A Dance of War - Ellie R. Hunter Page 0,40

behind the array of flowers on the mantle and pat my sleeves under my eyes.

I can’t remember the last time I cried. If truth to be told, I didn’t think there would ever be a reason for me to shed a tear after my mother was murdered.

Mary walks Alexander and the chief to my office and closes the door behind them.

“What do I owe the pleasure of such an early visit?” I ask, offering them both my most polite smile.

“I’m afraid we bring bad news, Jamila,” Alexander starts, moving closer to me.

“It must be bad if you’re both here. Well, go on. What is it?”

It’s the chief who steps forward and relays, “Father Antonio was found murdered in the church this morning. One of his parishioners found him and alerted the police.”

Hearing it from someone else makes it even more real, and a cold numbness creeps up my legs. Stumbling to the nearest seat, I fall into the chair and gasp for breath.

It wasn’t my imagination. It wasn’t a bad dream. It’s real.

“Murdered?” I say, knowing I have to lie. “It’s not possible. Father Antonio is—was a good man… a man of God.”

Alexander crouches down on his knees and envelopes my hands in his. For once, it doesn’t feel so wrong.

“I assure you, we’ll find who did this, and they’ll face the full force of the law,” he vows, and I can’t help but snort.

“What makes him any different from Michael? Everyone in this room knows it was Raphael. He’s the only one who would have the nerve to do this, yet the police did nothing to find his killer.”

The chief hangs his head, staying quiet. Smart.

“Jamila, we had a vision for this bloodshed to end, we can still make that happen.”

Flicking my gaze from the chief to Alexander, the bile lining my stomach threatens to erupt from my throat.

“I need to be alone.”

Alexander sighs, but he doesn’t argue with me. Rising to his feet, he nods to the chief and ignores Trey sitting by the window.

Hearing the front door close, a rush of breath escapes me. Leaning forward, I work to keep myself from being sick. He’s not the only one I’ve shared a vision with. It was the other man I wholeheartedly believed in.

Clutching my gift for Raphael, I make my way through the garden, careful to keep my pace even so it looks like I have nowhere to go and no one to meet, only taking a stroll through the garden like I do every afternoon when the weather is nice.

Heading for the trees, I bask in the shade they offer, and my excitement grows knowing he’ll be waiting for me on the other side. The Camarco land reaches toward the mountains, but we don’t make use of it. No one but me ventures out farther than the trees.

Sitting on a tree trunk, I stop for a moment and take in the boy I’m going to marry. His dress shirt is unbuttoned, making his smooth, tan skin seem darker against the white of the fabric. His hair hangs down, blocking my view of his face as he sits with his arms resting on his knees, his head hung low, as if he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. In some ways, I suppose he does, being the oldest of the Marocchi sons.

Walking out from the trees, dry twigs crunch beneath my feet, getting his attention. When he sees that it’s me, a smile spreads across his face.

This is what I dreamed of when I thought of falling in love. The person to look at me like I can fix all the wrongs in their life by simply being in their space.

Jumping to his feet, he shoves his hands in his pockets as he meets me halfway, stealing a kiss before I can say hello.

“What’s this?” he asks, noting the fabric wrapped gift squashed between us.

“Your birthday present.”

Stepping away, I hold it out toward him. Taking it, he slowly unwraps the fabric and flips over the long slim box from hand to hand.

“I’d be careful throwing it around like that.”

Opening the top, his wide-eyed gaze shoots up to mine, and back down to the gold hilt blade with the inscription: By Camarco hand you died, and many more will follow.

I chuckle when Raphael’s brows raise in question. Taking hold of his arm, I lead him over to our tree and pull him down next to me.

“This knife is from my family’s collection since they settled

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