“For tonight, you’re staying here. Make yourself comfortable.”
She’s going nowhere. I don’t care if I have to keep her here tied and bound, kicking and screaming, vowing to end me. I’m growing tired of this fight already, and it’s barely fucking begun.
Chapter Thirty
Jamila
The sheets are just as soft and expensive here as they are at home, yet I can’t find sleep. I once loved the man who owns this home, yet I don’t trust him enough to sleep under his roof. Trey was adamant we return to the estate, but Raphael was right. After taking out Alexander and the chief, I wouldn’t have made it across town.
I can’t stop thinking about Raphael shielding me with his body from a bullet. He swooped in, prepared to die for me, and it’s muddled everything. His actions weren’t that of an enemy. Can I truly trust him after tonight? Is he really my ally?
Kicking the sheets off, I slip out of bed and wrap myself in the robe Sienna loaned me for the night. Out in the hall, the sconces along the wall cast a soft glow and I pass each door quietly as not to wake anyone. The walls are painted a stark white, setting off the wall art in blacks and greys. There’s no colour or warmth in this home, saying nothing about the boy I used to love. It’s like a show home for the uber minimalists and people with no vision.
The last door by the top of the stairs is ajar, and I hear his deep voice murmuring. I don’t mean to spy, but it wouldn’t hurt to see him when he’s not putting on a show for my benefit.
Peeking through the gap, the room is shrouded in darkness, but I can make out Raphael sitting beside a bed. Red lights blink on a machine, with the faint whirring sound of another machine purring in the corner. Is he talking to Giana Marocchi? The last I heard of her, she went away after her husband’s death because she couldn’t bear to be in the house without him.
“She said, ‘blue eyes weeping,’” I hear him say as he hangs his head. “Why those words?”
Why is he so hung up on what I said?
His question goes unanswered, and he begins to pray. I step away and lean against the wall, joining him. The Lord knows we need every prayer answered right now. Finishing up, I make the sign of Christ over my chest and whisper, “Amen.” Opening my eyes, I find Raphael standing before me.
“What happened to your mother?”
He motions for me to walk with him, and as I do, he confesses, “After I killed my father, my mother couldn’t handle it. I didn’t expect her to grieve him as she did, and she tried taking her own life. I’ve been keeping her alive all these years, praying for a miracle.”
Freezing, I grab onto his arm, demanding to know, “You killed your father?”
That can’t be right. The night his father was found dead, the Marocchi’s fought furiously in his honour, coming after any Camarco they could point their guns at. Angelo Detorri claimed the kill, and I rewarded him generously because of it. He died four years ago, a liar. This doesn’t make sense.
“Yes, for what he made me think I’d done. We had our plan to take down our fathers, but never our mothers.”
I’m stunned speechless. Words fail me as I follow him into his office. Pouring us both a drink,
I accept the glass he offers filled with clear liquid. I don’t usually partake in vodka, but anything hard will do right now.
“Why did you never tell me? You let me believe one of my men had killed him.”
He snorts. “You didn’t want to hear it. Hell, you wouldn’t even see me. Do you forget you shot me?”
I could never forget that. Some nights I regretted it, but most nights, I wished I had shot him in the heart for breaking mine. Eye for an eye, heart for a heart.
“Then the fighting began between us, and we changed.”
I throw back the vodka and cough around the burn spreading across my chest.
“He was sitting in that chair.” Pointing to the chair behind the desk, I try to picture the mean man sitting there. “And I used the blade you gave me. I still have his blood dried and crusted around the hilt if you wish to see it.”
I don’t wish to see it; I believe him. All these years have not only been full of secrets, they’ve been full of lies.
“After you wouldn’t hear me out, I came straight here and killed him. My men found your Camarco blade stuck in his chest, and I allowed them to believe you’d had him killed.”
“I would’ve listened if I knew you had killed him. I know I would have.”
“Would you, Mila? You believed every lie my father told you over the phone. You no longer trusted me, but you trusted him, a man you despised. I was angry. I wanted you to hurt like I was.”
Pouring myself another drink, I’m careful to keep it a short and turn back to him.
“You think I wasn’t hurting? My heart broke that day, and it’s never mended.”
He looks down at his drink. “Like you say, it’s all in the past now. We have the here and now to concentrate on and the future to plan for.”
“Tell me, why are you so caught up about what I said about blue eyes weeping?”
Brushing up next to me, he tops his glass with more vodka, but doesn’t make a move to put distance between us.
“I was sitting with my mom one night, drifting off to sleep when the machines started going off. She woke up—she moved—and clung to me, saying, “Fire and burning bones. The people of Vita wearing black. Blue eyes weeping.” She repeated it three times before she fell back on the bed, returning to the state she’s in now. Nothing’s happened since. And then, you say those very same words.”
Father Luke shared his vision and fell into a comatose state. Giana Marocchi was already in a coma and awoke from it to share the vision, only to fall back into it. Father Luke said his vision would change if I choose another path. I did so, and I don’t have to worry about my bones being burned any longer.
