“We strike hard before they do,” Mila adds, and I can’t stop the slow grin stretching across my face.
Rising from the chair, I lean against the front of the desk. “Make sure everyone has what they need, and have them ready to go at a second’s notice.”
Cristian sets off to carry out my order, and Mila nods for Trey to join him. Once the door has closed, I pull her against me and wrap my arms around her.
“While they’re out fighting, we should deal with the brothers.” Her eyes narrow. “What?”
“I’m waiting for you to say you want me to stay here where it’s safe.”
My laugh is loud as it escapes from deep in my chest. “You think I haven’t learned my lesson by now? Besides, I’m not letting you out of my sight. We do this together.”
Her laugh is light, and her eyes glisten with amusement. “What do you propose?”
“We have our men march through the city toward the market square. With a force of that size, they’re bound to send their men to stop them from getting close to your estate, and that’s when we go for the brothers. We take our best men with us and wipe them out.”
“We hit them hard and fast?”
I smirk. “Just how you like it.”
“Just how I like it,” she agrees, adding, “Round up fifteen of our best men and have them ready to go within the hour.”
With a curt nod, I pull away from her and set off to find the best. She referred to them as our men. For today, for right now, there’s no circle to break with her flipping from hot to cold.
Chapter Forty-Two
Jamila
The car is filled with tension, and I roll my eyes at the reason why. Raphael and Trey, of course. This is getting worse, and I’m done trying to argue with them to move on. Raphael sits to my right, and Trey sits opposite with Cristian. A holdall containing enough arms for us to have two guns each and plenty of bullets sits on the floor between us.
Reaching for the Glock on top of the bag, I unclip the barrel and fill it with six bullets. Raphael takes hold of his Glock while Cristian and Trey choose their weapons.
“I say we let the soldiers go in first, and we enter after,” Cristian offers.
Shit. I don’t have the energy to argue with him on this again.
“No, I agree with Mila. We show we’re united. We go in together,” Raphael repeats.
“You would,” Trey huffs.
“I would what?” Raphael snaps, losing his patience.
“You would agree with her. You’d agree to anything just to make sure she climbs into your bed again tonight.”
“Trey!” I shout.
Did he not hear a word I said not even an hour ago?
Raphael’s hand lifts, aiming his gun at Trey, who doesn’t even flinch under his heated glare.
“Don’t, Jamila. There’s no way you’d go in blind like this before he bent the knee. He isn’t Superman, and having him at your side doesn’t make you untouchable.”
The anger in him is rising, but it’s no match to mine. Placing my hand on Raphe’s gun, I lower it until it’s resting on his thigh.
Trey is mine to deal with. Sitting forward, I’m glad the car is a town car, and I have room to move a little.
“My blood makes me untouchable. My determination makes me untouchable. My fucking name makes me untouchable. You’ve underestimated me for the last time. Get out.”
I’m not letting him make me feel guilty for how I feel about Raphael, regardless of how confused I am over him, and he’s certainly not going to make me feel stupid for going after the DiMarco’s.
“Mila—”
“Get. Out.”
I can’t make it any plainer. Two fucking words.
Raphael moves into the middle seat, giving Trey room to climb out, who slams the door with a force that shakes the car. I can’t see him through the tinted windows, and he should be grateful for that. I could shoot him right now just looking at his face.
Looking down at the gun in my hand, it startles me to see I’m shaking with rage. Across the car, Cristian’s phone pings with a text.
“Their men are marching toward ours.”
“Good. Let’s go,” I say, staring straight at him.
A van follows behind us, filled with fifteen men ready to fight with us.
“Mila—”
“Don’t say a word,” I warn Raphael.
Dealing with Trey is more than a distraction from what we need to do. We don’t need to discuss it.
“We need all the men we can use.” I can feel the disgust on my face as I glare at Cristian.
We take the route around the city to my estate. It’s quiet. Not only on the streets, but in the car too.
Raphael is dying to say something, but is holding his tongue, while Cristian, I’m sure, wants to argue further, but wisely keeps his mouth shut.
The car ride is smooth, and it relaxes me the farther we get across the city.
“My father would be turning in his grave if he knew I’d lost control of the estate.”
Raphael chuckles. “You didn’t care for his opinion when was he was alive, so why start now?” His brows are pinched together, expecting an answer from me.
“I don’t care, per se.”
But if he is watching over this shitshow, he’ll see how I rise when I’m down. The car comes to a stop, and the partition slides down.
I don’t know the driver personally, as he’s Raphael’s man. He calls back for us to see for ourselves. There’s a wall of DiMarco’s men lined farther up the street leading to my home.
“Go around and approach from the south,” I instruct as I sit back.
The car pulls off, and every nerve in my body throbs in anticipation of what’s to come in the next few moments.
It’s not long before the car stops again, and the partition comes down. “It’s the same at this end, Ms. Camarco.”
“Call the soldiers. Have them shoot them all.”
If we go through them, they’ll chase after us, effectively sandwiching us in once we get to the house. It’s best to eliminate them altogether.
