Page 6 of Vicious Impulses (The Capo and Ballerina)

Nobody utters a word, though their glances at each other say enough.

For once, I don’t blame them. Pa’s logic makes little sense.

He puffs on his cigar and then says, “It’ll be different with you, Caelian. I have confidence you can talk them down. You can save Zinc Co from Nero’s grubby paws. The Vorones like straight-shooter types. Get in, get out, get it done.”

I leave the dinner irritated I’ve once again found myself in this position—representing Pa to plead for the life of a fucking sinking ship.

Everybody else heads to the strip club for the night.

Pa’s knocked out before they even drive off.

I head into the city too, but for different reasons. Dresden after dark is an ominous landscape of tall buildings shrouded in shadows and streets that never have enough lamp posts to ever truly feel secure. One of the country’s biggest cities, it’s also one of the most dangerous.

People out after dark are either looking to cause trouble or asking for it.

I’m neither. As I drive down the urban enclave in a car worth more than most people’s homes, I’m my own category. Iamthe trouble.

Nobody dares fuck with me. Anybody that does would be making the stupidest, gravest decision of their lives.

I drive to the heart of the city, where the Dresden Performing Arts Theater resides, and I park just outside. I don’t go in—tonight’s show has already started and is crowded to maximum capacity.

Instead, with a painful stitch in my chest, I sit and ponder one question and one question only.

Is this where I will find my angel?

The beautiful ballerina from my dreams that has saved me many nights over. She appears at the height of my torture and takes away the pain one graceful spin at a time.

For so long, I’ve struggled to remember her. My mind’s a fog from the medications and treatments. I’ve questioned whether I’ve even dreamed her at all. If she isn’t some other woman I’ve come across on the street who I’ve manifested into this angelic figure.

But for every sharp stab at my heart comes a beat of certainty.

My angel… has saved me. Shewillsave me.

She’s the key to my life… or the key to my demise. Regardless, I feel compelled. I feel drawn to this woman from my dreams for a reason unknown to me.

Finding her is the only worthy endeavor I want to spend my time on. Serving as Pa’s avatar at his business meetings is not.

I don’t give a fuck if our family survives. I don’t give a fuck about anything.

About anyone… except for my angel.

My ballerina.

* * *

Ignazio Presutti is an Italian playwright that immigrated to the United States with pennies in his left pocket and a wrinkled script in his right. He rose to prominence when he was discovered bussing tables at Vecoli, an Italian fine-dining restaurant frequented and owned byLa Cosa Nostra.

Nero Vorone himself vouched for him. He put him on to bigger and better things.

Ignazio went from wiping tables and wrestling with trash bins to creating ballets likeLupi Nella Nottethat were hailed as masterpieces.

He morphed into the biggest name in the city’s dance circles. Soon, he outright took over the Dresden Dance Company—orwas strategically placed in charge as a figurehead.

Some say anyway.

It’s a dirty little secret what’s really going on behind the scenes. Once the curtain draws on the stage, the mesmerizing dancers in Ignazio’s employ are put up for another type of performance.

Some more than others.