Prologue
Loud voices penetrated the hallway, shouts indicating heightened anger.
My father’s usually deep baritone wavered in intensity, his frustration growing. My brother had to be involved. He was one of the few people who could create havoc in the family.
I stood in the shadows, my grip on the stairway railing white knuckled.
Something was going on, something that frightened me and I didn’t even know what could be wrong. I only knew tension and silence was replacing our family’s usual laughter.
“Miss Scavullo, I have mail for you.”
Jumping, I pulled away from the banister, heat rising across my face. Just then, I heard the doorbell. A visitor on a Sunday. Very unusual.
My personal assistant reached out for my arm. When I finally looked in her direction, her nod was meant as a reminder that I had no place in the world of my father’s business. I was a girl, no one special in the eyes of the Cosa Nostra.
Sighing, I headed to my room, Sophia dutifully following. She closed the door behind me as I headed to the window. Whoever had arrived for a visit with my father and brother was important enough to have bodyguards. Burly men stood by a fancy black sedan.
As soon as I pressed my hand against the glass, one guard noticed movement and tilted his head toward me.
My God. Even from where I stood on the second floor, I noticed a horrific scar cutting an ugly line down one side of his face. A moment of terror skittered down my spine. What was my father doing? I backed away, fighting a wave of terror I hadn’t known for a very long time. There was always a sense of danger even in my sheltered world, but given my father’s power, I’d always been protected.
At least for the most part.
Why did it feel as if everything was about to change?
“Ms. Scavullo. Your mail.”
Her voice was even more insistent than before.
“Sophia. Please call me Anastasia. We are friends. No?” I adored Sophia. She’d been with me for years. My maid. My assistant. My surrogate mother since mine wanted nothing to do with me. Frustrated, I backed away from the window, taking quick steps to my vanity. I’d had it since I was a little girl, a piece of furniture reminding me of my princess status. For some reason, the thought angered me as I sat down on the velvet stool, grabbing my jeweled hairbrush, the rubies glistening in the bright lights surrounding the mirror.
A gift from my father.
After spinning it in my fingers, I raked the brush through my long curls. I hated my curly hair and had tried unsuccessfully for years to make it straight. As with everything else in my miserable, sequestered life, it had been a complete failure.
She shook her head vehemently. “Your mama would not approve.”
To hell with my mother. Even as the ugly thought drifted into my mind, I was already prepared to confess my sins at morning mass. Which I did with frequency. At this rate, our priest must consider me a terrible person.
When I opened my mouth to retort, Sophia offered a one of her rather infamous chastising looks. Highly effective as well as frustrating, yet I honored her wishes. “What is the letter?” I had no friends, especially any far enough away who would take the time or find the necessity to write me a letter.
I continued brushing my hair, frustrated by my unruly curls. Today was my birthday. It wasn’t every day a young lady turned sixteen.
Sadly, there would be no party, merely dinner with my family and only if Papa wasn’t too busy.
“It’s from America.”
Instantly, I froze, peering at her in the mirror. “America?”
Don’t get your hopes up. Don’t do it.
“Yes. Yes.” Excitement brightened her eyes and her hand was shaking as she held out the crisp white envelope. Swiveling in my chair, I stared at it for several seconds before finding the courage to take it from her fingers.
At first, I didn’t look at the return address, fearful I would pass out.
“Don’t be afraid, Miss Scavullo. This is what you’ve been waiting for.”
“I know. What if they don’t want me?” I’d only ever wanted a single thing in my life. Just one. I’d trained very hard since I was four in hopes of being one of the lucky few selected to continue my training in the United States. It was a dream that my mother and father didn’t share, but it hadn’t stopped me from pursuing my dream behind their backs.
“You’re the most talented dancer I’ve ever seen. And so very beautiful.”
Sophia was my greatest supporter. Who was I kidding? She was my only supporter. And my only friend. My father loved me. That much I knew in my heart, but he was far too busy to spend but so much time away from his work.
