Chapter 1 #2
While my mother stood behind him, for once she appeared content with her life. I was giggling, maybe because he’d bounced me on his knee as he’d done so many times when I’d been a child.
That was then. This was now. I was never going back to that suffocating life. Furious at the sadness attempting as per usual to strip away the little bit of pure joy, I shoved the photograph back into my wallet and jerked up. Time to shed the ballet clothes and head home.
By the time I’d changed, the noise outside in the corridor had all but been silenced. By now, there were only a limited number of people left inside the building, including a few technicians and janitors. They wouldn’t lock the building until they knew everyone was out.
When I went to grab my jacket, I knocked my phone across the surface and the display popped on. I had a message. Who could have called me during the performance?
Papa?
Excitement tugged at my stomach as I grabbed the phone, hating that my hand was shaking.
My own mother hadn’t so much as acknowledged the last email I’d sent her.
I’d given up bothering to call. It wasn’t worth the expense or the heartache.
She’d been forced to abide by my father’s wishes.
She should be happy since she’d never wanted me around.
Still hopeful, I slipped my fingers across the screen, realizing I’d been left a phone message, the call originating from a phone number I didn’t recognize.
A trickle of fear replaced every amazing vibe from before. Still shaking, I continued staring at the screen for an exorbitant amount of time before finding the courage to listen to the message.
“Ms. Scavo, this is Irina Novikov, the artistic director of the New Orleans Ballet Theater. Recently, you sent an email regarding our inquiries for new talent within our company. I’ve finally had the opportunity to review the videos you sent along with your credentials.
You are a powerful force on stage. I am happy to inform you that you have a place within the New Orleans Ballet if you’re still considering a change from the ABT.
We’d love to have you and as such, are prepared to offer you principal status. ”
Was she kidding me?
Irina Novikov? Only the most incredible female ballet dancer of her time. Hell, for eternity. I’d grown up idolizing her. I hadn’t paid any attention that she was with the NOBT.
Holy shit.
This was incredible, only I hadn’t recently applied. That had been months before when I’d been in a mental and emotional slump.
When I’d been certain I was being passed over for the lead for the tenth time, I’d gotten a little drunk. I’d had a little encouragement and I’d applied to several other ballet companies.
Oddly enough, I hadn’t remembered sending anything to the New Orleans Ballet. If I did remember correctly, their website clearly stated they were not accepting resumes.
But the call was proof.
An offer.
They’d reviewed the videos I’d sent them. I couldn’t remember sending any of those either. Ugh. They loved my style. What? What?
I bit my lower lip to keep from squealing. The New Orleans Ballet Theater had made a formal offer. I could learn to like the South. I’d never been to New Orleans.
Oh, I must have been drunk when I sent those emails.
Both excitement and additional anxiety swept through me.
Another dream potentially coming true. I mean with Marissa and three other younger women holding the prima ballerina positions, the most I could hope to achieve was a few solo performances if I was lucky.
I did a little shimmy while still on the stool. It was fabulous to have choices.
Feeling giddier than usual, I hopped up, spinning in circle after circle. I couldn’t take the offer, of course. New York was my home, the American Ballet Theater everything I’d aspired to. I adored it in the Big Apple. The sights. The sounds. The food.
Even as little as I ate.
How could I possibly consider leaving? This was my dream.
Groaning again, I re-listened to the message. I hadn’t caught the part where the director was looking for an answer within twenty-four hours. How could I go from the best night of my life to planning a future that included such a tremendous change in such a short timeframe?
It was a decision to make after I consumed wine and had a good night’s sleep.
At least I believed I had every right to feel as giddy as I did. Where the ABT’s creative director had called me clunky, the one from New Orleans had called me a powerful force. I did another little dance with a squeal this time, loathing yet another interruption.
This time, a hard bump against the door.
Seconds before it was thrown open, two huge men in dark suits storming inside.
Fear instantly coated my mouth, pungent with the taste of metal.
They were huge, both glaring at me as if a feast for their souls.
One even grinned as if discovering the very prize he’d been searching for his entire life.
The outline of his weapon was visible through his badly tailored suit.
I knew far too well what men like him were capable of and their intentions after finding me.
They were brutal assassins, men who worked for monsters who used human lives as collateral or as bait for one of their enemies. Was this what my father had warned me about as a child?
“Always keep your guard up, Anastasia. Unfortunately, we will always have a target on our backs. If you’re confronted and I’m not able to protect you, promise me you’ll run.”
His words burned into the back of my mind, yet to be tested in the eight years I’d been sequestered away from my home.
While I had no idea who these men worked for, in truth it didn’t matter.
They’d found a jeweled prize for whatever master they served.
A true Italian princess, whose father and grandfather were both considered legends.
Given my grandfather’s death, my father was now the Capo di tutti Capi, the Boss of all bosses in Sicily, the most revered position in the violent world of Italian mafia.
