Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
Nevaeh
Dancing has always served as an outlet both physically and mentally. When the outside world became overwhelming and I needed an escape I disappeared into dance. The busy noise quieted down into twinkling, dreamy music and my body moved on its own. I was a natural from the first plié.
It was during the most difficult time of my life that I discovered my love for the art form.
I was a small girl freshly on my own… away from Mom and Dad.
My contract came into effect, and I had to pack up my things.
From that point on I was the property of Ignazio and the Dresden Dance Company—I was property of Nero Vorone.
But as much as I missed my old life, my family, and my perceived freedom, I threw myself into my newfound passion. Dancing the days away dulled the pain; dancing quieted the sad, miserable thoughts in my head and stopped the ache in my heart.
Soon, I adapted.
I was no longer Nevaeh, daughter of Niecy and Levar Graham. I was la principessa, the star dancer in Ignazio’s production.
Ballerina became my identity.
As the music chimes around me and I leap into a jeté, I lose myself again. For the first time in days I’m able to disappear into the fluid movements. I cover every inch of the dance studio Caelian has renovated for me, spinning and twisting in the most graceful fashion.
Still as if Ignazio’s feet away tapping his foot impatiently.
The other dancers too—they’d always stood back with brows arched and a sourness about their faces.
It only made me dance harder.
Feeling their ghosts inhabit the room, I push myself. The last puff of air leaves my lungs, but I gallop across the floor with perfect footwork.
It’s at the last second, right as I build up for my finishing move, that I realize I’m not alone. Someone stands in the doorway.
I sputter and stumble trying to stop myself on a dime. A less practiced dancer would’ve face planted.
But it’s not Caelian watching me like has happened before. Even Ms. Poitier or Umberto, who have both enjoyed my dancing and applauded my talent.
Matteo fills out the open space with shoulders and arms carved in the gym. He’s chewing on gum, indifferent that he’s doing so with his mouth open.
It takes me a couple seconds to swallow down enough air to speak. “Is there an issue?”
“Why would there be an issue?”
“You’re standing in the doorway watching me dance.”
“People can’t watch you perform now? Didn’t you used to do it on a stage?”
“You’ve never done it before.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t do it now.” He pops the wad of blue gum in his mouth and then stands up straighter. It doesn’t make much of a difference in his height since he’s too many inches off six feet. “I was doing some rounds and saw you dancing. Figured I’d stop to see what all the fuss was about.”
His borderline mocking tone of voice disrupts something inside me. If only I knew what. Then again, it could be leftover unease from what his twin brother once did—I still haven’t forgotten the way the wind was knocked out of me when Enrico had slammed his entire body into mine.
I’d flown halfway across the hall. He’d suffered a fatal consequence because of it.
I roll my shoulders back and grab my water bottle that’s off the nearby window ledge.
Caelian has specifically stated he wants me to remain outside the problems going on between him and his family and the Vorones. He says it’s for my safety.
But so much has been happening it feels like a missed opportunity not to pry. Matteo was the one who interrupted our time together the other night. He presented Caelian with evidence that Ms. Poitier has been the saboteur from inside the walls.
How can I resist poking around for info? It might even help Caelian gain clarity on what he needs to do.
No one suspects me of any scheming or manipulation. Even after running off like I did, everyone views me in a decidedly harmless way. Both a blessing and a curse. In this moment, as I suck down water and eye Matteo curiously, it’s a blessing.
“Do you always do rounds in the middle of the day?”
“Sometimes. Depends on if I’m looking for something.”
“So does that mean there’s something around today that you were looking for?” I ask innocently.
He pops his gum and gives a shrug. “There’s been a lot of shady activity going around. The person must not remember this estate’s rigged with plenty of cameras.”
“What’s this person up to?”
“That’s classified information,” he snaps. “I’m pretty sure Mr. C wouldn’t want you knowing. You should probably be happy he’s forgiven you at all for what you’ve pulled.”
I disguise my grimace with another suck of water. “I explained to Caelian why I did what I did.”
“I’m sure you did. You were real persuasive.” He winks at me before he abandons our impromptu conversation altogether.