Being the only daughter of the most important man in Sicily was a lonely endeavor. This was my one chance at breaking free of the perfectly decorated prison I’d lived in my entire life.
“You’ve only seen a few dancers in your life, Sophia, but thank you. The world is so special. When I dance, I’m truly myself. I know you don’t understand.”
“I do, Miss Scavullo. I just…”
She didn’t need to finish her sentence. My only worth in the family was being the perfect daughter, coiffed and waiting to be used in whatever method my father determined.
Shrugging, she nodded toward the envelope.
After a few seconds, I finally found my courage, ripping the flap, almost dropping the single piece of paper. As soon as I read the words, I jumped up and down, forced to slap my hand over my mouth to keep the sound from penetrating the hallway. The last thing I wanted was for one of the guards to burst in.
“What does it say?” Sophia was already jumping up and down with me.
I took a deep breath, laughing nervously. “It says: Dear Miss Scavullo, the American Ballet Theater would like to invite you to continue your formal ballet training in the Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis School for the upcoming season.”
A frown crossed my face as I read ahead in the body of the letter.
“What’s wrong?” Sophia asked.
The excitement faded from my tone. “We have made several attempts to contact you via email. Unfortunately, as the positions are limited, if we do not hear from you by…”
I jerked my head up. “They need to know by tomorrow or they’ll give my place away to another student. I didn’t get any emails. Did you?”
“No, Miss Scavullo.”
Fuck.
“That means my mother did.” My own mother hated me. She’d do anything to sabotage my happiness. My papa would be furious with her. I jerked up from the seat, tossing the brush and heading for the door with the letter still in my hand. I’d worked so hard over the years to even be considered good enough to be accepted in the ballet school.
The American Ballet Theater. The most prestigious dance company in the world. Even the Bolshoi wasn’t nearly as good. At least that’s what I believed. And who would want to go to Russia?
“Where are you going?” Sophia moved towards me and I was surprised by the odd look on her face.
“I’m going to talk to my father.”
She shook her head, fear in her eyes. “You cannot do that right now. You know he has a visitor.”
“I do not care if he has a visitor. This is important. Besides, my papa always has time for me. He will fix this.” I was already at the door when I felt her presence behind me. I’d never been so angry in my life.
“You do not want to go downstairs.”
“Sophia. I love you but I don’t have any time to waste.” I threw open the door, rushing down the stairs. At least today was Mama’s primping appointments, which meant she was out and couldn’t try to interfere.
My father’s office was at the other end of the house. I scurried down the darkened hallway, trying to think of the right words to say. Other than Rome and Madrid for a shopping trip, I’d never been far from home, certainly not to the United States. My father believed the country to be dirty and barbaric.
I’d practiced the speech for hours, praying and wishing so hard. Please. Please. Please. This was my one chance to prove myself, to be on my own.
I flew down the last hallway and before I was halfway to his closed door, I heard the same voices as before. Even louder and angrier.
Shocked there were no guards waiting outside his door, I used the empty corridor to my advantage. I’d become an excellent snoop over the years, discovering dozens of details about life outside the walls of my gilded prison. Maybe I could find out why the emails had been kept from me. My father was the most powerful man in all of Italy. Some people believed in all of Europe.
He was also a ruthless man, feared by almost everyone.
Except his daughter. I loved my father with all my heart.
Maybe that was why I was so angry in hearing some horrible man attacking him. The accent. What kind of accent did he have? I inched closer, trying to remain as quiet as a church mouse.
“There will be no alliance with your Pakhan. I am not interested.” My papa was clearly angry, his voice shaking more than I’d heard in a long time. Who was he talking to?
“Father. You need to reconsider,” Marco said. I could tell easily tell how unhappy he was with my father’s decision.
“You will be sorry you did not take our offer, Don Scavullo. You will have forty-eight hours to reconsider,” the gruff man with an accent said.
