Throwing open the doors leading to the patio, I step outside and tip my head back to look up at the stars.
“Where are you, Mila?”
Is she a star now?
Is she amongst the angels looking down over us?
Sometimes, I went years not laying eyes on her, but I knew everything she was doing. I knew every trip she made to church, every visit to the women’s refuge. Now, I have no idea where her spirit lingers, and because of that, I can’t take a single breath as easily as I once did.
It’s been three months of absolute torture. The only reason I haven’t ended my life is because I deserve to live, if only to feel this perpetual pain. This is my comeuppance for the choices I have made.
Gunshots echo in the distance, like a bad beat of a song I recognise all too well. My men fighting the so-called good fight, every shot fired done so under my order. Orders that lack conviction now. What’s the point in fighting when I have no one to conquer? Lives lost now is purely wasteful.
The mayor pleads with me every day to call for peace, but I ignore him. My cousin seeks it as well, and gets the same response.
“Hurry, put him on the table!”
Spinning on my heel, I see soldiers carrying Cristian through the kitchen and laying him on the table. Even from here, I can see he’s losing a lot of blood. Dropping the bottle, I rush to his side.
“What happened?” I demand from Lucio, Cristian’s second.
“We were ambushed down by the river while making the rounds. The Camarco’s are brazen these days.”
They’re not brazen. They’re fighting back against the loose orders I’ve given my men. They’re surviving. The Camarco’s are still fighting for her, in her memory, and for her legacy.
“Cousin, talk to me,” I urge, grabbing his hand. “Stay with me. I can’t lose you too.”
A ghostly smile curls at the corner of his mouth. “It’s nothing but a scratch,” he pants.
Lucio rips open his shirt, and the wound in his abdomen starts to bleed heavily. Pressing one of the dish towels over the hole, the blood soaks through immediately.
“Has anyone called the doctor?” I yell, concentrating on his wound.
If this is to be his last night, I’ll be the last face he sees.
“Yes, he should be here—” The doorbell rings. “That should be him now.”
If Cristian dies, so will everyone else in Vita. I’ll make sure the city is destroyed once and for all.
Lucio works to make room for him, shoving my ass into the nearest chair.
“Let the doctor fix him up. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
I haven’t slept properly in three months, to be precise, but I stay on my ass, keeping a watchful eye on the doctor’s every move. He’s saved a lot of my men, and I have to trust he’ll do the same for my cousin.
“Who’s giving the Camarco’s orders?” a soldier asks, stepping forward.
I recognise the boy, but I don’t know his name.
“They’re not taking orders. They’re fighting for her ghost,” Lucio grumbles, helping himself to the fruit on the island. The sight is weird.
“They must be taking orders from someone. They’re coming at us with purpose, orchestrating planned attacks. If they were fighting in her memory, there would be no structure.”
Lucio turns to me. “Come morning, you, Raphael, will sort your shit out and lead us like you once did.”
The papers laid out before me, placed on my desk by Cristian last week, don’t hold the satisfaction they once did. Plans and drawings for a new apartment building in the middle of the city would bring in millions of dollars. Plans that Mila never failed to block, as she was always against my moves to modernise the city.
Reaching for the decanter, I go to pour myself some whiskey, not caring to drink leisurely measures for the early hour, when a soldier knocks and steps into my office.
“I thought you’d like to know, Cristian is sleeping, and the doctor assures he’ll make a full recovery.”
I nod, expecting him to leave, but he hovers by the door.
“What is it?”
“Father DiMarco is here, wishing to speak with you. I showed him into the parlour.”
Once he leaves, I push up out of my chair and inhale deeply, though it doesn’t help. No matter how deep I dig to pull a deep breath from my lungs, it never comes.
The lack of care in my appearance around my men is