Page 11 of Vicious Impulses (The Capo and Ballerina)
A pleased smile lights up Ignazio’s face when I open the door and step aside.
“Good girl,” he praises, scanning the room. My suitcase and bookbag are perched on my bed. “I knew you’d come around. Lots of the other dancers complain that I show favoritism to you. But what they don’t understand is that you are a good girl. You always listen.”
My insides clench. I shadow his footsteps. “You’ve made your decision. You always know what’s best.”
“That’s right. I’m sorry to see you go, but you understand, it’s what has to happen. The money you have made the company is record-breaking, Nevaeh. We will remember you fondly.”
My obedient mask slips, if only for a second. I rush to put it back on in time for Ignazio’s next glance in my direction.
“Well, if you don’t have any other questions, it’s time. I’ll carry your suitcase.”
He shuffles over to grab hold of it. I exhale a shaky breath, my stomach a violent mess of nerves, as I prepare myself to do what I must.
He’s turning around when I swing at him with the frying pan I’ve intentionally kept within reach. My hit lands upside his head and knocks him to the ground. I spring forward to steal my suitcase and bookbag back, and then dart for the door.
“Nevaeh, don’t dare try to run away!” he yells from the ground.
“Too late!”
My legs stretch as far as I can make them given my limited height. My strides are smaller than the average person but agile enough that I make quick work of the fifth floor hall. I hurdle down the first two flights of stairs throwing paranoid looks behind me, fearing that Ignazio has somehow managed to catch up.
He’s nowhere in sight.
I leap down the next few sets of stairs. My muscles ache carrying my suitcase and bookbag down so many flights.
My ankle worst of all.
No wonder the dormitory building doesn’t have an elevator—it’d make escape so much easier.
Once I’m able to make it outside, I’ll flag down a taxicab and ride it to the train station. My destination beyond that is unknown. Something I’ll worry about when I get there.
On the ground floor, a beat of hope fills me up. I race down the hall clutching my things, thinking I’m about to push the double doors to freedom.
No less than ten feet away, Caelian Ziccardi steps into my direct path from a side door. He blocks any way forward and forces me to come to a toppling halt.
My eyes go round with horror, and I lose the grip on my suitcase.
“Hello,mia bella ballerina. I’ve come to collect you.”
I open my mouth to scream at the top of my lungs. He jams a needle into the base of my throat and turns my world from color to an all-consuming black.
My body goes limp and hits the floor.
FOUR
Nevaeh
The bed servesas an anchor that my body unwittingly clings to. My arms clutch the pillow, and I lay dreaming somewhere between consciousness and deep sleep. Vaguely aware I’m in a bed but disoriented as to how. It takes me another few seconds to work through that I’ll have to wake up for good if I want to know.
My vision’s blurry from what must be hours of sleep. The same can be said for my voice. As I scoot up in bed and clear my throat, it feels dry and hoarse.
There’s just one problem. The bed I’m lying in isn’t my own. The horror of this discovery unloads on me all at once.
As my memory clears, so does the last sight I’d seen before everything went black—the predatory wolfish gaze of Caelian Ziccardi fixed on my face. The hauntingly dark gray eyes that had peered deeply into mine.
Into my soul. Disturbing my spirit.
The last thing I saw before he must’ve drugged me.