Page 72 of Vicious Impulses (The Capo and Ballerina)
“Yes,” she answers. “But it’s because I love dancing. Not because I loved the life I was living. The people like Ignazio and the other dancers. The contract I always knew I was trapped in.”
“You and the other dancers really didn’t get along?”
Nevaeh watches the stage as an announcement’s made about the show beginning in five minutes. The gleam in her eyes reads as bittersweet. The former likely from thoughts about her fellow ballerinas.
“I didn’t belong with them. They always made it clear I wasn’t a part of the clique.”
“Because of… your skin color?”
She nods. “And they felt I was a teacher’s pet. I was Ignazio’s favorite.”
Anger expands inside my chest at the thought Nevaeh’s been mistreated for a physical characteristic of hers that couldn’t be more beautiful—her complexion that’s smooth and dark like the finest mahogany.
It makes me want to track down these other dancers and dole out retribution. Punish them for their fucked up behavior at Nevaeh’s expense.
I would if I didn’t suspect it would make her upset. She’s not one for violence.
“They were insecure you stood out,” I say once the red tint from my temper wears off. “They were mad because you stole the show.”
She smirks at me. “How would you know? Is that your way of admitting you’ve seen me perform?”
“I have a feeling.”
My mind flashes back to my recent dream. The oddity of the dream has been something on my mind for days. Though I’ve had many before in my comatose state, none carried the same tone that one had.
The roomful of other men. The flittering ballerinas. The deep worry in Nevaeh’s eyes even as she danced.
But it’s true that she stood out in the dream. My sole focus.
The theater darkens and the show begins with a vibrant trill of music. Nevaeh leans into me as we sit in the solitude of our balcony and soak up the entertainment. I’m no man that attends the theater or knows much about ballets beyond what little I’ve seen in my dreams watching Nevaeh dance.
It’s not how I’d usually choose to pass my time, but I can’t deny the raw talent on stage. Both male and female dancers act out a story using the artful movements of their bodies. I’m drawn into the storyline without realizing it.
Nevaeh smiles up at me in the shadows, then rests her head on my chest. I wrap my arms around her and hold her in place.
What I’ve told those around me is true—I won’t be giving her up and I’ll be enjoying every moment I have left should an episode hit me that’s fatal. I’ll have to make plans to ensure Nevaeh is properly looked after once I’m gone.
We watch the rest of the show like this. The third act is coming to a close with a final dance number that Nevaeh whispers to me is one of the most technically difficult routines in any modern ballet.
Thunderous applause breaks out among the crowd. The performers take their bows and wave at the audience as bouquets of flowers are tossed at their feet. The applause is so ear-splitting and overwhelming that at first no one catches on to an even more jarring sound.
The blast of heavy gunfire.
The second they do, the theater erupts into pure mayhem.
What was once roaring applause turns into desperate screams.
Hundreds of audience members scatter like ants while others attempt to take cover. The performers on stage scurry behind the long velvet curtains draped along the sides. So much movement that it’s impossible to keep track of it all.
Me and my men are reacting with zero hesitation.
We’re securing the archway to our balcony, ensuring nobody gains entry. I’m aiming my pistol over the railing to pinpoint the gunmen and take them out.
What the fuck’s going on? This can’t be a coincidence—is this another assassination attempt by Pa?
But, as I pull the trigger and nab one of the men far below, I know it’s something else we’re dealing with. These aren’t amateur-type men that Pa would hire and send after me like in Zurich.
This is a team of men descending on the theater in an organized attack.