Page 8 of Vicious Impulses (The Capo and Ballerina)
She’s the angel of my dreams, and Iwillmake her mine.
THREE
Nevaeh
The morningafter the dinner event, I’m woken up by a fist pounding on my door. I roll over and pull the covers over my head. Whoever it is needs to go away. I’m in the middle of some great sleep and have no desire to wake anytime soon.
Saturdays are for sleeping in—especially Saturdays I’m not due in for early rehearsal.
The person knocking demonstrates he’s not giving up. He adds his voice to the cacophony of pounding fists outside my door.
“Nevaeh!” snarls Ignazio. “Open this door right now! I know you’re in there!”
My teeth grit and my eyes squeeze shut even tighter.
Of coursehe does. Why wouldn’t he when my every waking moment is surveilled and controlled by him and the company?
It’s long been a worry of mine that there might even be hidden camerasinmy dorm room—a paranoid concern that I’ve never been able to prove, even after turning over every inch of the five hundred square foot space.
But if Ignazio’s pounding on my door like this, it must be an emergency. Has this afternoon’s rehearsal been rescheduled? Does he need me to come in earlier?
He’d strictly told me that I’m to stay off my ankle as much as possible…
“I’m using the key!” he threatens from the other side of the door.
“I’m coming. Sheesh.”
My tone sounds petulant and snotty, but can you blame me? Not only have I been woken up, I’m being accosted through my door. A simple phone call or text would’ve sufficed.
I slide off my bed, certain I must look a mess—my silk scarf’s slipped off and my hair feels more like a lion’s mane. Sleep lines decorate one side of my arms and legs and probably my face. I yawn and stretch, then pad over to the door to answer.
Ignazio’s seething on the spot. He’s an overheated kettle boiling on the stove the way he rattles and shakes. Teeth and fists clenched, he snarls at me. “When I tell you to do something, you do it, Nevaeh! I have been standing out here for three minutes.”
He storms inside so abruptly I’m stumbling to get out of his warpath.
“You could’ve texted,” I mumble.
He spins around with nostrils flaring and a vein pulsing in his temple. I take a precautionary step back and fall silent.
“Now is not the time to mouth off,” he says testily. He gestures at my belongings filling out the small dorm room. “We have a situation to discuss. Sit.”
I do as he says and plop down in the chair next to my desk. Tension coils through my body and leaves me feeling uneasy.
Am I about to be stripped of the lead role? Will Ignazio punish me for my poor performance at the dinner last night? Has a suitor finally made an offer?
I shudder at the thought.
My whole life has been controlled. I’ve been confined to the limitations of a twenty-thousand word contract that spells out my existence.
Agency isn’t something I’ve ever had. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I ever gained that level of freedom. Mom always says the grass is greener on the other side. After a lifetime spent under the control of someone—or some kind of entity like the dance company—I’ve convinced myself this is true.
A woman like me could never survive in Dresden on my own. The city’s too toxic. There’s no shortage of corrupt officials and violent criminals with the power to rule everything.
Definitely squash a nobody like me like you’d squash an ant on the sidewalk.
When Ignazio is satisfied with my compliance, he heaves a deep sigh and then scrubs his hand on his goateed chin. “Nevaeh, it’s not at all what I wanted. But it’s not at all something I can turn down.”
“Please,” I blurt out. “Please don’t take the lead role from me. I can be yourPrincipessa. I’ve been healing. I walked fine in heels last night.”