Once Cristian makes the call, it’s only a matter of seconds before a thrum of shots are surrounding us. His phone pings, and he reads the incoming text.
“Clear.” Pounding the side of his fist against the partition, the car is once again on the move.
“This is it. There’s no turning back now,” Raphael murmurs, and I focus on him.
“Don’t go soft on me now, Raphe.”
The corner of his mouth hooks up in the corner, his eyes twinkling with violence. There was a time I didn’t believe he was capable of such violent acts; it was his mind I believed would bring peace to Vita. We were so disillusioned as teenagers to think our minds could bring such a change to the city. Our fathers weren’t right in how they went about their business, but they were right when they said bullets control situations when words fail. Well, it was my father who used to say that. I have no idea how Stefano Marocchi used to think.
My thoughts are halted when the car jerks to a stop, and Cristian leans over to grab another gun. Tucking it into his holster under his jacket, he smirks when he sees me watching him.
“Showtime.”
A puff of air snorts from my nose as I recheck that my gun is ready to go. Tucking it into the back of my jeans, I go to open my door when Raphael grips onto my arm to stop me.
“I don’t want you leaving my side, Mila.”
“You best keep up with me, then.” I grin, and he grins back, but the underlying fear he has for me lingers in his eyes.
Throwing open the door, I climb out slowly and turn, taking in my home, expecting damage and more guards.
The soldiers in the van behind us venture out and form a circle around the three of us. Lifting my sweater, I place it over the gun to hide it.
Not a single bullet is fired as we walk up the drive. I take in every car parked on the lawn, and the nicer rides parked up front of the house.
“
How are we going to approach this?” Cristian asks.
“We’re going to walk through the door,” I tell him simply.
Cristian shoves his hands in pockets, strolling off like he hasn’t got a care in the world, but I know him to be fast. If a threat emerges, his gun will be in his hand before I can blink.
“Of course! Why would I ever think it’d be something as easy as that?” he retorts, but I decide to ignore him.
We make it to the statue of the angel in the centre of the drive and the door opens. Father DiMarco and his brother, Damien, step out, and my hand itches to go to my gun. However, it disappears when a third man in a sharp-fitting suit steps out beside them and smirks. His jet-black hair is slickly combed away from his face, and his blue eyes glint like the ocean shimmering under the summer sun.
I know him. I can’t place how I do, but I recognise him from somewhere.
“Shoot,” Raphael orders.
“No!”
My mind whirls, trying to work out where I know him from, and then it hits me. I met him a couple of years ago at a business dinner, hosted by Anthony Dupree, for the charities in Vita, and how we could help them more without having to rely on donations as much. He introduced himself as Damon Harlington, and I spent the night with him because his stance was powerful and reminded me of Raphael.
“What are you doing? This is what we’re here for,” Raphael spits out, trying to keep his voice low.
I can’t answer him, because I don’t know what I’m doing. But maybe, a bullet doesn’t need to be fired—yet.
“Damon, what an unexpected surprise,” I call out, feeling Raphael stiffen beside me.
“You know him?”
“Sort of,” I mumble, not intending to explain just how much I know of him.
Damon steps in front of the DiMarco brothers, keeping his grin in place.
“Jamila, we didn’t think you’d surrender so quickly.”
“We’re not here to surrender,” Raphael growls.
A guard over his shoulder whistles, and from both sides of the house, more soldiers march out, forming a semi-circle around us. Just how many men do they have? We’re outgunned and outnumbered.
“If you’re here to talk, save your breath. Our terms were very simple,” Damien advises.
It’s Damon I keep my eyes on. He steps even closer, not caring about our men with their guns trained on him.
“Do you want your men to live?” he questions, focusing solely on me.
It’s a stupid question, and one I don’t reply to.
“I’ll make you a deal. You agree to come with me, and all your men can walk away with their lives, even Mr. Marocchi. No one else has to die.”
Turning to look at Raphael, he’s clearly not in agreement. Fire burns in his eyes, the flames of his rage licking at my soul. His little finger brushes around mine, trying to curl around it before I step away.
He’ll be angry with me, most likely vow to kill me himself, but I turn to Damon and say, “Deal.”
We’re standing in the middle of a firing squad. Without buying us some time by me agreeing to go with him, we’re dead. Raphael says he can’t live in a world without me, but he never thinks I don’t feel the same about him.
I don’t particularly have a plan, but I’ll certainly take the first opportunity to get my home back.
Raphael grabs my hand as I step forward, but I yank it free. Widening my eyes as I face him, I mouth, “Trust me.” His jaw locks tight, and his eyes narrow into slits, but he doesn’t make a move to fight against me on this.
As soon as I’m close to Damon, he pulls me to his side and waves his hand for my men and Raphael to leave.
“Make sure they leave the grounds,” he orders his men.
I watch Raphael and Cristian walk back to the car, hoping I’ve done the right thing.
Chapter Forty-Three
Raphael
I slam the hilt of my gun over and over against the door panel, but it does nothing to elevate the anger and frustration toward that fucking woman.
