Chapter 23
DOVE
I figured out his secret.
I think he knows.
I think he might try to hurt me.
I think he’s going to kill me, Boo.
My throat tightens, a shiver finger-walking down my spine as I re-read the entry—one of the last Lark ever made in the diary—for the umpteenth time.
The first time I read it, I freaked. Lark had figured out someone’s “secret”. She thought “he” was trying to hurt her, maybe even kill her.
…I genuinely thought the man she was talking about was Bane.
In fairness, it’s not that wild a stretch. At least, I didn’t think so at the time. When I first read those lines, I had this idea in my head that Bane was a cold, brutal, uncaring monster. But now, having read about the ways my dead friend was so cruel to him at times, I’ve questioned that theory.
Lark used to lie to him. She manipulated his emotions. Made him jealous. Gaslit him into apologizing to her after she did terrible shit to him. There’ve even been times when I’ve pictured Bane snapping. Of the two of them clashing, even though we all thought they were perfect.
But I know now how unfounded that fear was.
I saw Bane as cold and brutal, because that’s how he was to me.
…Because I took her away from him.
Okay, not me personally. I wasn’t the one who locked her in that room, shaved her head, abused her, and killed her. That was all Lorenzo.
But I’m the reason she was there in the first place. And he knows it. That’s why I always framed him as someone vicious and angry, capable of immense violence.
It’s embarrassing now to think that I ever entertained the idea that it was Bane that Lark was afraid of. Bane does obviously have a dark viciousness inside him, and an unflinching ability to use that viciousness.
But…not like that. I might not remember much of the past, but I remember how they were.
Funny enough, when I’m with Bane, I feel how she must have felt when he was with her: Utterly protected and safe.
Possessed. Desired.
Needed.
I don’t think that’s something either of us was expecting. But here we are.
There are other instances in the latter chapters of Lark spiraling: of paranoia and fear strangling her. She wrote about “him” being “on to her”. Of “knowing that she figured him out”. There are other entries where she was panicking about him hurting or even killing her.
But I no longer secretly worry that the mysterious threat was Bane.
And the more I read straight from the inner depths of my friend’s mind, the more I’m coming to realize an uncomfortable truth:
Bane wasn’t the villain of their story.
I think that might have been Lark.
I’m pretty sure I remember her taking meds for run of the mill anxiety.
But I can’t recall if there was more to it.
I reached out to Melinda the other day to ask if she remembered what meds Lark was on, but her response was a mix of cluelessness and maybe a little discomfort to be talking about the dead that way.
She’s like that.
I even texted Chiara about it, and we never talk. But she was so young when Lark died. She couldn’t remember anything.
So now I’m left with more questions, and an uncomfortable, jarring reality.
The villain isn’t the villain at all.
And the girl I thought of as my other half and my best friend in the world might have been far more troubled than I ever dreamed.
“Fucking. Sadist.”
Val is waiting for Evelina and me when we emerge from the changing room after an especially grueling rehearsal that ran late for the gala showcase the Zakharova will be doing later this year.
Madame Kuzmina put me through the fucking paces for my piece from Giselle.
Evelina and Val, meanwhile, have been getting grilled as a duo ever since our Stalin-esque Artistic Director decided they’d be dancing the “Seduction” Pas de Deux from Carmen.
It's slightly amusing casting, on the face of it. The piece is supposed to be dripping with steamy, sizzling sexual energy. Meanwhile, Val is in a committed relationship with a man who happens to be Evelina’s brother. And Evie is, well…
Evie.
You can’t say the word “penis” in front of her without her going beet red.
The two of them are like siblings at this point. They probably will be siblings—well, siblings-in-law—if Val and Roman get married, which is almost certainly happening.
All this is to say, their ultra-sensual dance is going to be not only a showcase of their dance abilities but also a feat of acting prowess.
“You two looked good out there today,” I say honestly.
I mean, any awkward dynamic aside, Val and Evie are both very talented dancers. Val’s somehow able to channel his normally chaotic, excited-puppy energy into pure grace on stage. And Evelina, as sheltered and innocent as she is, becomes the epitome of feminine sensuality.
Sadist though she is, Madame Kuzmina nailed the casting of this.
Evie blushes, smiling at me. “You think? I dunno…” She blushes deeper as she darts a look at Val. “I mean…it’s a little awkward, with all the…you know…”
“Sexy vibes?” Val grins at her, waggling his brows. I giggle, but poor Evie groans, burying her face in her hands.
I elbow her affectionately. “You’re doing great. Don’t get all in your head about it. You looked flawless today.”
She grins at me. “Thanks, Dove. It’s just…a little weird, I guess.”
“Why, because I’m boning your brother?”
I roll my eyes, trying not to giggle as I turn to glare at Val. “Could you not?”
“No, I couldn’t,” he sighs. “It’s impossible for me to stop boning Roman. He’s just way too hot, and his ass—”
“VAAAAAAAL!” Evie groans, turning scarlet.
I sigh, shooting him a warning look. “You know what I meant,” I grin. “Quit messing with her.”
He winks at me. “Fine…I guess.”
This is another newer thing for me. I don’t normally do so well with making guy friends, but I’ve been chummy enough with Val since I joined the Zakharova.
Part of it is that he’s close to the group of girls I fell in with.
But also, Val’s gone out of his way to make me feel comfortable.
It’s not a sexuality thing—not like I’ve marked him “safe” simply because he dates men.