While he was kinder than my grandfather had been, he still ruled with an iron fist.
I’d once thought I was safe, far removed from the insidious world of savagery and bloodshed.
But I was wrong.
“What the hell do you want?” Maybe standing up to them wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but I was at the point in my life I didn’t care. I was finished with being victimized by my family’s sins.
When one of the brutes moved closer, I froze, unable to breathe. The man with the scar from years before. The one who’d watched me staring at him through the window. Oh, my God. The deal my father had refused to take. What was happening? Had my father changed his mind?
No. No. This couldn’t be right. My papa wouldn’t do that to me.
Yet my father’s words penetrated the forefront of my mind, my need to return should he request I do so. That wasn’t fair. Not now. What if he didn’t know? Oh, God. What was I supposed to do?
Get away from them. I had to get the fuck away.
I was tired of the fear, an agonizing anxiety that continued to feast during the most vulnerable moments of my life.
There was nothing worse than the thought of being married to a stranger, forced to bear his children and deal with his abuse.
All for the sake of family honor. I was no longer that girl.
The sound of cruelly amused laughter echoed in the dense space, the second thug grinning from ear to ear.
He was also leering at me, allowing his lust-filled gaze to fall to my feet.
His face was scarred as well, the jagged line from the corner of his eye to his jaw another reminder of the brutal life I’d been born into.
“Boyets.” A fighter. Maybe the gruff, ugly man had no idea I spoke several languages including Russian. “Mozhet byt’, my nemnogo poigrayem s ney.”
Maybe we play with her a little.
My father’s words from the day inside his office popped into my mind. The Russians had come to take what they believed belonged to them.
The taller of the men who stood in front shook his head. There was no lust in his eyes. Only a desire for whatever payment they’d been promised.
“Nyet,” he gritted out before taking a step in my direction. “Don’t make this any more difficult for yourself. You’re coming with us.”
Was the bastard out of his mind? I took a step away, shaking my head. “Whoever you are, I’m not going anywhere with you.”
A sense of foreboding slithered into my stomach when the first man’s eyes flashed. The fact they’d decided to abduct me from the theater likely meant they didn’t know where I lived. Only one name out of four roommates was on the lease.
However, that would never stop them from hunting me down, killing anyone who dared try to help me.
Before I had a chance to scream, he lunged for me. I reacted quickly, punching him in the face. While I was small, I was mighty, the brutal hit catching him off guard. I screamed as loud as I could manage before the first asshole recovered, clamping a hand across my mouth.
And another around my throat. The instant shot of anxiety hit me hard, the lights dimming. Panic rushed in, the edges sharper than I’d experienced before.
I struggled, trying desperately to reach my purse, flailing and kicking to buy time. When my hand slipped inside, I bit down on the man’s fingers just as I managed to wrap my hand around the knife.
“Malen’kaya shlyushka,” he howled.
Little slut.
His rage allowed me enough time to flick open the blade, driving it into his neck.
With him stunned, I was able to break free, almost reaching the door when I was dragged back by my hair.
Everything happened so quickly as I struggled, fighting them with everything I had. The fact they were brazen enough to attempt a kidnapping now meant they had no intention of leaving anyone alive who got in their way.
I refused to go down quietly, kicking and punching. As soon as I broke free, I issued a sharp cry, the sound much shriller than before. The man with the scar tried clamping his huge hand across my mouth again, but I bit down as hard as possible, tasting blood.
He jerked his hand free, cursing in Russian before backhanding me. The force pitched me across the room. I was dazed, gasping for air as he came for me, snarling as he did.
“What the fuck is going on here?”
The voice I recognized, the nice janitor I’d talked to almost every time I was in the building.
“Jimmy!” I crawled up the wall, thankful he wasn’t alone. As a scuffle broke out, I used the chaos, grabbing my bag and fleeing the room. My tennis shoes pounded on the concrete floor as I fled the scene, only looking back once.
If I could get to the back door, I stood a good chance of making it to the subway before they caught up with me.
Just as I threw open the door, I heard a noise that I’d never forget and never wanted to hear again.
Two gunshots.
I ran, never stopping once, never turning around until I’d safely jumped onto the subway. As I sat down, hugging my bag, only then did I allow tears to fall.
I’d never be free.
I’d never have a normal life.
I would always be the daughter of an Italian Don.
I would always be collateral.
As the bright lights of the beautiful city I loved with all my heart passed by, I pulled out my phone, staring at the screen for a few minutes. My heart was heavy, my mind barely able to process what had just occurred. But I had to keep moving. I had to keep fighting.
With a heavy sigh, I dialed the phone number, still struggling with my decision until the beep indicated I should leave a message.
“Hi. This is Anna Scavo. Thank you so much for contacting me and I’m very excited. I called because… if the position is still open with the New Orleans Ballet, I’d love to take it.”