When the car comes to a stop outside the nursing home, Trey climbs out first, holding the door open for me, and I slip out gracefully after him. Before I can head inside, he grabs my wrist and pulls me back. Cocking a brow, I silently question his boldness at touching me in such a manner, especially in public.
He loosens his hold, but doesn’t let me go.
“I understand we need to come at this situation from a different angle, but you don’t fool me with the flowers, so please don’t treat me like one. He’s a Marocchi, and he’ll never be good enough for you. Never.”
Yanking my wrist from his grasp, I stop myself from rubbing it and step away.
“I’m well aware of who he is. Wait out here for me, I won’t be long.”
Walking briskly across the street, I don’t turn back when I hear the car door slam shut.
Raphael Marocchi is not Trey’s concern when it comes to anything but business.
Signing in at reception, I walk through the corridors to Father Luke’s room, noting how the windows and carpets need to be cleaned. His door is open, but his shades are still drawn, his bed unmade.
Sitting in his wheelchair, he faces the wooden cross hanging on his wall, holding his bible close to his chest. My presence garners his attention, and he offers me the saddest smile I’ve ever seen on his face.
His ninetieth birthday is around the corner, and every year, I wonder if he’ll see the next. The grey hair I remember has gone white, and has thinned out so much, he has little left. His skin is thin and papery. It’s his eyes that have aged the most, though. Haunting and wise, yet tired and sad.
He jumps straight in as I pull a chair across the room and sit down beside him. “I heard your news. I’d offer my congratulations, but I cannot. You’re making a grave mistake, Mila.”
“It’s not what you think, Father. Marrying Alexander is nothing but a means to an end. You have to forget the prophecy and admit you got it wrong.”
For it would have happened by now. Raphael and I have been the heads of our families for so long, that if we were the ones to bring peace to Vita, we would have by now.
A single tear falls from his eye, and he’s slow to dab it away with the handkerchief tucked inside his sleeve.
“I had a vision, clear as the water in the wishing well in the market square,” he tells me, and I tense.
He takes hold of my hand and pulls it onto his lap, bringing me in close to whisper in my ear,
“Fire and burning bones. All the people in Vita wearing black. Blue eyes weeping. Death is coming if you stay on this path, Mila Camarco.”
I pull back so I can look into his eyes. “Whose death? Who did you see burning?”
Seeing the tears pooling in his eyes, I gently take his handkerchief and dry them. Once I’m done, his stare becomes too heavy to bear, but I hold it and wait.
“Yours, child. The people of Vita are mourning for you.”
The air is sucked from my lungs. I try to lean back in my chair, but he keeps a firm hold on my hand, refusing to let me go.
“I hear their cries as your coffin is taken into the church. They’re so loud, I’m drowning in them.”
He begins to sob, and I manage to unlatch my hand from his and wrap my arms around him.
I hold him, feeling his tears soak through my jacket. His prophecy hasn’t come true, so what are the chances his vision will? I gently hold him until his sobs turn to whimpers and help him into bed. I straighten his sheets as I tuck him in and sit on the edge of the bed, taking his hand once more.
“Rest, Father.”
With one last squeeze, I release him and pick up my purse from the floor by the chairs.
His whimpers continue as I get to the door. “You were always the one who struggled to believe your destiny was for the greater good, Mila. But you know, deep down, there will come a time where you’ll stand with Raphael, and you both shall rise side by side, hand in hand.”
Turning back to him, I fail to hold my tongue. “Which is it, Father? Am I to burn to death, or rise with Raphael? I struggle with a lot of things, but that seems clear to me.”
“Change your path, Mila. Neither of you can do it alone. Fire and burning bones. Blue eyes weeping. Fire and burning bones. Blue eyes weeping. Fire and burning bones. Blue eyes weeping…”
I leave him to his chanting, walking as fast as I can to the exit. I need fresh air.
Too much has happened for the prophecy to come true now. If Father Luke’s vision is real, I’m the one who will meet our maker first, but what I don’t understand is why Raphael would cry for me? I know he’s the one Father Luke spoke of, because he has the bluest eyes of anyone in Vita.
Trey is leaning against the car on his phone. Seeing me when I cross the street, he ends the call.
“What did he want?” he questions, opening the door for me.
“He had a vision.”
I climb inside the car and let my shoulders fall.
“What did he see?”
“My bones burning, and the people of Vita mourning me on the day of my funeral.”
His eyes widen for a split second, and then he shrugs. “Nothing he’s ever said has come true, and it’ll be a cold day in Hell before I let you die.”
“Why is Alexander’s car parked outside my house?”
Holding the door open for me to climb out, Trey walks beside me as we head into the house.
“Mary probably let him, seeing as he’s your fiancé.”
“He’s going to be a bigger problem than I anticipated. I don’t like that he shows up unannounced.”
“Call it off, and you won’t have to deal with him.”
I don’t bother responding. He knows full well why I’m doing this, and unless he can come up with a better plan, this is it.
