Chapter 3
THREE
Nevaeh
“Get back,” coos the man in front of the others. He’s average height, average build, but possesses icy eyes as cool as his voice. He shoos us another step back from the door to allow him and his men space to enter. “Sorry to intrude, but we’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Dad pulls me and Mom farther away from Nero’s crew and inserts himself in between. He seems to recognize the guy who leads the small group of men.
“If this is about my disappearance from Nero’s headquarters, it shouldn’t be a surprise. I’ve warned him that I would be quitting.”
The ringleader flashes a toothy smile, playing it cool with hands in his pockets. “You said you were quitting?”
“That’s right!”
“Whoever told you you could quit? Was that in a memo I didn’t know about?”
The men behind him rumble out throaty chuckles. They’re so cocky and pleased with themselves for tracking us down.
Dad wavers on answering. He seeks out Mom with a glance over his shoulder. Their silent communication remains top notch. I have no idea what’s going on or what they’ve said to each other.
“I’ll go back,” Dad says. “If that’s what this is about, I’ll return to work.”
“It’s about much more than that now. You think we haven’t seen you with the ballerina?”
“She’s my daughter.”
“Who just so happens to have what we’re looking for. Your loyalties have long come into question, Levar,” he says, stroking his goatee. “You realize how this looks to Nero? The two of you had a deal, yet here you are, going behind his back. Did you think you’d get rich quick?”
Dad shakes his head profusely to deny the accusation, but my stomach sinks at the truth staring me in the face. This isn’t about survival as much as it’s about money…
At my side, Ignazio shuffles his feet and Mom tenses up, telling me all I need to know.
“We need to talk in private,” Dad says.
“The time for talking in private has passed. Nero’s done being nice—what the fuck!?”
The ringleader yells as the lights go out and we’re steeped in darkness. On my right, Ignazio’s leaped toward the light switch. As Nero’s men rumble out their surprise and anger, Ignazio is throwing himself at the warehouse’s second-story window. Mom and Dad are rushing to do the same.
Nero’s guys finally catch on and sprint over to stop them.
I’m knocked down to the ground in the commotion. A dozen different bodies thrash around in the pitch-dark room. Each person with a different goal.
I push myself toward the far corner in hopes I’ll hide behind one of the desks. The first nook I find, I tuck myself inside, pulling the desk chair in to further block me.
Everywhere else the chaos continues.
Shrouded figures clash at the window. Nero’s men yell against the din of aluminum trashcans and feet pounding the pavement. Others grunt a few feet off in the room as one wrestles the other into a headlock.
“They’re just outside,” comes the ringleader. “We’ll circle around and trap them.”
“What about this one?” the figure holding the man in a headlock says.
“We’ll bring him with. C’mon, before they get away!”
The floor shakes as if under the weight of a stampede. It’s close enough considering Nero’s crew rush the door at once. The room goes from being a dark blur of action to an empty, chillingly quiet space.
I don’t dare move. My knees press into my chest and I wrap my arms around the front of them. I urge myself to stop breathing. Squeezing my eyes shut, forcing my body still, I count the seconds I’m undiscovered.
Mom and Dad seem long gone. Nero’s men have raced after them.
I’m not sure how long I remain hidden under the desk. At least an hour has to pass by. My legs ache by the time I uncurl them from my chest and stretch out. Another few minutes go by before I come out altogether, peering around the dark room in case I’ve missed something.
Nero’s men must’ve assumed I made it out the window with Mom and Dad; Mom and Dad must’ve figured I was left behind with Nero’s men.
They’d run off anyway.
They didn’t even give it a second thought.
Despite my best efforts to keep silent and make as little sound as possible, a soft cry warbles out of me. A show of weakness Ignazio would mock me for, but I can’t keep my heart from splitting in two any longer.
Caelian would never leave me behind. He’d rip heads clear off their bodies just to get to me. He would’ve died to protect me if it came down to it.
Yet I let Mom and Ignazio take me away. I allowed my family to use me as a pawn in whatever games they’re playing with Nero and the Vorones. How could I be so stupid?
I tiptoe over to the nearest desk phone and try my luck at a long shot—the personal number Caelian once gave me to contact him if I ever needed him.
“If you need me, you call this number,” he says. He snatches the notepad and pencil off my bedside table and jots down several digits. “Only if it is an emergency, Nevaeh. Only if you truly need me and can’t find me.”
I take the torn piece of paper with a nod.
Caelian’s hand inches closer for a stroke of my cheek. I turn my head and deny him, not ready for that level of affection from him yet…
The memory fades before my eyes with another lovesick pang. I finish dialing the rest of the number, never wanting to hear someone’s voice more.
“Please,” I mutter as the line rings. “Please, please, please. Cael, I need you.”
Each ring makes me shudder in anticipation and cling tighter to the phone.
“C’mon… please… answer…”
The line clicks, and I take in a deep breath.
“Hello?” comes the sound of Caelian’s rough voice, a touch of his Italian accent bleeding through.
I open my mouth to respond, feeling so lightheaded I could pass out, when a finger smashes on the catch hook of the desk phone. The line dies with a click, and my heart shrivels up along with it.
As good as dead.
Someone’s standing behind me. They’ve crept up and reached over me to hang up the call.
“Not so fast, ballerina,” the person whispers.
A sharp needle pricks my throat as everything goes black.