“And the answer will be the same.”
Hearing movement, I rushed toward the small half bath, moving into the darkness and holding my breath. Footsteps stormed by, two men taking long strides. Peeking out, I watched them as they walked away. Both huge men. Both heavily armed.
For some reason, a trickle of fear skipped down my spine. I waited to ensure they’d been alone before returning to my father’s door, which was already closed again.
“Jesus Christ, Papa. The plan was the only one we have.” Marco was clearly frustrated. “What if the Camorra regain power? They will crush us.”
“Enough, Marco! I am the Don of this family. You are not. I can handle the Camorra.”
The silence was terrifying. The Camorra. I’d heard about them growing up. They were true monsters according to my papa, a brutal crime family who’d once controlled all of Italy.
“Don Scavullo. May I speak freely?”
It was Luciano, my father’s Consigliere and best friend. What was he doing here? I hadn’t seen him arrive.
“Yes, of course.”
“To ignore the alliance could prove detrimental. Accepting the offer could mean additional power and control over the other families as well as continued success in business. Plus, the Camorra wouldn’t dare challenge you again. Given everything you’ve been through, Marco is correct. It’s the only logical choice. Imagine the future and the position you’ve always wanted.”
“The position means nothing if I betray my family, Luciano. I am many things including a family man. Everyone knows that. I refuse to allow an arranged marriage. The alliance with the other families stands as is. Any betrayal to them will not be tolerated.”
My brother? Who was he supposed to marry? I didn’t even know he was in love. Wait. Arranged? I shook my head. I knew what the arrangement meant. My mother’s words burned into the back of my mind.
“Just remember you’re only good for this family for one thing. When you’re old enough to spread your legs.”
Unwanted tears burned my eyes.
“You are not seen as a strong leader, Father. The others could challenge you for the throne. They could ruin my future as head of the Five Families.”
“I told you to leave it alone, Marco. I know what I’m doing! My decision is final.”
Luciano sighed. “I hope you know what you’re doing. The Pakhan is known to be a brutal man.”
“Quest’uomo non è altro che un selvaggio.”
When my father was furious, he resorted to our native language. I almost laughed at hearing his answer.
The man is nothing but a savage.
“I know, Francesco. I do understand, but additional protection will be needed. The Russian does not take no for an answer.” Luciano’s voice was also strained. “As the head of all the families, your power will be unequaled.”
“The Pakhan can go fuck himself,” my father gritted out. “Italians do not need anyone.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll let the others know.” Luciano sighed. “Don’t forget your father is unwell. There are those who wish to put a bullet in his brain.”
“Shut up, Luciano. I am aware of the recent threats. One thing has nothing to do with the other.”
“With all due respect, Don Scavullo, that’s where you’re wrong.”
“She is my daughter and only sixteen. I do not want her to marry a monster.”
They were words my father blurted out that hadn’t been meant for me to hear.
“That’s what she’s been groomed for,” Marco insisted. “All she’s good for.”
A horrible noise followed my brother’s exclamation.
“Get out of my office, Marco. Now,” my father commanded.
I pressed my hand across my mouth, stumbling into the bathroom once again. After my brother rushed from my father’s office, the door was immediately closed behind him. Marco stopped only a few feet away, slowly turning his head toward me. The dim lighting captured his expression.
And his terrifying smirk just before he walked away, rubbing his jaw where my father had obviously struck him. I slumped against the counter, fighting the wretched tears. It was time I grew up. I couldn’t be Daddy’s little princess any longer.
After taking several deep breaths, I ventured back into the hallway, shaking from anger as much as fear.
“You may not have a choice, Don Scavullo. There is talk of a coup. You could be overthrown. This might be your only chance to save your empire.”
His sudden footsteps caught me off guard. To save face, I knocked quickly and opened the door, stunned to the point I couldn’t think clearly.
