24. Chapter 24
Chapter 24
Cassandra
T he bodyguards perched outside the dressing room are hard to ignore. By the end of rehearsal, gossip spreads about the young, handsome men acting as my guardians. It’s no surprise when Whitney starts a bet to see who can catch their attention first. It’s also no surprise when she wins.
“She’s incorrigible.” Sadie laughs as we pass by Whitney and her new admirer.
“She’s definitely determined.” I roll my eyes when Whit reaches out to feel the guy’s bicep and asks if he works out. His responding flex has Sadie shaking her head in amusement.
At least the second guard keeps me in his sight as I follow my castmates into the dressing room. Sweaty and gross, I retrieve my face cleanser wipes from my bag.
“Are you hungry?” Sadie asks, stopping by my mirror, a sweater already over her sports bra and a clutch in hand. “A few of us are going over to the café in the lobby to grab sandwiches before we have to be here for call time.”
I’m starving after the grueling rehearsal, but before I can say, “Absolutely,” my tongue catches between my teeth. I’m not sure what’s allowed. Even though the café is inside Il Palazzo, it may be off-limits until Dominic controls the Russian threat.
“Rain check?” I ask.
Sadie shrugs like it’s my loss. “Sure, go have fun with your boy toy. I see how it is.” She winks before joining a couple of other girls with a, “Let’s go.”
Resigned, I find my chaperones so I can return to the penthouse. Room service it is.
I’m hopeful Dominic is there, catching up on much-needed sleep, but the penthouse is empty when I arrive. The only sign he was around is a discarded suit jacket on the chaise in the bedroom. I desperately want to text him and ask how things are going. But the reality is I don’t know what he’s working on, and I still don’t have my phone. If Lucas retrieved it, he never got it back to me.
Shortly after I order, a caprese panini with a side salad arrives. The room service attendant never makes it inside, as the men stationed outside my door intercept him. They insist on trying the food before I eat, but I slap their hands away, reminding them I’m not a Roman emperor. The likelihood that Dominic’s enemies are trying to poison me is extremely low.
Shockingly, I make it through lunch just fine despite the guards’ grumbling.
Ten minutes before call time, we return to the theater. I check my appearance in the elevator’s mirrored wall, wiping a bit of rogue eyeshadow from my cheek. Huffing in annoyance, I wait impatiently when Whitney’s new love interest tells me to hold back before we enter the casino. He scans the slots nearby with his hand hovering over the gun in his waistband. Super incognito.
I tell myself to be grateful for the extra security .
When we arrive backstage, Whitney waits in a full face of makeup, her risqué gold sequined costume already on. Loverboy insists she does a twirl for him. His eyes focus on her ass as she takes her time turning, loving every moment of the attention.
I take that as a cue to leave my escorts to patrol the hallway.
My performance in our first show is flawless. With the muscle memory of each movement ingrained in me, I can focus on performing. My smile is broad, and my hair flips exaggerated as I flirt with the audience. I pretend a certain someone is watching me from the mezzanine even though his table remains empty.
It’s not until right before the second show that the rumors start.
“Collin saw a bunch of men go into the Tariello’s private elevator bank,” Marisa says, referring to her “sugar daddy”—the old bald guy who comes to our show at least once a week. I have a theory that he’s married, but I’ve kept my mouth shut about it. As long as he uses his gambling winnings on Marisa, she doesn’t care. “He didn’t believe me that the Tariellos are linked to the Mafia.”
My heart skips as my head whips toward her to find a blonde nearby nodding. “One of my friends in reception said guys have been coming through the lobby all night, walking straight through the casino and disappearing into secured areas.”
“I’m getting out of here right after the show. If something nefarious happens, I want no part of it.”
The group surrounding Marisa nods in agreement as they adjust costumes and touch up lipstick.
Swallowing hard, I turn to my reflection. My face has lost color as my hands shake. I am sure these are Dominic’s associates , but I have no idea why they’re here. My gut tells me it’s not for someone’s retirement party .
