The driver opens my door, and I leave Trey to go about his business. Inside the house, I pass my purse to Mary and she shuffles away. I close myself in my father’s old office and pour myself a large scotch, dumping two cubes of ice into the tumbler. Kicking off my heels, I walk behind the grand desk and sit in the chair overlooking the back gardens.
The view of the perfectly manicured lawn and rose bushes is the only reason I didn’t move to a different room after I became the head of the family. When faced with ugly decisions, I can look out at the beauty, reminding me of what I fight for.
Seven deaths in a matter of hours.
Thinking of the prophecy, of us rising together hand in hand, I snort and swallow down half my drink.
The only place his hands will be is cut from his wrists and shoved up his ass.
Scrolling through the plans emailed to me from the city council, my hatred for Marocchi rises at his insistence of modernising Vita with expensive homes and shopping malls. But as long as I have breath in my body, it will never happen.
Technically, neither of us have any say with the council, but nothing is finalised without our permission. This isn’t the first time he’s requested permission, and I doubt it’ll be the last.
Trey barrels through the door, loosening his tie, and proceeds to help himself to a glass of scotch.
“I’ve been everywhere, but no one’s confessing to killing Marocchi’s men. Most everyone is still sleeping off last night’s celebration. And the kicker is, Marocchi has yet to claim the Guidice killings.”
Frowning, I hold my glass out for a refill. “So, we have seven dead men, and no one is coming forward to claim them?”
“Strange, isn’t it?”
Very strange. Claiming a kill against the enemy is bragged about the second the victim takes their last breath.
“Even for Vita, seven deaths in one morning is excessive. Mayor Salvatore will soon want answers.”
I’m not worried about the mayor. He can demand answers all he wants, but it doesn’t mean he’ll get them.
The door opens, and Michael, Trey’s second, rushes in and turns on the TV.
Speak of the devil and he will appear.
Alexander Salvatore is standing on the steps of the mayor’s mansion, conducting a press conference.
Michael turns the volume up, and I listen to what the mayor has to say.
“The people of Vita, as well as myself, have had enough. Seven men have lost their lives in a fight that should’ve ended ages ago. You’re all wondering how much longer we’ll have to spend caught up in this war, and I’m telling you now that as of today, if there is one more death on our streets because of the Camarco and Marocchi families, if there is one gun fired or one blade unsheathed, I will bring in the army, and the family heads will be held personally accountable with nothing less than life behind bars.”
Cheers from citizens behind the cameras echo through the room, Salvatore eating up their devotion. Though there are more citizens devout to me and the Marocchi’s, there are a few who would love nothing more than to see us both removed from the city.
“We should act now and get rid of Salvatore. We can push our own candidate to replace him,” Michael advises.
He’s usually calmer than this and thinks before he speaks.
“No. That’s exactly what the Marocchi’s will be thinking. We’re going to do the unexpected,” I say.
“Such as?” Michael urges.
“If we kill him, the people of Vita will turn on us. Most of the city wants an end to the slayings, but if we bring him closer, we can suppress his threats.”
Trey sits forward, shoving his empty glass onto the desk. “No, Mila. This isn’t you.”
Michael’s confused gaze darts between Trey and I.
“Explain.”
“You can’t destroy family if you are family.”
Michael’s face scrunches up, still clearly confused, and Trey sighs angrily.
“She’s going to marry him.”
The mayor’s mansion is a hive of activity during the day, and I’ve often wondered why he doesn’t work from the town hall. Not so long ago, it was on par with a nightclub, and now it’s business as usual. There isn’t one person here who doesn’t know who I am, and because of that, I don’t need to make an appointment.
Leaving Trey and Michael waiting in the car, I walk through the foyer toward Alexander’s office.
His secretary—a young, pretty thing—smiles broadly, informing me,