What? What did he say? My father was all powerful. No one would ever challenge him. Not after the war he’d won several years ago.
Luciano noticed me first, obviously worried about what I’d overheard. “Anastasia. Happy birthday.”
Nodding, I used the time to try to collect myself. “Thank you, Luciano. Papa. May I talk to you for a moment?” I tried to pretend I was perfectly fine even as a single tear slipped past my lashes.
The two men looked at each other. “I’ll leave you alone, Don Scavullo. But this time, I agree with Marco.” Luciano nodded before leaving us alone and my father was careful not to say anything else until he’d left. His sigh was visible, full of exhaustion.
My father had jerked up from his chair the moment I’d walked in, searching my eyes for any sign I’d overheard the horrible news. Panting, I couldn’t think straight. Was it possible my father would consider the arranged marriage?
“Anastasia. I was just about to come find you.” He walked around the desk, narrowing his eyes. “We have dinner reservations tonight.” He was furious with me that I’d interrupted, but as always, his anger faded.
“Am I to be married?”
“No, child. Not against your will. You are my daughter and I refuse to allow it. Now, what’s the interruption?”
I hadn’t realized until he’d bent over that I’d accidently dropped the letter from the ballet company. He retrieved it, his brow furrowing as he read the words I’d been so excited about before. Now, I was nothing but numb inside.
He would never allow me to go. I would never have my dream. Never. Not now. Tears formed in my eyes and I looked away, trying to be the very big girl I knew I was supposed to be. I’d been groomed for this all my life. A life of servitude. I was nothing but a commodity, worth more in transactions between powerful men than anything else.
“Anastasia,” Papa said, his tone softer than before. “Is this what you really want?”
Shifting my gaze toward him, I nodded. “Yes, Papa. It’s the only thing in the world I want. Just to dance.” Just to be free.
As he glanced away, I willed away the tears. I’d need to learn to be an adult.
Several minutes passed and when I looked again, he’d returned to his desk, sitting down on the leather chair he’d had since I was a baby. His office had always been one of my favorite places in the house. I’d felt safe inside the walls. Every smell reminded me of him. Cigar smoke and whiskey, the richness of his aftershave.
Now I wasn’t certain I could ever walk into the room again.
Tick tock. Tick tock.
“Very well, Anastasia. I will allow it.”
What?
I turned to go as if accepting my fate until I realized what he’d said. “What? Really? I can go?” How was this possible?
He appeared much older than he had the day before, the usual brightness in his eyes vanished. Yet the smile that I would always remember was there. “Yes, my beloved daughter. Anything for you. However, there will be several rules that will need to be followed. I need you to be very… protected. Do you understand?”
I knew my father. He was making this up as he went along.
“Yes, Papa. I’ll do anything. Anything you want.” I rushed around his desk, jumping into his lap just like I’d done when I was little.
“Then this is my gift to you. It’s between us. Okay? Our little secret.”
“Papa?” I was very confused.
“Just say it for me.” He took my hand into his and when he did, he crumpled the paper. His hand was shaking. “Say it, Anastasia.”
“Yes, Papa. Our little secret.”
He seemed relieved, nodding several times.
“Good girl. Just remember, there could be a time I need to bring you back home. I hope that will not be necessary, but if I do, you will come.”
“Of course, Papa.” A lump had already formed in my throat. Something was terribly wrong.
“Until then, this is my gift to you. I will always love you. Never forget that you are very special. A beautiful lost angel.”
Lost. I wasn’t lost. “Papa?”
Why did it feel as if he’d made a deal with the devil and at some point, the demon would come to claim his prize?
[divider]Chapter One
Eight years later…
New York City
Anna Scavo
As the crescendo neared, the music powerful and ripped with passion, I floated across the stage on my toes, counting the measures before spinning in a perfect pirouette. There was no room for error. This was the grand finale of my first solo performance, the moment I’d waited for my entire life. Every brutal hour spent on the dance floor, every sprain, bloodied toe, and cramp. Every weekend spent on the dance floor. Dates missed, tears shed. Weight loss. Hair loss. Criticism.
