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I probably owed Rafaelle a crazy amount of money already, and staying here longer wouldn’t help. Was he charging me mafia interest rates? Was this some kind of entrapment where I got the medical care I needed but afterward owed the boss? I could save up and try to pay him. It might take me years, but I would manage it.
I focused on Nicoletta. She had a crush on the terrifying man who’d followed me home, and I had to use her paranoia against her.“Please. I don’t know why he brought me here or what he wants from me. Please, help me,” I said, reaching out and gripping Nicoletta’s hand.
* * *
Coming hometo my four-floor walk-up was even more depressing after spending the night at Rafaelle’s. I didn’t feel poor on a day-to-day basis when I was rehearsing and hustling hard for my dreams. Sure, I couldn’t afford to eat three meals a day, but dancers had to be thin. I tried to enjoy the praise I got when my partners found it easy to lift me. Their compliments nearly drowned out the growls in my stomach. I tried to be positive by telling myself that living without heating in the winter was a good way to burn more calories and greener for the environment. No AC in summer meant a free sauna in my apartment, and my skin glowed.
Today, when I limped through the doorway into the dimly lit, tiny space, I couldn’t find anything to feel positive about. Nicoletta eyed the studio before making her excuses hightailing it back downstairs. I envied her.
Sometimes the simplest plans were the best, like pulling the alarm and waiting in a laundry bin until the coast was clear. Nicoletta had rolled me into a back alleyway in the laundry cart as the fire alarm screeched overhead. It had helped that Giacomo, Nicoletta’s father, had been chatting with the security guards, unsuspectingly providing a perfect distraction. I’d had an idea that Rafaelle was rich, but discovering that he lived on the entire top floor of one of the most exclusive hotels in the city and owned the building, confirmed it.
I was home, and the past twenty-four hours felt like a dream. Being rescued by a super scary hot mafia boss’s son, tended to, and closeted in luxury? That kind of wild fantasy didn’t come true. In real-life mafia stories, you were more likely to end up with broken knee caps for not settling your debts, and by the sounds of it, Rafaelle would be the one knocking on the door to do just that.
My stomach growled as I hopped around the kitchen awkwardly. I knew there was half a banana and the end of a jar of peanut butter in the fridge, so I headed in that direction. Shame I hadn’t gotten to eat one more meal at Rafaelle’s. I remembered the breakfast spread he’d made me only hours ago. Buttery pastries, pillowy eggs, sourdough toast, raspberry jam, and sliced fruit. More food than anyone would eat at one sitting, though I’d made a good go of it. I hadn’t known I’d be leaving so soon, and I cursed my shortsightedness. I should have eaten it all and filled my belly until dinner.
I grabbed a pole I used for practicing a particular move, propped it under my arm, and hobbled to the fridge. The banana was brown and the peanut butter dry, but it would do. I sat at my table, which only seated one, and faced the wall. I sliced the banana and carefully spread peanut butter on each piece before savoring every bite.
Yes, it was difficult coming back after a walk on the finer side of life, but that didn’t mean it was impossible. The kind of lifestyle Rafaelle enjoyed was an impossible dream for someone like me. I had to focus on my reality. Anything else was a waste of time.
I set myself up on the couch and checked my phone. I had a few angry texts from Hugh early in the morning and nothing else. That asshole deserved everything that was coming to him. He was the kind of guy I imagined would get on the wrong side of a family like the Lucianos. Wait—was that why Rafaelle was in my dressing room last night? With the fall and pain and confusion, I’d failed to ask myself that simple question—what Rafaelle Luciano was doing at the theater. He must have been following Hugh. That was the only explanation. He was following Hugh, and I’d just happened to be there.
His motivation for going out of his way to help me was even more confusing now. I thought of this morning and the gentle strength in his hands as he’d lifted me and helped me remove my leotard with his eyes closed. Why would such a man be so obliging and tender?
I squeezed my eyes shut against the odd sensation of melancholy in my chest. Why was I so disappointed about removing myself from Rafaelle’s life? He was a criminal, a dangerous man. Why did it feel like I had lost something? I guessed all those years of scraping by, of watching my mother beg for enough money for basics, had damaged me.
Even after I knew how crappy life was and how terrible people were, a foolish part of me still longed for a white knight. A shining knight to sweep me off my feet and save me, love me, comfort me without question.
But those dreams were childish and naïve, I realized with a heavy heart. I was a twenty-one-year-old virgin who dreamed of becoming a prima ballerina in the Morelli company. Underneath all the hardship and cynicism, something small and hopeful remained. Damn that white knight dream to hell for tempting me with hope. I turned my face toward the wall and willed sleep to come. Some dreams just took longer to die than others.
* * *
I’d been sleepingabout three hours when he came. The banging on the door pulled me from my pleasant dreams to the harsh reality of my shitty apartment. It was now dark outside, and the constant backdrop of city noises filtered through the gap in the sash window. Sirens and yells. A continuous stream of cars and the odd snippet of loud music blasting.
The door thudded again–bang, bang, bang.
“Elena, open the door.” Rafe’s voice wasn’t loud, yet it sank into my bones and gooseflesh erupted along my arms. That voice expected to be obeyed.
I sat up and turned just as the door banged again.“Go away,” I called, trying to inject some strength into my voice.
“Open the door, angel.” Rafe’s voice had dropped. Instead of raw power, it now contained something even more irresistible. Charm.
I shook my head resolutely.“Not going to happen.”
“Fine. You leave me no choice.”
There was a scraping at the lock right before the door swung open. I stared in horror as Rafe’s broad figure filled the doorway.
“Did you just pick my lock?” I demanded as I tried to stand, gripping onto the wall.
“It was that or kick it in. That lock was shit and needed replacing anyway.” Distracted by the thought of it, he turned to inspect it closer.
“Stop talking about the lock and get out of here!” I shouted.
Rafe straightened immediately at my frantic tone.“No,” he said bluntly and started across the scarred floorboards toward me.
“Don’t come closer. I’ll scream!” I warned him.
A humorless smile touched his mouth, but it wasn’t comforting. Far from it.“Go ahead. No one in this building, in this city, could stop me from coming for you.”