I’d love nothing more than a hot bath and a glass of scotch, but walking into my office, I dig deep and find the strength to deal with my fiancé. I put my visit with Father Luke to the back of my mind and force a smile when I see Alexander sitting in the chair behind my desk, like he has every right to be there.
“Did we arrange a visit?” I demure, knowing damn well we didn’t.
“Can’t I drop by and visit my fiancée without calling ahead?” Grinning, he looks to Trey. “You can leave.”
Trey simmers with anger beside me, and when I don’t call the mayor out for ordering my staff around, he understands that I’m playing the part and leaves.
I look back at Alexander, whose suit fits snugly around his arms. I’ll admit, he’s not so bad on the eyes, but he just doesn’t possess the spark that makes my heart race at the mere sight of him.
“Of course.” I smile sweetly, pushing the anger down. However, there must be a reason for the visit. He understands this is an arrangement and nothing more.
Pointing to a small box in the centre of my desk, he tips his head for me to open it.
I know it’s a ring, but when I open the box, what I don’t expect to see is the world’s biggest, ugliest, diamond ring. Don’t get me wrong, I love diamonds—having plenty of them in the family vault—but this ring is garish, holding no real beauty. He’s picked it solely for its size, making it impossible not to notice it on my finger.
“It’s beautiful, Alexander,” I gasp with as much enthusiasm as I can muster.
“I’m glad you think so. I’ve arranged for a celebratory dinner at my mansion tonight, and anyone who’s anyone will be there. I think it will be the perfect time for you to carry through with your promise. By the end of the night, word will have spread throughout the city, and everything we want to achieve will be well within our grasp.”
“We discussed my men laying down their weapons at the engagement party. Why the change?”
He’s already moving the posts, trying to assert his power over me. It’s taking everything in me not to have him shot dead right here, right now.
“It will be more effective this way. And besides, I don’t want anything taking away the attention of our night.�
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Of course he doesn’t.
“I’ve also set a date for us to be married, which will be one year from today, giving us plenty enough time to make arrangements. No expense will be spared.”
If Father Luke’s vision rings true, I won’t be around to say I do. Then again, it’s not like I’ll be saying it anyway. Even if the vision doesn’t come to fruition, I’m only doing this to buy myself time to deal with him and his threats.
Getting to his feet, he helps himself to my liquor cabinet, pouring himself a sizeable glass of whiskey.
He drains it and pours himself another, this time not so much, and then pours one for me. Crossing the room, he hands me my glass and raises his own. I clink mine to his and he nods.
“We still have details to smooth out. For instance, living arrangements, social gatherings, things of that sort. It goes without saying, you’ll be expected to move into the mayor’s mansion and accompany me to such events and whatnot.”
Men, they’re all the same. As long as they’re the ones taking the lead, they’re happy.
“I’m happy to follow your lead, Alexander.”
He grins. “I must say, I was expecting a fight about you leaving this glorious estate.”
“It’s only bricks and mortar, and it’s not like I have to sell. I’m sure we can come to some arrangement where we occasionally sleep in my bed.”
And like all men, at the mention of sleeping in my bed, his eyes burn with lust.
“Yes, we can most certainly come to some arrangement.”
I’d rather dance with the Devil on a bed of hot coals than move away from my family’s estate. I have one year to decide how to end him without it backfiring on me or my men.
Setting his glass down on the nearby table, he takes the box from me and
removes the ring, sliding it onto my finger. The weight of it is suffocating, but I smile, reminding myself: this is for my family name.
Chapter Five
Raphael
My fucking bow tie is crooked. No matter what I do, the damn thing won’t sit straight. It’s bad enough she’s engaged to that asshole, fake or not, but to sit at a dinner to celebrate it is far, far worse.
I assess my reflection in the mirror. While my bow tie isn’t cooperating, my tux is on point.
“Cousin, I’d like to introduce Ms. Maria Capulet, your date for the evening.”
My frustration must have me losing my hearing; I didn’t even hear them enter.
I turn to give her the once-over.
She’s beautiful, no doubt about that, with her glossy brown hair curled loosely, pinned away from her face. Her too slim body is sheathed in a black, floor-length dress, with lace covering her arms and shoulders, set off with a diamond choker clasped around her neck. But she’s not heart-stoppingly beautiful.
“Are you new to the city?” I ask her, noting her eyes are just as dark as Mila’s, framed with perfectly maintained brows.
I haven’t seen her around before, not even in passing, but just because she doesn’t take my breath away, doesn’t mean I’m not a red-blooded male and wouldn’t have noticed her.
“Yes. I recently moved to the city to live with my father.”
Her voice is laced with sweetness, as well as a purity that grates on my last nerve. I’ll have to see about keeping her quiet this evening.
Cristian steps forward and informs me, “Her father works for you.”
“Very well.”
Checking myself out once more in the mirror, I tug on the bow tie until it finally sits right.
Crossing the room, I hold my arm out to the girl who nervously laces hers through it. That’s when I get a whiff of her perfume—just as sickly sweet as her voice.
