A Dance of War Page 10

  If Michael’s death has upset her to the point that she’s gone back on her vow of peace, I’m interested to see how it plays out, taking her priest and first in line.

  Cristian looks hesitant. “The Ghost? Raphael, are you sure?”

  The Ghost is simply that, a man as elusive as a spirit. One phone call, you pass on the job. Once he’s given his price, and you agree and pay up, before you know it, the person, or persons, you want dead, are.

  I’ve never met the man, nor has anyone in this room. His contact information was passed down to me when I took control from my father.

  Carlo, speaking for the first time, asks worriedly, “You want to hit a man of God?”

  “We’re all men of God, we just don’t wear the robes. He’ll bleed out the same as we would,” Cristian snaps.

  “But I don’t get it. Why the priest? I’m sure she’s close to her house staff. Are we going to take them out too?”

  Sighing, I drum my fingertips against the tabletop.

  “He’s more than a friend to her. He’s a part of her network,” I say, and Cristian zeroes in on me.

  “How the fuck do you know that?”

  “Because, dear cousin, I went to see her after the engagement dinner, and when I got to the church, I overheard them talking. I only caught the backend of their conversation, but he’s her contact to a gang out in Dermalen.”

  Slamming his hand down on the table, he hisses, “You went to see her?”

  “To what end? Because she’s clearly still alive after you had your chance to kill her,” Leo growls, but his disgust doesn’t hit me like he’d hoped.

  “You shouldn’t have gone into Camarco territory alone.”

  I look to my cousin, who I can’t bring myself to argue with. I’m Raphael fucking Marocchi. I don’t need anyone’s permission or approval to go where I want.

  I’ve been sneaking around Camarco territory since I was a boy. As a man, I’m more than capable of watching my own back. I’ve been doing it my whole life.

  “Call the Ghost, and order it for as soon as possible,” I order, rising from my seat. “And find out who killed Michael.”

  If it wasn’t us, and it wasn’t Mila, then someone out there has a lot of explaining to do.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Raphael

  Every year, even before I can remember, my parents have thrown over-the-top parties for my birthday. I’ve heard stories about Mila’s mother doing the same for her daughter. The people in Vita throw their own parties to celebrate the day we were born because we’re the supposed two who will bring them peace. I guess it’s their way of showing they support us and want us to succeed.

  This year, Giana Camarco is throwing her daughter a masquerade party, because next year, she believes there will be a wedding taking place. She’s right, of course, she’s just wrong on who the groom will be standing before Mila in the eyes of God.

  “Come on, Cousin, drink. It’s your birthday!”

  The theme this year is fancy dress. Cristian’s skeletal costume glows under the lights flashing around the back garden. My parents are staying in their wing of the house tonight, and while I have free rein to enjoy myself, my father has his men keeping an eye out for trouble.

  “And what the fuck are you dressed as?” he yells out over the music.

  “A gentleman.”

  I would’ve thought the tuxedo was obvious.

  “I worry about you sometimes, Cousin. Who comes to a fancy dress party dressed as a gentleman?”

  I come dressed as one because it’s not for my party. I’ve dressed like this for Mila’s.

  He shoves a shot of green shit at me, and I snatch it from his hand just to shut him up. Throwing it back, I leave him to enjoy the party with the others and slip into the shadows. I know every point my father’s men are keeping watch at, and I duck out behind the pool house and make my way out to the back road where a rental car is waiting for me.

  The trip across town is filled with people celebrating on the streets, in bars, and in restaurants. People sell tickets to the destined couple’s birthday celebrations and make a fortune because of us.

  The sky lights up with colourful fireworks as I park a couple of streets over from the Camarco estate. Reaching into the glove compartment, I take out my mask—half black, half gold—and slip it on before grabbing my invitation. The one I had Father Luke acquire for me.

  The streets are quiet around me, lined with cars and guards. My heart beats erratically as I hold up my invitation to each guard I pass, then flips as I stroll through the gates like I belong here.

  Flashing my invitation to the two goons at the door, they step aside, and I walk into the lion’s den. Popular music is playing from the back of the house. It’s like a party for an adult—a bored stiff adult.

  I don’t recognise anyone, especially with their faces hidden behind masks. Seeing the people coming and going from the grand archway, that’s where I head.

  I spot Alessandro first, sitting at a large round table. I recognise him because of his round belly and curly grey hair. There are some things a mask cannot hide.

  I’m guessing the dark-haired woman beside him is Mila’s mother, but I don’t see Mila with them. I stalk through the guests standing in small groups, talking or dancing, my eyes roaming over everyone.

  Where is she? One thing I do know is that the two families party very differently.

  A couple wearing matching black masks finish their dance, and as they step aside to take a drink from a passing waiter dressed as a dark jester, I see her. Standing in a group of four women, her white lace mask covers half her face and neck, attaching itself to her floor length dress. My mouth goes dry at the sight of her. She’s an angel. No one else is dressed in white apart from the birthday girl. My feet begin to move, and don’t stop until I’m in front of her, holding out my hand.

  “Ms. Camarco, would you do me the honour of this dance?”