Sadie’s gaze catches mine. She frowns and rolls an eyeliner pencil between her fingers. I remember that she also has a man involved. The reassuring smile I attempt comes out as a grimace. More than ever, I want to text Dominic.
The “final call” announcement warns us that the show will start in five minutes. As girls filter out, I motion Sadie over. We wait until the room empties before I ask, “Can you contact Lucas and find out what’s going on?”
“I’ve tried,” she sighs. “He’s not responding.”
“I’m sure it’s fine.” My voice shakes as I try to convince both of us that this isn’t a dire situation.
“Yeah, we’re probably worrying for nothing.” I don’t believe her, and with how she chews her bottom lip, I can tell she doesn’t believe herself either.
We rush upstairs, past my bodyguards. Both have grim expressions, their eyes darting down the hallway as if expecting trouble any moment.
I take the stage with a lump in my throat. My performance is lacking, and my muscle memory fails me as I work to remember my choreography. Whitney raises a brow when I pass her after I pivot in the wrong direction. I rarely make mistakes.
“Hey, you okay?” she asks, out of breath once we’re behind the wings.
“Just tired, I think,” I lie.
She shrugs but doesn’t push—a first for her.
By the second-to-last number, I count the minutes until I can beeline to the safety of the penthouse. I can’t shake my concern that something is seriously wrong.
I make another error, almost crossing the stage eight counts early, but Marisa saves me by discreetly pointing in the correct direction .
Pandemonium breaks out when we cross paths, and I take my place upstage.
It’s not the way the men bust through the back doors behind the audience.
It’s not the way a murmur runs through the crowd or how Mr. Miller hisses, “What the hell?” from the wings.
No.
It’s the heavy Russian accents calling for everyone to, “Get down and shut up,” that makes my blood run cold, and my instincts scream for me to run.
But I don’t.
They aren’t looking at the stage yet, their guns drawn and passing over the audience to take out any would-be heroes. The music is still playing despite the panic and chaos. So, I turn slowly, hiding my face from the attackers, and calmly walk the few steps that will hide me behind the thick black curtains. And then I run.
A gunshot and screams ring out behind me as dancers and stagehands shove past, rushing to the backstage hallways. The music stops, but the projection speakers still play audio from everything happening in the theater. There’s yelling—two distinct languages breaking through—Russian and Italian.
Dominic’s men. Lorenzo told me he would station “soldiers” in the audience to watch over me. Praying they can execute their job successfully, I hurry down the stairs toward my waiting guards.
“Miss Bain, we have to get you to the penthouse,” one shouts over the cries of my colleagues.
Without argument, I take my place between them. Their drawn weapons make me wish I could return to Dominic’s saferoom and retrieve the waiting Glock .
Girls in flashy costumes pass by with crew members, following the employee hallways to safety. I’m only halfway down the hall when women begin to scream as heavy footsteps run toward us. One of my guards grabs my arm and pulls me in the opposite direction. We’re headed back to the theater with no way out.
He mutters a panicked, “Shit,” when we find ourselves at the dressing room. One way is a dead-end hallway, and the other is up the stairs to the stage where Russian gunmen could be waiting. “We have to hide you.”
Then it dawns on me. “There’s a prop room behind the stage. I can find somewhere in there.”
With no better option, he says, “Let’s go.”
Down the hall, men yell at each other in Russian, creeping closer as we race up the stairs. I’m relieved when I find the wings and stage empty. With quick steps on the balls of my feet to prevent the clicking of my heels, I search for the black door that leads to the prop room. Once the three of us are inside, I flip on the light and scan the room for a hiding spot.
To my right, stacked chairs could work as an initial cover, but if anyone walked past, they would see me crouched behind them. A wood-framed platform sits in the rear, but the open back would again leave me vulnerable.
To my left, a collection of magician’s tricks catches my eye.
“There! I know that one,” I hiss, pointing to a standing box that resembles an armoire. “I watched a documentary on magic shows a few months ago. That one has a false back.”
