Chapter Twenty-Three Vladimir
I sit back, hands folded loosely, telling myself I am here to observe—to assess a performance I already know well. The Sleeping Beauty offers no surprises. Or it shouldn’t.
She moves with a calm that borders on dangerous.
Not fragile, not ornamental—commanding. Her arms open slowly, deliberately, shaping space, shaping time.
She holds each balance long enough to test the audience’s nerve, and she never wavers.
Strength concealed beneath serenity. Control so complete it feels effortless.
I realize my jaw is tight.
I have watched great dancers before. I know how to admire technique, measure line and musicality, and appreciate precision. But this is different. This is not an analysis. This is absorption.
I don’t take my eyes off of Anya for the entire performance. She is magnificent. I barely notice the other players because all I can see is her. She is a goddess in lavender tulle, spinning a web that draws me in.
Anya does not perform for the audience. She assumes our attention as a given. Her gaze travels across the stage, never searching, never pleading. When she turns, when she gestures, it is with the quiet authority of someone who knows the world will obey.
My chest tightens unexpectedly.
I understand the role now—not intellectually, but viscerally.
The Lilac Fairy is not the center because she demands it.
She is the center because everything else relies on her.
Without her, there is no mercy, no guidance, no future.
Watching Anya embody that truth feels intimate, almost intrusive, as if I am witnessing something private she did not intend to reveal.
And yet she does.
Each movement strips away my detachment. I stop noticing the other dancers. The set fades. The story becomes singular: her presence, her restraint, her quiet power unfolding phrase by phrase.
There is a moment—brief, impossible—when she turns downstage, and her gaze lifts. The lights catch her eyes, and for the barest second, it feels as though she is looking directly at me. The sensation is absurd. And devastating.
My breath catches.
This is not infatuation. I know the difference. This is something steadier, more dangerous. Recognition. The unsettling awareness that my attention is no longer optional, that it has already been claimed.
When she completes her variation and withdraws from the stage, the silence lingers before the applause erupts. I do not clap immediately. I sit very still, aware of something shifting irrevocably inside me.
By the time I rise with the rest of the audience, the realization has settled with uncomfortable clarity.
I am no longer watching her simply because she is extraordinary.
I am watching her because she’s mine.
And as the curtain falls and the applause swells around me, one undeniable truth surfaces, quiet and absolute:
I’m not falling in love with her. I’ve already fallen.
As everyone moves around me, I stay in my seat.
I can’t pull my eyes from the curtain as I think through what this means.
When I decided to come to Russia, I had a plan.
That plan did not include Anya. I brought Alexi home so he could take back his rightful place.
I’d hoped that by saving his life and bringing him home, I could ensure my control over the territory my father once held.
My father wanted more territory, but I only wish to control New Orleans and the Gulf of Mexico.
I have plans. Anya was not part of those plans, but now?
Now, I can’t imagine anything more important than her.
“We’re headed backstage, are you coming?’ Dominic asks, dragging me out of my thoughts.
“What? Oh, yes. I’m coming,” I say, standing and following him out. “Where’s our friend?” I ask because Alexi is not with us.
“He left before the lights came on,” Dominic explained. “He didn’t want to take a chance on anyone recognizing him.”
“Did he say anything?”
“Only that he’d meet us back at the hotel. He mentioned that he overheard the three assholes discussing Anya. He looked pissed off. I think he left before he pounded them.”
I stiffen at his words. What were they saying about Anya?
Picking up my pace, I lead the way backstage and scan the crowd for Anya.
I spot her talking with Skylar. My anxiety dips when I see her smiling so wide that I can’t help but smile, too.
She looks so incredibly happy. As if sensing my eyes on her, she turns her head to lock eyes with me.
I cut through the crowd to reach her, but when I do, I notice her attention is elsewhere.
“Anya?” I say, drawing her attention back to me.
“I’m sorry, I thought I saw… “
I don’t hear what she says, because I’m searching the crowd. I spot Alexi moving toward the door. Anya’s next question draws my attention back to her.
“You came to the opening?”
“Of course I did,” I smile. “You were breathtaking. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you.”
The blush on her lovely face makes her appear younger than she is. I want to capture her chin and force her to look at me, but movement on her right catches my attention. Skylar is pushing through the crowd in pursuit of Alexi.
“Is something wrong?” Anya asks.
“No, but I need to go. I’ll let you get back to your fans. You were amazing. I plan on coming to your next performance just to see you again.”
Guilt courses through me as I rush away from her again, but I have a bad feeling. I push through the crowd in pursuit of Skylar, who I believe is following Alexi. I need to catch up to them before Skylar can blow Alexi’s cover.
Dominic catches up to me as I leave the theater.
“What’s going on?”
I point toward Skylar, who is hot on Alexi’s trail.
“Shit,” Dominic whispers, just as a car pulls to a stop in front of Alexi. He opens the rear passenger door and hops in. The car speeds off, leaving Skylar watching it go. Dominic and I approach silently as she takes out her phone.
“It’s me,” Skylar says when the person on the other end answers. “I thought you said Alexi Stepanov was dead.” After a short pause, she continues. “I just saw him leaving the theater after Anya’s performance. No, I know it was him. I got a good look. What’s going on?”
Whoever she’s talking to has her silent for several long minutes.
“Look, you said yourself they never found his body. There is a chance he’s still alive.
If he is, then the plan changes. We need to find out where he’s staying and who he’s working with.
I think someone is protecting him. No, I don’t know who, but I have an idea.
I’ll stay close to Anya. She’s at the center of it all, even though I don’t think she knows it.
Whoever tried to kidnap her may try again.
We may need to consider locking her down. ”
Dominic and I disappear into a dark doorway when Skylar ends the call. Instead of returning to the theater, she follows Alexi’s path to the street and hails a cab.
“What the hell was that about?” Dominic asks as we retrace our steps.
“I don’t know. Skylar is working with someone, and whoever that is is interested in Anya. I don’t like it.”
“Are you ready to admit you like her?” Dominic asks. “I saw you during her performance. You never once took your eyes off of her.”
I grumble, but I can’t deny the accusation.
“I don’t blame you. She was spectacular.”
I don’t respond until we’re standing outside the theater door.
“She was spectacular. Is spectacular. She wasn’t part of the plan,” I stress.
“Maybe not, but she is now. Someone is after her. Now, we know that Skylar might be a danger to her, too. I know you. You won’t allow Anya to remain in danger.
You didn’t rescue Alexi and help him heal only to let him lose his sister in the process.
You’ve been communicating with her and telling her not to lose hope.
Maybe it’s time to tell her the truth? She might be the only person who can convince Alexi that he needs to step up. ”
Dominic was the only one who knew about my secret communication with Anya. She knew me as NOLAKING. A play on words since my name translates to ruler and I’m from NOLA.
“We need to talk to Alexi. He needs to know that he was recognized. We have to stress that he has to come out and tell his father that he’s still alive.”
“Why do you think he’s so reluctant?” Dominic asks.
“Tonight we’re going to find out. Alexi needs to tell us everything. But first, I want to make sure Anya is safe. I have a feeling that something bad is going to happen to her. She’s all alone.”
Once we’re back inside the theater, I immediately search for Anya, but I don’t see her.
“Maybe she’s in her dressing room?” Dominic suggests. “Many of the performers have changed into street clothes. She may be doing the same.”
Nodding, I push through the crowd. Spotting a performer, I ask her for the location of Anya’s dressing room. She takes a minute to look me up and down and then peruses Dominic. I’m ready to blow, but she responds by pointing down the hall. “Second from the end.”
I spot her name on the door, just as I hear her scream.