  Her dark brown eyes widen beneath the lace while the women stare at me.

  Two of them whisper between themselves, but I only have eyes for the girl in white.

  Taking my hand, she walks beside me until we’re in the middle of the dance floor.

  Taking our positions, I feel her fear. But as scared as she is right now, I can’t help but feel on top of the world. Not only do I have the love of my life in my arms, but I’m dancing with her under her father’s nose, and he has no idea.

  He would never expect a Marocchi to step foot in his home, especially alone.

  “What are you doing here?” she whispers as I spin us around.

  “I couldn’t not see you on your birthday. Don’t be afraid, your father won’t know who I am. I just want one dance, and then I’ll leave. I missed you, and I had to see you.”

  Her lips spread into a slow smile, and she relaxes.

  “You’re daringly stupid, but I’m glad you’re here.”

  “I have a gift for you in my breast pocket. I’ll spin you out, and when you come back in, take it,” I whisper as we sway to the music.

  Stepping back, I follow through on my plan by spinning her out and back into me. I wait until she has her gift clutched in her hand before putting a respectable distance between us as not to cause offence to her father. I only have one dance with her, and I don’t want it cut short because of him.

  “Don’t try to look at it now. Wait until you’re alone.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a diamond-encrusted cross with our initials engraved on the back.”

  I had it specially made for her. She’s worth every penny of the ten thousand dollars it cost me.

  “I have a gift for you. Meet me at the old well tomorrow after morning prayer.”

  When the music begins to fade, my heart plummets. This can’t be over so soon. My desire for her could cost me my life, but I remind myself that I’ll soon have every day to dance with her. When the song ends, I step back and bow. She dips her head toward me, and I can see the longing
in her eyes.

  “Thank you for the dance.”

  “Thank you for coming,” she whispers.

  I go to turn, only to be met with her father. “You dance very well. Who are you?”

  His compliment is followed with bluntness, and for a moment, my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.

  “Father, this is Joshua King. His father is—”

  “I know who his father is,” he snaps at her. It takes everything I have to keep from balling my hands into fists.

  “I thought the King’s couldn’t attend tonight?”

  Speak, Raphael—speak!

  “My father changed his mind. He and my mother are around here somewhere. She said we couldn’t not celebrate Jamila’s birthday.”

  As soon as the words die out, I know I’ve said the wrong thing. Mila steps up beside me, an act I’m sure she wouldn’t do in front of her father if I were anyone else, let alone me.

  Alessandro’s bushy brows move like caterpillars in the slits of his mask.

  “He took your whore of a mother back, then? From what I understood, he’d thrown her cheating ass out for sleeping with her tennis coach.”

  Now I get it. Thank fuck this King boy’s mother hadn’t died. I would’ve well and truly been fucked then.

  “Yes. But he’s keeping a much closer eye on her now, and she’s not allowed to attend her tennis lessons anymore.”

  Alessandro barks out a deep laugh as he slaps me on the shoulder.

  “Don’t worry, son. Most of us have whores for mothers. Women can’t help themselves, the greedy bitches.”

  Jesus. Is this what Mila has had to endure? He has no respect for anyone, let alone the women in his life.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I should go find my father,” I say, swivelling to face Mila.

  “Thank you again for the dance.”

  And with that, I take my leave.

  Once I’m outside, I breathe a sigh of relief before jogging down the front steps of the house.

  I would’ve liked to share a kiss with her on our birthday, but I got more than I ever thought possible.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jamila

  By now, Raphael will know all bets are off and I’m fighting to the end. Marocchi soldiers are falling, but so are ours. Running my fingers over my cross, I send up a prayer for every one of my men who have lost their lives in the last three days and to their grieving families.

  By lunch, we’ll have a delivery of weapons, and no longer will my men have to rely on what’s at hand to fight for me.

  My thoughts turn to Michael, but I push them away. The time for mourning him isn’t today. He wouldn’t want me distracted with his death until the war is won.

  My chauffeur stands by the car door, waiting to drive me to morning prayer when Trey arrives, motioning me back into the house.

  He must have news.

  He guides me into my office, and I take stock of his appearance. His hair is dishevelled, his dress shirt ripped down the arm, and the cuffs stained with blood. I can’t see any wounds on him, so it must belong to someone else.

  “What happened to you?”

  “I was fucking ambushed. As soon as I stepped out of the car, shots were being fired. If it weren’t for the Blake brothers, I would’ve been hit.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “Dead. This is their blood,” he says, looking at his cuffs. “Father Antonio set us up. There’s no way Raphael could’ve known about the meet.”

  “Father Antonio wouldn’t do that to me.”

  He’s as loyal as Trey, and I trust him with my life.

  “Did you see who was shooting?” I ask.

  “No, but it was a single shooter.”

  So the distributor didn’t even show. “Raphael is behind this. Father Antonio wouldn’t have said who he was buying for, so how would they know?”

  “Good fucking question,” he huffs, unbuttoning his shirt.

  I look away. I know that the Camarco insignia is tattooed across his chest and reaches down to the top of his pants.

  “Go get washed up. You can come with me and talk with Father Antonio before morning prayer.”