“It was Father Luke who told me the words, having the exact same vision as your mom. He told me months ago if I didn’t change course, I would die. The day of the car bomb seemed like the perfect opportunity to go into hiding and finally figure out a way to get to you.”
“Father Luke is alive?” he asks incredulously.
“Of course. I hid him away to keep him safe.”
“Even apart, destiny has a way of keeping us bound.”
He lifts his hand, and I move away before he can touch me.
“With Alexander and the chief out of the picture, the city will be total anarchy,” I say, averting his sense back to the conversation.
“We’ll work fast to rid DiMarco and restore order.”
Lifting his glass, I step forward, clinking mine to his. “I’m looking forward to working with you instead of against you, Mila.”
Downing the contents, I place my empty glass on the table closest to me.
“Then we best get some rest. Good night, Raphael.”
Not wanting to linger around, I head back up to the room I’ve been given. And this time, I slip under the sheets and close my eyes, content with sleeping under his roof after clearing some of the air.
Chapter Thirty-One
Raphael
“How many?”
I listen in to Cristian on his call with Frankie as I look around the room. For once, Mila and I were alone with no men waiting on the other side of the door where we spoke, not like enemies, but of two people who share a history that has bound us for all eternity, no matter how much she may want to change that.
“No, don’t do that. Keep on the lookout, and keep yourself alive. Report back to me in an hour.”
Cristian hangs up and shoves his phone in his jacket pocket.
“Frankie says another eleven DiMarco men have fallen, but we’ve lost nine since sunrise,” he informs me.
“Is that both Marocchi and Camarco soldiers?” I ask.
“Both.”
In that case, as harsh as it sounds, it isn’t that much of a hit to us. Between us, we have hundreds of men willing to fight for us, and they’ve all an
swered our calls through the night.
The door to my office opens, and Mila walks in with Trey close beside her. Close enough, he could feel her heat through his shirt.
“Morning,” I grunt, not caring about hiding my distaste for the man.
“Morning,” she greets.
She’s not as guarded as she normally is. I hope our talk in the night has shown her that I’m no longer her enemy.
“An envoy of eighteen vans rolled into Vita twenty minutes ago, all DiMarco soldiers. He’s growing his army fast,” she notifies us.
“He’s doing what we are.”
Turning her attention to Trey and Cristian, she sits on the chair opposite of me and says, “Spread the word for all men to be ready to fight. Women, children, and the vulnerable are to stay home or quickly find shelter until told otherwise.”
Cristian looks to me for confirmation.
“You heard her.”
Cristian listens to me, whereas Trey goes to argue with her. “That’ll leave you on your own.”
“I’ll be with Raphael.”
Those four words ignite something inside of me—words I haven’t heard in years.
“Exactly.” He turns his back to Cristian and I and lowers his voice. It’s no use, though, as I can hear him when he says, “At least let me call in a few of our men to keep you safe while I’m gone.”
“Trey, this is not the time for me to keep repeating myself.”
Begrudgingly, he leaves with Cristian, and I smirk.
“You’re learning to trust me again.”
“It seems that way. If you break it, I won’t shoot you in the arm. It’ll be your head.”
My pants grow tight, and I remain in my seat to shield my desire for her. It’s funny, I wasn’t angry she shot me because I understood why. It was her not believing me that hurt a hell of a lot worse. This is my second chance to gain her full trust, and I guarantee it will be my only chance.
“We should discuss what we’ll have the men do once they’re ready,” I coax.
“After our talk last night, I’m going to visit with Father Luke.”
I still can’t believe he’s alive, being certain he had died long ago. Trust Mila to take care of him and keep him from me.
“That’s not a good idea. We should remain here,” I argue.
She stiffens, and her coldness returns. I’d hoped we had moved past this.
“Understand this clearly, Raphael. I never ask my men to fight and then stay home. You’re welcome to join me, but don’t underestimate my strength to do this alone. I am no less than you.”
Now that I’m able to stand without my dick straining for all to notice, I cross the room and stand so close to her, she has to look up at me.
“I’ve never once underestimated you. I haven’t fought against you all these years believing I was better than you, as that was never my intention. You’ve always been my equal, and only you.”
“Then prove it, and visit Father Luke with me.”
Her gaze holds mine as I nod, itching to lean down and kiss her instead. I’ll bide my time for a kiss, though, as I have no doubts she would push me away.
“Didn’t you say he was comatose?”
“Yes, but I want to check his notebooks. He may have written something down and not known to pass it on if he thought it wasn’t necessary at the time. You know what he was like, and he hasn’t changed.”
“So you believe this is our destiny now?”
Her lips stretch into an alluring smile, nearly undoing me.
“I’ve always believed, just not in all of it.”
“Ms. Camarco, we’ve been trying to call you since the peace ball,” the lady at reception says as we sign in.
His nursing home is right on the border between our territories, under my nose the whole time.
“I’m here now. We’d like to pray over Father Luke,” Mila spouts off, and I suppress the urge to grin.
