chair and rest my forearms on the table. It’s bad manners, but at this point, I can’t bring myself to give a shit.
Dupree, swilling his brandy as he peers at me, inquires, “Does this mean the Marocchi’s will making the same vow?”
The table comes to a quiet pause, everyone’s attention now focused on me, waiting eagerly to hear my answer. I hate being put on the spot—which doesn’t normally happen—but I suppose with Mila and her men taking the vow, people are becoming brave. Too brave if they’re questioning me.
“The Marocchi’s were never the ones to act first. If the Camarco’s stay true to their vow, peace will follow.”
There, that’s a satisfactory reply, and one Dupree seems content with. Of course, it’s bullshit, but public appearances and all that.
The glow from the chandelier dims out, leaving only the candlelight to cast shadows in every corner of the room.
The grand doors open, and Mila struts in like she owns the place, attracting everyone’s attention. Following behind her are Trey and Michael, who are then followed by her soldiers, forming three rows.
It’s obvious to me she’s not being truthful in this showing of her numbers. I know for a fact she has many more men at her disposal.
Trey and Michael stand in front of the first row of soldiers. Trey’s eyes find mine, emanating a cold, undeniable violence. Getting into his mind is as difficult as getting into Mila’s. He’s her right-hand man, always at her side, which has often made me wonder just how close they’ve been over the years.
Slipping my phone out of my pants pocket, I keep it under the table and quickly shoot off a text to Cristian, telling him to be ready for anything if I send word. Being the only Marocchi in a room full of Camarco’s isn’t the best scenario for me, even if they are declaring a bullshit vow of peace.
Silence fills the room as Mila, her dress lapping at her feet as she moves, walks over and stands in front of her men.
“You’re all aware of my desire for peace. You have been loyal to the Camarco name and brought honour to yourselves, to your families, and to me. However, it’s time for change. We have spent two hundred years fighting and dying, causing upset and mayhem for a war that should’ve ended long ago, for something that will never be achieved. Tonight, I release you from your oaths. Lay down your weapons and do your part to bring peace to Vita.”
Trey and Michael are the only ones who look prepared for her speech. Her soldiers, on the other hand, look to one another, confused, wondering what the hell is going on. If this is a show, they’re acting out their parts perfectly.
“There’ll be no more needless deaths because of an age-old feud. Before the fine citizens of Vita, lay down your weapons and go home to your families.”
As one, the soldiers begin pulling out guns and blades, laying them at their feet. Once they’re done, Mila nods and glides over to stand in front of her two closest men. Michael produces a white gun with a gold hilt and a switchblade from his jacket pocket, and lays them at his feet as the others did.
She then turns to Trey. I can’t see her facial expression from here—no one at the table can—but she obviously conveys something to him, because he relents and lays his gun at his feet. Standing straight, he pulls out a hunting knife, but he doesn’t place it with his gun. He steps forward and passes it to Mila. His brows shoot up and relax a moment later.
There’s definitely more to them than they’ve let on, and it leaves a sour taste in my mouth. He’s been by her side since her parents were killed on my order. He’s been there for everything, when once upon a time, it would’ve been me.
“From this moment on, any blood spilled will not be our doing.”
The doors open, and the soldiers file out, with Michael following behind. Trey lingers a few seconds longer, but once he does leave, Mila’s left there, surrounded by weapons of death, and fuck me, if it isn’t a stunning sight to behold.
The guests are speechless and look on as Alexander quickly makes his way to her side.
Wrapping his arm around her waist, he presses his lips to her forehead, the act seeming gentle and warm.
“As of next year, the Camarco name will be nothing but a memory.”
Her