word to one another. Ten years of death. And for that reason, this dance of war will only end in carnage.
I step toward him, willing my heart not to race.
Placing my hand in his, I find the heat of his touch doesn’t affect me like it once did. Pulling me roughly against his solid chest, my hand comes to rest on his upper arm, while his free hand finds its place on my lower back.
We begin to move.
He was always a good dancer, so it doesn’t surprise me that we move around the floor with such ease.
“Is this you accepting my offer?” he questions, his voice deeper than I remember.
“While I’m intrigued as to why you chose this year to make such an offer, I have no interest in making such a deal. Our forefathers had the right idea—all or nothing. The Camarco’s will never concede or work with the Marocchi’s.”
Not once do our feet stumble, gracefully taking each step in time with the music. Dipping me low, I tighten my hold on his arm, expecting him to lift me, but instead he holds me where he wants me, which is below him.
“Then come morning, more will die.”
In a whoosh, I’m standing upright, and it takes me a brief second to right myself before we’re moving again.
“I guarantee you, they won’t be mine,” I warn as the watching guests blur around us.
The beat slows, and after one final spin, the song comes to an end. Parting, we step away from each other, resuming our respective distances.
“When I get the chance, Mila, I will kill you.” His threat is said with such conviction, I have no doubt in my mind he’ll try.
Stepping forward, I lean up on my toes, hearing our audience gasp as if expecting to see the two of us share a kiss, but that’s not what this is. Bringing my lips to his ear, I whisper, “And when I get the chance, I’ll destroy all you have and keep you around just so you can watch it all burn.”
Stepping back, the music changes over. The guests begin milling about, and we go our separate ways, back to our tables.
“We’re leaving,” I instruct Trey when he arrives at my side.
“Word’s already spreading. People will be expecting change in the morning.”
“Then we’ll give it to them.” Not that it’ll happen before Raphael dies, or he’s on his knees, begging for mercy—or death.
With my men surrounding me, we make our way out of the ballroom without looking back. Tonight was a show I controlled and nothing more, and I intend to keep it that way.
Trey wisely holds his tongue on the drive to the Camarco estate, allowing me to relish in the peace and quiet.
By morning, everyone in Vita will have heard about the dance, expecting peace to follow. They’ll be sorely disappointed.
The limo pulls through the cast iron gates, and I finally relax, knowing I’m truly safe.
The grand house was built two hundred years ago by my ancestors, with extensions added over the years. It’s too big for me, but as the head of the Camarco family, owning it is my birthright. I once hated the halls and rooms behind the ostentatious wooden doors, but after my parents were murdered, I found peace in their absence and have come to love it.
Wordlessly, I head up to my room, unzipping my dress down the side and discarding it on my bedroom floor. Entering the bathroom, I turn on the faucets to fill up the clawfoot tub.
While the water runs, I stand before the mirror, taking in the scent of Raphael’s cologne still lingering on my skin. Closing my eyes, I’m back in the ballroom, floating around the dance floor in his arms—the arms of my enemy.
But he wasn’t always my enemy.
“Back straight, Jamila,” my mother whispers angrily, leaning in so no one else can hear.
Her smile never falters, but her tone is as sharp as a blade.
Straightening my spine, she leans away, satisfied.
“Can’t I go dance, Mother?” I ask, a sliver of hope igniting in my gut.
“Don’t be silly. Your place is here with your father. Remember who you are.”
How can I forget? There’s not a single day when I’m not reminded of the Camarco family’s place in society, as well as mine when I turn eighteen.
My father wishes for me to be married to the mayor, so he can have the upper hand against the Marocchi’s, yet I’m foolish enough to believe I’ll marry for love. Maybe I’ll grow to