re at the end of this tunnel?”

  “I have no idea. I lost track of how long we’ve been walking for.”

  Great. The sooner I can get my hand on some painkillers, the better.

  “You know, I had a much different plan for when I came back to Vita,” she remarks.

  “And?”

  “I was going to shoot you at that peace ball the mayor threw, and then deal with Father DiMarco. Being the ‘fiancée’ of the mayor saves you from having to be searched on the way in, even if you’re presumed dead.”

  I suppose that was the only perk for her in that arrangement. “But I thw
arted your plans.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you ever sleep with him?”

  “I don’t remember you ever being this jealous, Raphael,” she murmurs, her fingers wrapping around mine.

  “But no, I didn’t. I couldn’t think of anything worse than having him sweating all over me.”

  I exhale long and hard, not realising I’d been holding my breath. “For the record, I’ve always been jealous when it comes to you. We should count ourselves lucky, seeing there was no one you got serious with. I think these past ten years would’ve been very different.”

  Because I would’ve killed them.

  “Didn’t you ever come close to meeting someone else? Someone you could see a future with?”

  “I never saw anyone else, Mila. When I say it’s always been you, it has been. No one compares, and I’d rather live alone than have to pretend.”

  I can’t see much, if anything, but I tell myself I can see a ghost of a smile pass over her beautiful face. Suddenly, I feel her starting to move.

  “Look, someone’s coming,” she whispers loudly.

  Swinging my head to the right, I see two torch lights moving around. I forgot about my leg, but now that I’m reminded of it, the pain returns.

  “I can’t move, Mila. Please tell me you still have a gun?”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay? Mila,” I grind out.

  “No, I don’t. I forgot to pick it up in the rush to get out of the car.”

  “Fucking great. There’s no way I’m going to let us die beneath the streets of Vita—”

  “Shh. Listen.”

  I strain to listen, but all I hear are footsteps growing closer.

  “Help me up and stand behind me,” I instruct her, but she doesn’t move.

  “So help me… Mila, help me up.”

  “You’re wounded. Trust me to look after you.”

  Her face illuminates in the darkness, and I try reaching out for her hand to pull her closer to me. But I fail, cursing my fucking leg.