Chapter 14
brOOKLYN
There’s an anxious, nervous feeling hovering in the back of my mind all day. Every second, every minute, every hour brings me a bit closer to the end of the rehearsal day, and a bit closer to my private coaching with Kir.
That’s the cause of not just the nervous feeling but also a tingle lingering just under my skin, humming like a dark secret in my core.
I tried to snoop out last night just how a Bratva pakhan turns out to be a ballet instructor who might even rival Madame Kuzmina. But all I found were press releases and magazine articles about fundraising galas the Zakharova has thrown.
Actually, that’s about the only thing I found online about Kir at all. For all intents and purposes, when it comes to a digital footprint, the man is a ghost—if a ghost who occasionally throws lavish, exclusive fundraising galas that are the talk of the high society circles in New York.
I’m chatting with Val and Evie after rehearsal when my phone dings with a text, pulling my attention from Val’s story about his brother— another criminal kingpin with no social media presence—buying a plane or something.
Maya
holy fuck, are you done with practice yet?! VIP!!
My pulse quickens. VIP is our code for “911, emergency, we need to talk asap”.
“Are you okay?!” I blurt when she answers my frantic call.
“ Me ?” She groans. “I'm fine. Shit, didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Maya!” I huff. “You said VIP!!”
“I'm sorry,” she exhales. “But you have to hear this—wait, have you talked to anyone else from the club today?”
“No.”
I’m friendly enough with most of the girls at The Mirage. But Maya’s really the only one there that I talk to outside of work.
She whistles. “ Shit . Okay… Are you sitting down?”
My brows knit. “Should I be? Can you just get to the point already?”
She laughs. “Okay, get this: last night, someone beat the living fuck out of Zak in the men’s room at work.”
My jaw drops. “Seriously?!”
“Yup!” Maya crows. “I mean, fucked his shit up . He’s in the hospital with a broken face—like, whoever did it literally broke his face . I didn’t know you could do that.”
My pulse quickens, and there’s no stopping the grin that creeps over my face.
“Broken nose, some fractured ribs, shattered eye socket, a couple of missing teeth—including one that he half swallowed, which I guess cut up his throat a little bit.” She giggles. “Oh, and you’ll love this last part: he burst a testicle.”
My face scrunches up. “ Fuck .”
“Right?” She sighs happily. “Honestly, it couldn’t have happened to a nicer shithead. Well, except Lou, I guess. Also…” Her voice drops a little, the excitement leaving her tone.
“What?” I press.
“You know what? Forget it,” she says. “I don’t want to freak you out.”
I frown. “Maya…”
“Just, I was in Lou’s office when he was going over the security tape from last night, trying to see if he could spot whoever fucked Zak up.
I’ve been telling him for fucking ever that we need more cameras in the place, meanwhile the fucker always jokes about putting the first one in our locker room.
” She snorts. “Anyway, there’s like one second on the VIP hallway camera that has any footage of the guy who followed Zak into the men's room, and that's it, and…”
My brow puzzles when she trails off. “ And …? Just tell me!”
“I… I’m pretty sure it’s the same guy who was looking for you at my place the other day.”
A numb, icy sensation trickles down my spine and wraps an arm around my middle, making me shudder.
“Huh.”
Maya groans. “Fuck, you’re totally freaked out now.”
“No, I'm not!” I lie, forcing a light laugh.
“It was probably someone else,” Maya continues. “Seriously. I mean, it’s like one blurry frame. Anyway.” She changes her tone. “I figured you’d want to hear about Zak.”
I grin. “You figured right. Thanks for telling me.”
I hang up with a shudder.
Woah . I’m not always a big believer in fate. But when Zak gets beaten to a pulp the day after he hits me?
Karma's a bitch, baby.
I obviously don’t tell Val and Evie the real reason I’m staying late tonight. Instead, I mention using the gym downstairs. Val, of course, jokes that I’m just trying to sneak a peek of Kir without his shirt on, same as Evie.
That gets me blushing about as red as Evelina.
Even though I’m going to be dancing again, I decide to take a quick shower.
…To rinse off the day, obviously. Not because I’m preening for Kir.
I’m not .
When I go back to my locker and open it, I freeze.
What the fuck ?
My skin prickles as I pull out the brand new Hermes quilted duffel bag.
It has my name embroidered on the side of it.
I blink quickly, setting it on the bench and tightening the towel around my body as I slowly unzip it.
Holy shit .
It’s filled with dance stuff: slippers, tights, leotards, rehearsal tutus, leg warmers, little wrap tops…the whole bit. When I look closer, my eyes widen.
It’s not cheap stuff, either. It’s all top-of-the-line brands.