  I wait for him in the car, and fifteen minutes later, he slides into the back seat beside me, freshly showered and wearing a clean suit.

  “We should be making moves to hit Raphael. He’s coming for everyone around you, and we should be doing the same. What we need to do is go straight for him.”

  “We’ll talk with the Father first, and then go from there. I want answers before I make the call.” I reach across the seat and rest my hand on his knee.

  “I’m glad you made it back alive.”

  For the first time this morning, he smiles, and his hand covers mine, squeezing it gently.

  “As long as you need me, I’m not going anywhere,” he promises before I pull my hand from under his.

  The rest of the drive is quiet as I mull over how Raphael could’ve known about my true relationship with Father Antonio. Then it hits me. I remember he showed up at the church the night I vowed for peace. It’s possible he overheard us and put two and two together. I don’t know how long he was hiding in the shadows, watching us.

  Trey is first to climb out, and he holds the door to the church open for me to. It’s early, so Father Antonio will be in.

  My heels clack against the stone floor as I dig out the bible from my purse. Suddenly, Trey wraps his hand around my arm, pulling me to a stop.

  “Don’t move, and don’t look up,” he warns, but I don’t listen.

  Dragging my eyes up toward the front of the aisle, the air rushes from my lungs, lodging in my throat.

  Gasping, I lean into Trey, knowing he’ll keep me on my feet.

  “I told you not to look,” he growls.

  Father Antonio’s naked body is hanging on the cross I’ve prayed to all my life, his blood dripping from his feet into a mass pool on the floor beneath him. Open gashes at his wrists and throat are the source, and a single bullet wound sits between his brows.

  Shoving against Trey, he loosens his hold, allowing me to walk slowly up the aisle. The Father’s blood is spattered over the white angels and the Virgin Mary statues, the copper smell filling the air. Covering my mouth and nose, I back up a few steps and squeeze my eyes shut.

  A heaviness rests across my chest, making it hard to breathe. He was the only person in this world who was at my side and wanted nothing in return. Trey is loyal and always there, but I know he wants more from me. More I won’t and cannot give him.

  “We have to go. You can’t be seen here.”

  Trey’s right, but it doesn’t sit well with me to leave him alone in this state.

  Trey ushers me out through the side door that leads into the alley and back to the car. I don’t care to look around to see if anyone observes us, but I don’t have to, because Trey will.

  Back at the house, the first thing I do is pour myself a large measure of scotch.

  “First Michael, and now Father Antonio. He’ll be coming for you next,” I murmur, downing the contents of my glass.

  “He already tried last night,” he reminds me. It feels like long ago since he told me of the ambush.

  “Whoever he had kill Antonio had orders to take their time. What they did to him was… it was like a madman’s art.”

  I block Trey out and refill my glass. Trey moves close to me, but I can’t bear his touch.

  I thought nothing in this world could hurt me after the heartbreak I suffered ten years ago. I locked down the need for friends and a life I once dreamed of, settling instead for this life of claiming power over Vita. Father Antonio was the only one I held dear to me, and now he’s been taken from me in the most horrific way.

  Oh, Raphael is going to pay for this. If he thinks he can take everyone around me down to get to me, I have no choice but to stop it now.

  “Ms. Camarco. The mayor and the chief of police are on their way up the drive,” Mary announces, standing in the doo
rway.

  “In the future, they’re not allowed access to the estate without my permission or a warrant,” I inform her before she goes to answer the door.

  “Put the drink away and wipe your eyes. No doubt they’re here to inform you of Antonio’s death. Act like you don’t already know.”

  Narrowing my eyes at Trey, I shove the glass behind the array of flowers on the mantle and pat my sleeves under my eyes.

  I can’t remember the last time I cried. If truth to be told, I didn’t think there would ever be a reason for me to shed a tear after my mother was murdered.

  Mary walks Alexander and the chief to my office and closes the door behind them.

  “What do I owe the pleasure of such an early visit?” I ask, offering them both my most polite smile.

  “I’m afraid we bring bad news, Jamila,” Alexander starts, moving closer to me.

  “It must be bad if you’re both here. Well, go on. What is it?”

  It’s the chief who steps forward and relays, “Father Antonio was found murdered in the church this morning. One of his parishioners found him and alerted the police.”

  Hearing it from someone else makes it even more real, and a cold numbness creeps up my legs. Stumbling to the nearest seat, I fall into the chair and gasp for breath.

  It wasn’t my imagination. It wasn’t a bad dream. It’s real.

  “Murdered?” I say, knowing I have to lie. “It’s not possible. Father Antonio is—was a good man… a man of God.”

  Alexander crouches down on his knees and envelopes my hands in his. For once, it doesn’t feel so wrong.

  “I assure you, we’ll find who did this, and they’ll face the full force of the law,” he vows, and I can’t help but snort.

  “What makes him any different from Michael? Everyone in this room knows it was Raphael. He’s the only one who would have the nerve to do this, yet the police did nothing to find his killer.”

  The chief hangs his head, staying quiet. Smart.

  “Jamila, we had a vision for this bloodshed to end, we can still make that happen.”