“Raphe!” Cristian bellows.
“She fucking promised she wouldn’t leave my side!” I shout, the chords in my throat straining.
“You can’t honestly tell me you trusted her. She’s a fucking Camarco, Raphael.”
I did trust her, and I still do. I don’t know what happened back there, or what made her change course, but I have to trust that she knows what she’s doing. She asked me to trust her, and we messed up before because one of us lost faith. I can’t let it happen again, not without having the truth slapping me across the face.
“We should go back. Call our men and have them all come to the estate. I don’t care if it falls to ruins, I’ll have it rebuilt for her.”
“She definitely knew the brother she made the deal with,” Cristian muses, completely ignoring me.
“No shit. She knew his fucking name,” I growl.
“Not just that. Didn’t you see the way she looked at him when he stepped out of the house?”
Tossing the gun on the seat beside me, I focus on my cousin and shake my head. I was too focused on the brothers in front of us.
“It was like she was looking at a ghost from her past.”
This isn’t what I want to hear.
“Question is, Cousin, how does Jamila Camarco know a DiMarco?”
Neither of us attempt to answer his question, but I can already see the doubt blaring in his eyes for Mila.
I know someone who will have the answers we seek, and we left him at my house.
Trey is out on the patio, drinking my coffee when we return. Taking long strides until I’m in front of him, I fist my hands, grab him by his shirt, and haul him off his feet, shoving him until his back hits the brick wall of the house.
“If you want to live to see the sun set, tell me how Mila knows a DiMarco brother,” I grind out an inch from his face. I’m so close, I can smell the bitter coffee on his breath.
Men around the grounds begin to move in closer, stopping what they’re doing to watch, but Trey is trying to look over my shoulder, his eyes darting everywhere.
“Where is she?” he roars.
“Wrong answer.” Pulling him forward, I slam him back, feeling a bit of satisfaction when he winces in pain.
“She doesn’t know any DiMarco!” he yells.
“I wouldn’t advise lying to me again.”
“She doesn’t know them!”
My cousin’s arms snake under my mine and pull me away, leaving Trey to slump to his knees.
“Where is she?” he asks again.
“She made a deal. She’s with the brothers at her estate,” Cristian tells him.
Straightening, he lunges for me, but I’m ready and throw a punch to his jaw. He stumbles back, and Cristian jumps between us.
“Let’s take this inside,” he suggests.
I don’t give a fuck where we are, I’ll kick his ass inside or out. Better yet, I’ll put a bullet between his eyes, and out here, it’ll save time in cleaning up the blood off the stone.
Cristian shoves Trey toward the door before cutting his eyes to mine over his shoulder, telling me to follow.
The last thing I want to do is rely on Trey to help with Mila, but I’ll do it, because it’s for her.
Cristian waits at the door to my office and closes it after I breeze through it. Trey has already poured himself a drink and falls onto the couch. Throwing the drink back in two gulps, he slams the glass down on the side table.
“As you know, we planned to storm the estate and take down the brothers while our soldiers distracted theirs in the market square. Only, when Damon DiMarco stepped out, she called off Raphe’s order to shoot. To be fair, we were outnumbered, and she probably did save our lives.”
Snorting, I pour myself a drink and down it in one gulp. Pouring another, I take a seat behind my desk.
“Think! You’ve been at her side since she took over, so how does she know him?” I growl, teetering on the edge of my pa
tience.
“As far as I’m aware, she doesn’t know any DiMarco’s, and definitely not in a business capacity.”
I certainly don’t like what he’s implying. “I’m surprised someone like you didn’t know her every movement, even when she thought you didn’t.”
“There were many times she was alone. In fact, most of the last ten years, when she was home, she was alone. She made this deal to save you, didn’t she?”
Cristian sighs, reflecting my own frustrations.
“I already told you, she saved all of us,” Cristian insists, but he may as well be arguing with a brick wall.
“No, she did it for you!” Trey points his finger in my direction, one I’d just love to break in half. “And you let her! Don’t tell me she told you to trust her?”
The sarcasm drips from his voice, lacing around the last thread of patience I have when it comes to him. I hate that he knows her so well, and I hate even more that he seems to know me just as well when it comes to her.
“Look, we don’t need you two showing your cocks over her right now. We’ve got to figure out how we move forward from here.”
I roll my eyes when Trey snaps, “We get her back.”
“No shit,” Cristian huffs.
I would normally agree with Trey, much to my surprise. I’ve always thought I’d have to save her and keep her safe. This time, though, I’m going to trust her like she asked. If something happens to her and she breaks that trust, I’ll follow her to wherever she ends up and end her myself.
Chapter Forty-Four
Jamila
Damien sits himself in the corner, seeming more interested in staring out of the window than being included in the conversation. Father DiMarco plonks himself in my chair and kicks his feet up on my desk, making himself right at home. I swear, I’m going to kill him before this fight is through.
“Can I get you a drink?” Damon asks, like this isn’t my house.
I’ve already been patted down and had my gun taken away before I even stepped through the door, and having a drink is the last thing I want to do right now.
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