I’m not sure what to make of anything.
He appeared one second and disappeared the next.
My fishing for intel feels like it’s flopped. I gathered no new info except the fact that Matteo is watching the manor closely. More closely than Ms. Poitier probably realizes.
A tug of trepidation troubles me the rest of the afternoon. I wrap up my dance practice by indulging in a hot shower and change of clothes. Within the hour, I’m curling up in the den with a new book to read in the time leading to dinner.
Concentration flickers in and out as I try to focus on the words.
My dance practice might’ve temporarily relieved troubled thoughts from my head, but they return in full force sitting in the den.
Caelian’s been gone most of the day handling his operation.
He hadn’t even clarified if he’d be home in time for dinner.
He’s provided no updates about how he plans to handle the situation with Ms. Poitier.
“Everything alright, honey?”
“Hmm? Oh! Oh. Ms. P,” I stammer, jumping slightly in the armchair. My book almost slides down my thighs, but I catch it in time for it to fall. “Do you need help getting dinner ready?”
She tinkers out a laugh. “I think it looks more like you’re the one in need of help. What’s troubling you?”
“How do you know something’s troubling me?”
“Have you forgotten I’ve become a pretty dang good read on you? We’ve spent enough time together.”
I pause as she shuffles into the den and selects the seat to the right of mine. She lets out a relaxing sigh as she sinks down onto the sofa. Her silvery gray hair floats along with her like a cloud.
The passages of time line her face. Markers that show she’s been a part of this lifestyle for decades. Caelian said he’s known her since she was a boy.
Suddenly, the no-nonsense, sharp-as-a-whip caretaker of the manor looks exhausted and worn down. I feel a sense of sympathy pit inside my stomach that makes me frown.
There’s no way Ms. Poitier is the saboteur—and if she is, surely there’s something we can do that doesn’t involve gruesome violence. What if she simply needs a listening ear? Someone to be understanding of what might’ve made her turn to another side?
“Well…” she sighs. She pops one eye open to sneak a sidelong glance at me. “I’m waiting for you to tell me, honey.”
“It’s really not anything, except…” I bend the corner of the page in the book I’m reading. Nervous habits that briefly distract me. “I don’t know much about you, Ms. P. You’ve mentioned working for Caelian’s father and knowing him since he was a boy. But I don’t… know much else…”
“You want to know about me?” Skepticism drips from her voice. An arched brow accompanies the doubtful tone.
I nod. “Have you ever been married?”
“Once. A long time ago. He wasn’t very good.”
“And then what happened?”
“I left. I didn’t have more than a few dollars to my name.”
“Is that when you started working for Mr. Ziccardi?”
“Something like that. I hope you’re not up to anything, Nevaeh honey,” Ms. Poitier says with a flash of warning in her dark eyes. “You’ve gotten yourself into too much trouble as it is.”
“I’m not up to anything. Just curious.”
Ms. Poitier stands up and then smooths the front of her apron.
Only a wrinkle or two existed before. “My life’s been a damn interesting one…
to a degree. Working for a mafia boss isn’t your standard 9 to 5.
But I’ve always kept my head down and done what I was told.
How else do you think I’ve lasted so long? ”
“You’ve done what you’ve had to do,” I whisper.
“You get it. And you’ll do what you have to do too, right?
What did I tell you on that first night you were here?
Things will be easier for you if you go along with the program and use it to your advantage.
” She sets course for the exit. “I better go check on dinner. The kitchen staff on shift tonight doesn’t know a butter knife from a paring. ”
I’m no less assuaged after our short conversation. No less certain I know what’s going on than I was earlier after Matteo showed up in my dance studio.
I get up off the armchair and go to the window, where outside the sky purples and drizzle comes down. The unease creeping inside me has grown worse.
“Cael, come home,” I whisper to myself.
I watch on from the den window as Matteo and a few other men on evening security patrol the grounds. I can’t help thinking about the footage that had caught Ms. Poitier wandering so late at night, and I can’t help wondering if there’s a piece of the story I’m missing.