She’s as pure as snow, but she’s no fool, and knows exactly how to get her way without having to put her foot down.
“He’ll no doubt pray with you. He came around the night of the peace ball—the night you came back.”
Is this a sign? Mila doesn’t question it as we make our way through the corridors, but she’s quiet and in her own world until we come to Father Luke’s door.
She’s first to enter. Father Luke is propped up in an armchair that looks dreadfully uncomfortable, sketching something on the easel.
“Father Luke, I’m so happy to see you awake. You gave me quite the scare,” Mila admonishes him kindly, bending down to kiss his wrinkly skin. He hasn’t changed all that much in the last ten years, but he has aged. His hair is so thin, you can see his scalp, and it’s so fucking white, it’s transparent. I hover by the door as they say a prayer together, with Mila crouched at his feet. I keep my lips firmly closed.
The Lord let me down at a time I needed him the most, so I don’t pray to him at any given opportunity. I pick and choose when I need him, just like he did with me.
He cast me into a prophecy and left me to dangle there.
Over Mila’s head, Father Luke’s eyes open and land directly on me.
Joy literally washes over him, his smile growing as a single tear rolls from his watery eyes.
“Is that you, Raphael?”
“Yes, Father, it’s me.”
He waves his hands, wanting me to come closer. Mila stands, stepping back to give me the space to approach.
“Look at you, a man now.” His voice is barely above a whisper. He reaches out for my hand, and then Mila’s.
“Hand in hand they shall rise,” he murmurs before releasing us. “I thought I’d die before witnessing you two back at each other’s sides.” He tilts his head back to get a clear view of me, so I help him out by lowering myself to my knees. “You bent the knee, didn’t you?”
“Why do you think it was me?”
“Because, when it came to Mila, you always were too enthralled by her. You prayed for her to come back to you, didn’t you? And when she did, you knew it was your one and only chance to get her back.”
“We’re not here because of love, Father.”
He turns his head to stare at Mila, his smile never dropping. “You were always his weakness, and your weakness was that you couldn’t admit you needed him.”
My neck nearly snaps as I look between them. A look of pain crosses her beautiful features before she quickly wipes it away, yet she doesn’t argue with him or call bullshit.
“Two hearts came together and then broke, but they can still be mended together. I have faith.”
Mila shifts uncomfortably. Not wanting to make it worse for her, I turn to the sketch before Father Luke and ask, “What’s this about?”
“This is what I’ve been seeing since I woke: a tunnel. It comes to me over and over, never changing.”
Mila moves forward and takes in the drawing.
In the far distance of the tunnel, two figures stand side by side.
“Are they hiding?” I ask.
“No. I don’t sense fear.”
Mila kneels once again on his other side. “What is it you sense, Father?”
He lazily pulls his eyes away from his sketch to look at Mila.
“The calm before the storm.”
“Are they us? Mila and I?”.
He chuckles. “Who else would they be?”
Mila rises to her feet and grabs her purse before leaning down to kiss his leathery cheek, promising, “I’ll visit again soon.”
“Not for a while, you won’t. But I have no plans to go anywhere.”
With one last smile for me, I stand and go to follow Mila out of the room when he calls out my name. Stopping, I turn around, giving him my full attention.
“Everything you wished for as a boy is in the cusp of your hand. Reach out and take it, Raphael. Destiny allows for mistakes, but Vita can’t take many more, nor can you.”
Mila’s waiting outside, looking off in the di
stance. The streets are unusually quiet for this time of day, and it’s eerie. Not even gunshots echo over the city.
“The tunnel in his drawing, I’ve seen it before. I’ve walked through it before,” she announces as we head for the car.
“And?” I ask, opening the door for her.
Without responding, she climbs inside and I round the car, climbing in behind the wheel.
“It leads from the Camarco estate out of the city. My father made sure I knew to use it in case your father got past his men.”
Breathing through a sigh, I slam my hand against the wheel.
“It’s an escape.” Shit. “The Father sees us running.”
She shakes her head. “He didn’t sense fear. He said it felt like the calm before the storm.”
No matter how she deciphers his vision, I see us having to run. Why else would we be heading out of the city? A city we have fought over for years?
Chapter Thirty-Two
Jamila
We’re both quiet as Raphael drives to my estate. I’m thinking over Father Luke’s vision, and while I believe it’s not life-ending or damning for us, the tension rolling off of Raphael’s shoulders tells me he doesn’t agree. I keep waiting for him to voice his thoughts on the matter, but he keeps his mouth shut and his hands wrapped around the wheel so tight, the skin over his knuckles turn white. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t agree with me, seeing as we haven’t seen eye to eye these past years, and yet we’re still breathing and living to see another day. He conceded to me, and with that he gave up all right to choose the direction we take against the DiMarco’s. Though I will value his opinion. However different I feel about him now, I do know him to be a smart man, and I won’t discredit him just because I can.
“Is it normal for your gates to be open with no guards?”
Snapping my focus out the front window, Raphael comes to a stop before driving through the gates where two dead guards are lying on the ground.
A Dance of War Page 21