for peace, or “Hell will be brought down upon us,” according to the mayor himself, as well as every one of his predecessors before him. There has never been an agreement put in place in over two hundred years, but it’s tradition, and traditions must be upheld. Without them, war has no class.
The war for wealth ended long ago, only to turn into a fight for pride, passed down from generation to generation, to continue the siege for a city that is big enough for everyone. Pride is the ultimate sin, and reason for this ongoing war.
Sipping my champagne, I watch the children from the local school sing for the guests who are patiently waiting for the night to descend into debauchery.
From where I sit—our tables elevated at the side of the ballroom—I keep watch over everyone who walks through the door.
The same goes for the Marocchi family on the opposite side of the room. There will be no blood spilt tonight, nor any pleasantries exchanged between the two sides. From seven in the evening until seven in the morning, there will be no fighting between us.
Trey leans in and informs me, “He’s coming over.”
My gaze darts to the mayor who’s sure enough making his way through the crowd, heading in our direction. He’s not a bad man, but he’s not a sharp man. At thirty-seven, he’s our city’s youngest mayor, elected on the promise of uniting the two families by any means necessary.
So far, he’s achieved nothing of the sort.
Though this being his second peace ball, I must admit, he’s brought a level of excitement to the charade.
His heavy cologne hits me first, followed by his eagerness to be victorious this year.
“Jamila.” He drawls out my name like he’s my closest ally, and it riles me. “You look breathtaking tonight.”
“Thank you,” I reply, though I couldn’t care less what he thinks of me.
Alexander Salvatore’s compliments grow sleazier with each one he pays me, yet I bite my tongue to keep the peace. The gleam in his green eyes slides over me, and I remind myself to keep calm. The Camarco’s won’t be forced to bend the knee to him because of our less than savoury behaviour.
Pouring him a glass of champagne, I nudge it over to his side of the table. “Please, have a seat.”
With a smile—full of white teeth—he sits, graciously accepting the champagne.
“Shall we get this started so we can move on to the pleasant part of the evening?” he asks, lifting his glass.
I clink mine to his and smile. “My proposition is that Mr. Marocchi and his soldiers leave Vita, and I’ll guarantee them safe passage across the border. Or, submit to me, and I’ll allow him to live a somewhat pleasant life.”
Although he doesn’t, I sense he wants to roll his eyes. It’s the same proposition I offered last year, and the year before.
Alexander drains his glass and sighs as he stands. “Excuse me. I’ll be back shortly.”
He makes his way to the other side of the room and approaches Raphael Marocchi. His arms stretched out across the back of the leather couch, his left ankle resting on his right knee, he’s at complete ease, staring directly at me.
Those piercing blue eyes I once found intoxicating now do nothing but irritate me. His black hair is swept back and clipped short around the sides. His suit—no doubt as expensive as my floor-length black dress—fits snugly over his body.
The mayor takes a seat to his left, and my gaze moves from Raphael to Alexander, whose lips are moving, relaying my proposition. I then look back to the smirking man who ruined my life.
“What do you think his reply will be this year?” Trey asks, topping my glass.
Trey is my right-hand man, for a better term. He came to me ten years ago after my father was killed on his way home from a business trip, vowing to never let anyone get that close to himself or me. His loyalty, commitment, and resolve to keep me safe drew me in.
Marocchi’s reply last year to my offer was for me to surrender myself to him and choose whether he put a bullet in the back of my head or between my eyes.
“I have no idea, but I’m sure his answer will amuse us.”
“Say the word, and I’ll walk over there and put a bullet through his brain.”
Trey would be killed in seconds for his actions; it wouldn’t be worth it to me.