Val’s bi, anyway. I saw him with plenty of girls before he and Roman crashed together.
I guess I just need to have safety proven to me, and he's…done that.
The three of us walk through the empty auditorium toward the side fire exit of the theater.
“I have an idea, Evie,” Val suddenly pipes up. He turns to wink at her. “Just pretend I’m Vaughn.”
Vaughn is Val’s slightly older but incredibly similar-looking brother. I’ve barely talked to him, but from the brief, passing interactions we’ve had, that’s where the similarity ends, though.
Val is an infectiously hyper ball of energy, all charming smiles.
Vaughn is the opposite.
He’s cold and calculating, as if his every move and word is specifically chosen to send a message. He’s one of those people who when he enters a room, everyone in that room immediately feels the chilling effect of his presence.
Which tracks, because he’s the head of something called the Obsidian Syndicate, which to the best of my knowledge is some shadowy underworld organization that no one really knows much about, Val included.
Bottom line, there’s something sinister and calculating about the guy that legit creeps me out a little.
Evie’s face goes very dark when Val brings him up.
“W-what?” she stammers.
“Why not?” Val grins. “I mean, he looks just like me. So you get all this…” He drags a hand with a flourish over his torso and his grinning face. “But, you know, straight.” He shrugs. “Yeah. Just pretend it’s Vaughn’s hands all over you.”
Evie’s face throbs as she looks away.
I hear a chime, with jerks my attention to where Val has just turned his phone back on after it being off for rehearsal. I reach for mine just as Evie’s turns back on with a similar ping.
I use my hip to bump the back door open.
“Holy fuck...”
It feels like slow motion as I push the door wide and lift my eyes to Val. His face is white and his eyes bulging as they slide from his phone to me.
“Dove…”
Evie chokes my name, staring at her phone, then me.
My brows puzzle. “What—”
The roar of people screaming my name hits me like a sledgehammer, ripping me out of that slowed-down moment as I whirl in shock.
Holy shit.
There’s easily thirty people in the alley behind the Mercury Theater shoving cameras and microphones into my stunned face .
What the fuck…
“DOVE!!” A woman screams, her microphone almost slamming into my mouth before I jerk my head away. A camera flashes brightly, then another, blinding me as I blink and stumble sideways.
“MS. MARCHETTI! ANY RESPONSE TO THE VICTIM’S FAMILY?!”
“MS. MARCHETTI! DO YOU HAVE ANY COMMENT ON THE ALLEGATIONS?!”
“DOVE! Have you spoken to the Cielo family?!”
The name rips into me like a knife through flesh, slashing through vein, sinew and bone, leaving me standing in shock at the back door to the theater.
Cielo.
As in Lorenzo Cielo.
The Barber.
The monster who took Lark from me that night.
The mob presses in on me. I cry out, shielding myself with my arms as I try to stumble away, but there’s no escape. The crowd has somehow flanked me, blocking my way back to the theater. More screamed questions, my name, microphones, flashing cameras…surrounding me, drowning me.
“Come on!!”
I flinch when a strong arm wraps around me, yanking me tight against a muscled body. My eyes jerk to the side, my pulse spiking. I exhale when I realize it’s Val.
“Stay close!!” he roars in my ear, shoving his way through the reporters. He snarls, kicking, throwing elbows, and eventually even landing a wild punch that knocks one of the reporters down. “Get the fuck back!!” he bellows. “FUCK OFF, ALL OF YOU!! Let her the fuck—”
An even stronger hand clamps down like iron on my other arm. I scream, whirling with a fist raised—
Bane’s jet-black eyes clash with mine, his face taut, his mouth grim. I choke out a cry of relief as he pulls me close.
“I got her!!” he roars at Val, who releases me with a curt nod. “Make sure Evelina is okay!!”
Val flashes Bane a thumbs-up sign, then glances at me. “Get her the fuck out of here!” he yells at Bane.
Then he disappears back into the throng of reporters to find Evelina.
Bane’s big arms scoop around me, shielding me on all sides as he shoves us through the crowd.
“MS. MARCHETTI!! Have you talked to the Cielo family?!”
“Any comment about the new allegations!?”
My entire body is trembling and shaking.
I cling to Bane’s chest as he half-pushes, half-carries me through the crowd, until we get to the passenger side of a sleek black vintage Mustang.
He yanks the door open, but it’s suddenly slammed shut as a reporter inserts himself between us and it, making me scream.
“DOVE!!” the man yells, jamming a digital voice recorder into my face. “Do you have anything to say for your—”
Blood explodes from the guy’s lip and the recorder flies out of his hand as he gets knocked sideways from the force of Bane’s fist.
“Get in!!” Bane roars, wrenching the door open and bundling me inside.
“Ms. Marchetti!”
“Dove!!”
“Do you have any comment?!”
“Have you retained legal counsel?!”
The door between me and the chaos is about to close when the final question slips through and drives into my heart like a knife.
“Dove! Did you really help kidnap and murder Lark Peltier?!”
The door shuts with a heavy thunk that echoes in the sudden emptiness in my chest. Bane jumps behind the wheel, gunning the engine and sending the reporters scattering as he peels out of the alley onto East 49th Street.
I’m not even aware of the traffic honking. Of the city streaking by.
Of Bane’s hand reaching over to grip mine tightly, or of anything he’s saying.
“Dove! Did you really help kidnap and murder Lark Peltier?!”
Up has become down. Black is white.
And suddenly, I’m lost in a nightmare.