Praise.
Everything came down to this singular event. One dance. One push toward greatness.
After a subtle plea to the gods above, I took a leap of faith, rising high about the stage, certain my partner would catch me. I had faith in him. He was so strong, so powerful, the most incredible partner I’d ever practiced with. When he captured me with ease, the audience roared their appreciation, the grand jeté exactly as planned.
Using one hand, Mikhail kept me aloft, peering up at me as if the two of us were madly in love. We’d told a story of romance and heartache, two lovers destined for tragedy because of an evil monster. As the overhead lights shimmered across the stage, everyone in the corps de ballet moved into position for the finale.
The moment freeing, I held my position, the smile no longer practiced but coming from the heart. The night meant everything to me. With a single push, I rolled into Mikhail’s arms and we both fell to the stage, the music now dark and foreboding.
Only when the lights faded to black did I allow myself a deep breath.
In my mind, this was exactly how a love story should be. Unbridled passion. Taking a leap of faith.
The perfect fairytale like Sleeping Beauty with a happily ever after.
My prince saving me against the dark evils of the world. If only Mikhail could be that prince, but alas, he was nothing but a heartbreaker and not my type. As always, I could envision my perfect prince: tall, dark, and muscular with long, thick ebony hair and intense blue eyes that would create a magic spell. Who was I kidding? There was no prince waiting for me in the wings. In fact, there was no one at all to celebrate with.
My heart was in my throat. Would the audience like the performance? Would I be panned by critics? Would I ever do this again? I couldn’t breathe, anxiety clawing at my neck.
“Calm down, darling,” Mikhail whispered before pressing a single kiss against my forehead. “You were fabulous.”
The ugly silence faded into noise coming from the audience. Cheers.
I gripped his arm, breathless and thrilled beyond my wildest dreams.
There was thunderous applause, the entire building vibrating from the intensity.
Mikhail and I were both laughing from excitement, the chatter with the other dancers a highlight of the evening. They’d known how special the moment had been. A sold-out house for the American Ballet at the David H. Koch Theater.
My first performance as a prima ballerina.
Maybe my last since I was merely the understudy, taking over for the real prima ballerina because of an injury. Still, I refused to allow the ugly fact to take away from the moment. For a little while, I was the star deserving the applause.
The little girl who’d dreamt about tutus and dance music since she could remember was a star.
The same little girl who’d done everything in her power to lose herself and her identity to claim her right to freedom.
At least for one night I would revel in the spoils of an eight-year battle.
The moment the curtain opened once again, we were prepared to take our bows. Every step had been rehearsed, every nod of the head as it should be. Even as I was presented with two dozen long stem pink roses, they were no surprise, a formality that I’d imagined during lonely nights.
I held my head up high, thrilled and proud of myself for such an amazing achievement.
If only my father had been able to attend. What about my brother or mother? Two people I’d heard nothing from since leaving for my new life. Sadness was always with me, the loss of everything I’d ever known a steep price to pay. But here I was, every challenge paid for with sacrifices.
As soon as the curtain fell for the last time, the thrill faded with the speed of the applause, the ugliness of my life recapturing the few seconds of happiness.
Squeals continued as the dancers congratulated themselves, many eager to prepare for a night of partying. I allowed myself a deep whiff of the stunning flowers, laughing to myself when I noticed thorns. Perhaps appropriate for this prima ballerina.
Seconds later, one of our assistants took the flowers from my arms. She’d scurry to my dressing room where they’d be when I returned to change. My partner walked closer, a mischievous grin on his face. I’d been lucky being paired with him. He was the best in the business.
