here. I don’t know if you’re aware of your great-great-great-grandfather and how he died, but he and my grandfather three times over got into a fight in the centre of Vita. From what I hear, they were arguing because one of your family members had attacked one of mine, and a young child was hurt in the fray. The child was scarred for life, and my grandfather three times over bided his time and made this weapon. The war between our families was already rife, and he knew no one would forget the child’s scars because they were forced to see them every day.
“He worked on this knife day in and day out, pouring his hatred into the gold and steel, apparently cursing anyone it was plunged into. Legend has it that many Marocchi’s have died by this blade, and I thought it was about time a Marocchi wielded the blade, plunging it into a Camarco. My father, to be precise.”
I still haven’t forgiven my father for his acts of violence toward me, and I never will. It only breeds more hatred for the man than I already have.
“I’d love to see the look on my father’s face when he sees you holding it.”
He runs the tip of his finger along the edge of the blade and twists it so the sun gleams on the steel.
“Say something,” I urge, unable to bear his silence any longer.
“It’ll be poetic justice. Thank you. But won’t your father notice it missing?”
“No. It’s kept in the basement amongst the other antiques. I don’t think they needed it once guns became the weapon of choice.”
“I might not be able to get close enough to use it on him. The plan was to shoot him from a distance.”
“Even if you don’t, I’d like you to have it. A symbol that I don’t want any more Marocchi blood spilled by Camarco’s.”
It’s true. There’s no reason for us to fight any longer. After two hundred years, a simple grudge is no longer a grudge. It’s about pride, and people dying for two men’s pride is nothing but tragic.
His warm lips crash against mine, forcing us both to the ground. Hovering over me, his eyes look down at me with so much desire, I close my eyes and allow myself to be swallowed in his passion.
“I love you, Mila,” he whispers close to my ear, trailing his lips down my neck and across my shoulder, lapping over my dress strap.
“I love you too. But I still have something to tell you.”
He leans up on his elbow and frowns, sensing the unease in my tone.
“My father announced at my birthday party that I’m to be married to Mayor Rossi when I’m of age.”
Getting off of me, he turns away and looks up to the sky.
“It’s obviously not going to happen,” I say, unable to bear seeing the pain in his eyes.
“I know, but I’m worried he’ll set a date before you turn eighteen. With your parents’ permission, you can marry before the legal age.”
“You don’t have to worry. I thought the same thing and asked my mother. She told me the mayor doesn’t want to marry a child, but a woman. Apparently, a year makes all the difference, and a long engagement will be enough time for my father to worm his way into the mayor’s good graces.”
Placing my hand on his arm, I rub it soothingly until I feel the tension fade away.
“The only thing that could get in our way is if we’re found out and kept apart. Nothing will stop us from being together and fulfilling the prophecy.”
His eyes continue to search the sky for something I can’t see. The weight of Vita is returning to shadow his usual joy at being with me, and it’s so frustrating that I can’t take it away from him.
Was I wrong to gift him the blade?
“Tell me what’s wrong, Raphael?” I plead.
“There’s nothing wrong. I was just thinking.”
“About?”
“What it would be like to plunge this into your father. After he hurt you, I imagined doing much worse to him. Yet every day we get closer to our plan becoming a reality, I try to learn how to separate what’s right and wrong, and what has to be done for the greater good.”
I understand, and I hate that he’s in this position. We’re meant to do this together, but it feels like he has to do this alone.
“What if you take care of your father, and I step in and take