Two Nikolay Grishko warmup sets. A dozen Luckyleo Couture leotards. Three pairs of Repetto's new F.I.T. leather slippers that everyone's been raving about but which are obviously beyond my budget. And…oh, God…
My jaw drops when I read the little note hand-written in perfect penmanship on cream-colored card stock:
“A personalized fitting has been arranged for you at Freed of London with two hundred pairs on order.”
My throat tightens. Pointe shoes aren’t cheap, and when you dance professionally, you can go through two pairs a week.
I mean Naomi blew through three pairs a night when she was playing the Odette/Odile role for Swan Lake .
Freed of London, being that they make gorgeous hand-made shoes, is the absolute other end of the spectrum from “cheap”.
Two hundred pairs is enough to easily get me through the year. It’s also like thirty-fucking- thousand dollars worth of shoes, and I’m not quite sure how to actually grasp what I’m looking at.
“You needed an upgrade.”
I almost jump out of my skin, whirling at the sound of his voice. My eyes widen, and my hands grip the towel more tightly.
Kir is standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms folded over his chest.
Most shocking of all, it's the first time I’ve seen Kir in anything but a suit. He’s wearing black gym pants and a fitted black t-shirt.
When I catch my breath enough to speak, I clear my throat and look at the Hermes gym bag, then back at him.
“What is all this?”
“Call it an investment in your future,” he growls.
I tense nervously. “Investments usually imply an expected return.”
Kir shakes his head. “This is a gift.”
“I don’t like handouts.”
He rolls his eyes. “Fine. You can repay me by showing up on time and being ready to work whenever we meet. Is that understood?”
I suck my lower lip between my teeth and glance at the Hermes bag again.
“Your eye is looking better today.”
I don’t know what it is—a slight note in his tone, or the hint of smugness in his lips? The spark of knowing in his gaze, perhaps?
Regardless, I’m connecting dots I didn’t see before.
“Was it you?” I ask quietly.
Kir arches a slightly amused brow. “Be more specific, Ms. Ellis.”
There’s that fucking tone again, and the glint in his eye.
“You went to my home. You asked Maya about me.”
Kir’s face stays totally neutral as he cocks his head to the side, his eyes never leaving mine.
“I went to someone’s home, yes.” He eyes me cooly, his jaw tightening. “Who’s your lawyer?”
I bristle. “What were you doing?—”
“I asked you a question, Brooklyn.”
God damn that infuriatingly authoritative way he speaks to me sometimes—partly because it’s so fucking bossy, and partly because it sounds way too good to my ears.
“None of your business,” I snap. Then my eyes narrow. ”Why were you at my apartment?”
“Not your apartment,” he tosses back. “I think we can agree on that.”
I swallow. “Someone beat the shit out of a man at my work last night.”
The seconds tick by in silence, Kir’s dark devil eyes trained right on me before he finally answers.
“ Did they now …”
There’s something incredibly sinister yet frankly pulse-quickening about the way he smiles when he says it.
“Yes. They attacked him in the men's room. He had to be hospitalized.”
Kir nods slowly. “Well, perhaps that person has learned a valuable lesson about the consequences of smacking defenseless young women around.”
My whole body stiffens. I shiver as I look at him, my lip catching in my teeth.
“ Thank you, ” I finally say quietly.
Kir nods. “Again, your thanks can be made via hard work.” He glances at the heavy watch on his wrist. “Be changed and in the studio in three minutes. Bring the new Repettos. You should break them in.”
Kir does indeed spend the next hour and a half breaking in the Repettos.
Unluckily for my feet, they’re inside the slippers while he does it.
When I finally get a break, whatever “preening” I was doing before our coaching session is a moot point. I’m panting raggedly. Stray strands of blonde are pasted to my forehead and the back of my neck. And I’m drenched in sweat.
But I will admit, it feels good to be pushed even further than Madame Kuzmina does.
“You got into the final arabesque much better that last time.”
I gulp from my water bottle before turning to him and nodding.
“Moving from the pas de bourrée ?—”
“Into the ballonnés , yes,” Kir agrees. “That’s the way to attack the arabesque at that point. You did well there.”
I feel my chest swell with pride as my face heats a little.
“Thanks,” I say quietly.
He looks at me impassively. “What I want you to remember, though, is never to back off. Don’t second guess yourself, don’t hesitate. There is zero room for that at this level, Brooklyn.”
I nod. “Got it.”
He shakes his head. “No. Don’t just get it. Feel it. Inject it into your veins?—”
“Yeah, I got it ,” I mutter, sucking in another gulp of air before following it with more water.