“Thank you for not dropping me,” I teased Mikhail, squeezing his arm. The little girl inside was trying to claw her way to the surface, preventing me from accepting the moments of enjoyment. Tonight had been thrilling, a moment of feeling as if I mattered. As if I was special. Just like I’d once felt years before.
But the terror of being found or being called home never left.
Mikhail spun me around in a circle as he’d done every time we’d had a successful rehearsal. “My beautiful Anna. You’re far too hard on yourself. You deserved a chance. If you ask me, you’re much better than Marissa.”
“Yeah, well, don’t tell her that or she’ll hire someone to break my legs.” Marissa was not only a stone-cold fox, she was also the resident bitch, throwing a tantrum when the director had replaced her for such a monumental event.
“Don’t worry about her. Why don’t you come home with me tonight and I’ll show you just how amazing you truly are.”
I flung my arms over his shoulders. While I adored the man, valuing his friendship as much as his partnership, that’s where our relationship would stand. “My sweet Mikhail. You couldn’t handle me.” To continue the tease, I raked my fingers down his chest as I backed away, stopping short of slipping my hand between his legs.
He wagged his finger at me, mostly because the thin tights offered no chance at hiding a male’s true feelings.
Or his wanton desires.
He could and had enjoyed almost every dancer in the corps de ballet. I refused to be just another one of his conquests.
“Such a bad girl.”
I blew him a few kisses before the wretched claws of anxiety settled in. Something else provided by my difficult and formal childhood steeped in Italian heritage. Sicilian to be exact, leaving me a mafia princess. Primped and cared for. Secured and prepared. All for a life I hadn’t wanted and had fought tooth and nail to break free of. The success of doing so would always be considered my greatest achievement. Well… tonight was extremely special.
I reminded myself of who I was now, not the girl from before, and held my head high.
Fortunately, no one else tried to stop me on the way to my cramped dressing room. Once inside, I leaned against the door, taking several shallow breaths.
At least the roses added a decorative touch in an otherwise bleak environment. I moved to the stool in front of the mirror, sitting down to remove my toe shoes, rubbing my aching feet. My poor bloodied feet.
Next were the pins holding my hair in place. With my long strands flowing over my shoulders, I stared at myself in the mirror. There were days I no longer recognized the girl who’d come here as a member of the elite studio company. She’d certainly lost her youthful verve.
I’d once been a protected princess, which had lingered long after I’d moved to the United States. Eight years of freedom. Eight beautiful years. For that I was grateful, no longer shadowed by men carrying weapons. Now, my friends only knew me as the quirky Italian girl with big feet. Even then I did my best to hide my Italian heritage. It was much easier to be someone I wasn’t.
Chuckling, I pulled out several wet wipes to remove the garish makeup, taking my time to do so. Noise continued outside in the corridor although I knew everyone was eager to head out to the nightclubs. We were an odd bunch, our training preventing typical behavior of people our age on a regular basis. We had to nurture our bodies with the right food and drink, excluding alcohol ninety-five percent of the time.
But after a big show like this one, all hell broke loose.
Usually, I joined in, remaining the wallflower given I adored observing people. And I was a tiny bit shy. Not tonight. Tonight, I was more melancholy than usual. Maybe because it was my birthday and even my father had forgotten this year.
Up to this point, he’d always remembered. Cards. Flowers. Lavish gifts. He’d never allowed me to forget I was his princess. Maybe when I returned to the apartment there would be something waiting for me. He did like to surprise me.
I’d sent him a link to the show a few days before with my name on the program. Well, Anna Scavo, the name change he’d required for my protection and certainly not too far removed from my given name.
Feeling sorry for myself wasn’t typical, but I’d spent one too many holidays and celebrations alone. It was my own fault. I’d been the one to purposely distance myself from my family. I tugged my purse from the drawer, pulling out my wallet.
I’d allowed myself a single photograph I’d carried with me since beginning my journey over six years before. I was maybe six years old, sitting on my father’s lap. He was beaming, his smile wider than his face.
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.”
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