“Remember to hold your tongue and your gun,” Cristian murmurs quietly from my side as we walk out the front door.
It won’t be hard to control my urge to shoot, as the guards at the mayor’s mansion will take my gun from me before entering. The same can’t be said for my tongue.
Once we’re in the car and on our way, I glance over at my date who’s pretending to look out the tinted window she can’t see shit through. I guess it’s better than having her looking at me.
“I’m sure your father has already told you the rules, but I’ll repeat them for my own peace of mind. No discussing what you see or hear tonight to anyone, not even your father. Speak only when spoken to, and don’t embarrass me.” Her eyes widen, but she’s quick to nod, assuring me she understands. “Above all, remember your place.”
“I understand.”
Again, her voice has me grinding my teeth together.
I let out a sigh when we drive through the front gates of the third largest property in Vita, with mine and Mila’s being the two most substantial in size.
A red carpet has been laid out, leading up the front steps, through the door, and into the foyer.
The first difference I notice is the waiters lingering about, ready to serve the attendees champagne instead of waitresses. I always suspected Alexander hired women for his events so he could have his pick once the guests left. I wouldn’t put it past Mila to be the one who made the change.
I grab a flute of champagne and pass it to Maria, then grab one for myself.
“I’m allowed to drink, then?” she mutters under her breath, taking me aback. Apparently, her attitude isn’t as sickly sweet as she’d previously let on.
“Excuse me?”
Her head snaps up to look at me. “N-Nothing.”
“Oh. I thought you said something.”
I smirk. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she won’t be like all the others.
I act my part and commit to small talk with the owner of the bank and his wife. Maria does her part as well, only speaking when spoken to by the chief of police after he compliments her. I’m learning real quick that she knows when to act—a skill that keeps you alive in Vita.
I’ve yet to see Mila or Alexander by the time dinner is called. We file into the dining room where a table that seats at least fifty people is laid out with the finest china and crystal. Soft candlelight, along with a grand chandelier, casts an orange glow over the room. Maria keeps her arm linked through mine as we walk the length of the table, looking for our name cards. My gut tightens the farther up we go, dreading the thought of being close to the happy fucking couple.
Just as I suspected, I’m seated next to Alexander at the head of the table, opposite of Mila. Setting my drink down, I pull out the chair next to mine for Maria, who offers me a small smile as she takes a seat.
I hate manners; they’re time consuming and pointless. But it’s one of the things my mother ingrained into me, and I’ll be damned if my public appearance isn’t up to snuff in the eyes of everyone always watching what I do.
“I must say, I didn’t see this happening. Not after the failed attempt her father made to marry her off to the previous mayor.”
Anthony Dupree, the husband of the wealthy Mrs. Dupree, is talking across the table to the guy sitting beside Maria. There was a time I was set to be married to his daughter, but I don’t hear him bringing up that failed attempt.
“I heard she asked him,” the man relays.
“Well, I heard they’ve been seeing each other for a while, hence her making the first move for peace at the ball last week.”
A week. Is that how long it’s been since I held her in my arms?
“I heard it’s fucking rude to gossip when you can simply ask them for the answers when they finally decide to grace us with their presence.”
All eyes swing my way, but they all shut up as I drain the rest of my champagne.
A waiter is quick to refill my glass, but I cover it with my hand, requesting instead,
“Whiskey, neat.”
If I’m going to make it through this evening without lashing out or wrapping my hands around someone’s neck, I’m going to need something stiffer than pansy-ass champagne.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Mayor Alexan
der Salvatore and Ms. Jamila Camarco.”
At the end of the table, the butler stands in his pristine uniform with his hands clasped behind his back.
Everyone stands as if the Queen of England is walking into the room, but I remain in my seat, accepting the whiskey placed in front of me.
As guests sit once more, I have a clear view of the happy couple walking toward the table. The first thing that catches my eye is the enormous diamond resting on her slender finger. I’m starting to think that not even the whiskey is going to get me through the evening.
Arm in arm, looking fake as shit, Alexander releases her, making a show of pulling out her chair and kissing her cheek. But my attention is on the telltale sign of how she really feels about his lips on her.
Maybe I got it wrong and the earlier gossip is true. She hasn’t been my Mila for a long time, and as much as I don’t want anyone else to have her, I’m not foolish enough to believe she’s had no one over the years. That thought alone makes me want to kill her for all the promises she once made to me, broken and forgotten. But I have to remind myself: that was a long, long time ago.
Alexander doesn’t take his seat, but stands at the head of the table and smiles, his gaze roaming over the attendees.
I focus once again on Mila, who’s smiling up at him, and I sneer in disgust.
“Thank you for attending on such short notice. I invited you all here on this beautiful night to share in our joyous news, and to also share with you our vision for the future of Vita.”
They have fucking visions now? How spectacular. Throwing back my whiskey, I slam the tumbler down a little too hard, making Maria flinch beside me. The movement gains Mila’s attention as well, who I find eyeing my date before turning her attention to me.
A Dance of War Page 4