We congregate around the box as I open it and look for some sort of lever.
“How do we open it?” guard number one asks, feeling the back corners for a switch. Frustrated, he pushes on the slab of plywood, and the secret door pops open .
I look between the men and take a deep breath before climbing in and squeezing myself tight against the back wall. “Lock me in and close the box.”
They follow my instructions, shutting both doors and shrouding me in darkness. Gently, I feel around until I find a latch that should set me free from the contraption.
“Miss Bain, are you comfortable?” guard two asks, his voice muffled by the walls of my box.
I want to laugh. Comfortable? Hardly. I’m shaking and terrified but probably hidden the best I can be. “I’m okay.”
“We’re going to defend the stage and try to stop anyone from getting to this room.”
“Turn the lights off when you leave,” I say, breathing heavily with nerves. “Maybe they won’t look hard if it seems like no one’s been here.”
The men follow my instructions, and the little bit of light seeping through the top of the box disappears before I hear the prop room’s door open and close.
Oh, God.
As I stand in the dark, squeezed between two planks of wood, the reality of the situation slams down on me.
It’s very possible that within the next few minutes, I’ll be taken captive, or worse, I’ll be dead.
My hands tighten into fists, and my nails dig into the flesh of my palms while my breathing accelerates. Claustrophobia kicks in, and my head begins to spin.
No. I can’t give in to my panic. I have to remain strong.
With long breaths in and out, I count each inhale and exhale. I can do this. I have to do this.
A series of loud bangs echo from outside the room, causing me to flinch and my panic to spike. Gunshots. They’re slightly muffled, coming from near the stage. My heart thuds as I pray the men protecting me win the battle. The shots continue, moving farther away. Maybe Dominic’s men are drawing the Russians into the audience, away from me.
My feet ache after standing so long in my dance heels, but I don’t dare move. As the battle outside seems to migrate away from my hiding place, the tension in my body begins to release. I might survive.
My glimmer of hope shatters when the door to the prop room slams open, and voices call to each other in Russian. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself not to make a sound.
“Come out, little kulkoka . I promise not to hurt you.” It’s the man from the diner with the frigid eyes and the viscous sneer.
He’s not alone. Two sets of footsteps walk through the room. Metal crashes against the floor as they overturn items, searching for me.
I stifle a gasp when something knocks against the back of my box.
“Are you in here?” The man says before a wooden object hits the concrete floor. “Or maybe here?” He’s next to me now, probably checking the box used to saw a woman in half.
I take short, shallow breaths to remain quiet, but the lack of oxygen makes me dizzy. Yet, I refuse to move, tightening every muscle to keep myself in place.
“Ah.” He chuckles. It’s a dark, menacing sound that makes me shiver. “I’ve found you, kulkoka . Come out now.”
The door at the front of my box swings open, shifting the entire structure and nearly knocking me off balance, but I’m strong enough to plant my feet and keep myself upright.
It feels like hours pass as I wait for him to push against the false back and reveal my hiding spot. Thoughts flash in my mind, mainly my fear for Dominic, as I know they’ll ambush him if he comes after me .
Resigned to my fate, I pray that God will keep him safe, and I open my eyes, ready to face my attacker.
But then, my prayers are answered as the door of the box swings closed, and his footsteps retreat.
“She’s not here,” a second voice with a thick Slavic accent says.
“Then where the fuck is she?” There’s a crack as more wood breaks.
“Maybe she got past us with the other dancers. They were all dressed the same.”
The conversation pauses, and for a moment, I panic, sure they’ll search the room again. “ Pizdec !” The man from my nightmares curses in his native tongue. “Have you tracked her phone?”
“Not yet. The last place it pinged was at that diner early this morning.”
Thank the Lord! Even if Lucas already has the device, my diminishing battery doesn’t hold a charge for long.
Their footsteps fall away as they give up and head out of the room. “Fuck the girl. Let’s find Tariello. He’s the one we want dead.”
The door slams shut as my heart plummets.
I have to warn Dominic.