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“Do I look like a murderer?”
He grimaces. “Well—”
“Don't answer that.” I hand him some more money before I put my wallet away. “I'm paying you to not ask questions. You'll get no trouble from me. I'm just… a really big fan of the ballet. Now, if you'd please.”
With a hesitant squint, Pavel steps to the side. I don't blame him for his suspicion. He could lose his job if the higher-ups discover what he's done. I suppose I could have sought out the ballet director and asked for another tour as a patron, or really any other excuse I can come up with off the top of my head, but I don't want to go through him every time I come to see Nikita. I'd rather not have someone aware of my constant comings and goings. It's better this way. Discreet.
The practice building is a labyrinth. White walls, white polished floors. It's surprisingly clinical in here, although I don't know what I was expecting. More decorations maybe? Opera and ballet-related posters? It's nothing short of professional, distraction free. I'm grateful there's at least a directory and signs plastered on the walls, or else I never would have found my way to the practice rooms. I know I'm getting close when I hear music—the distinctive opening to the Sugar Plum Fairy's theme.
I step into the room quietly, hugging the walls. It's hard to go unnoticed, given my tall stature and wide frame, but I do my best not to distract the dancers as they move across the floor. Those standing on the sides give me space to walk to the seating area, where I claim a chair in the very back, cloaked in shadows. It's the perfect place to watch them dance. They're midway through, I think. I'm not entirely familiar with the choreography. Lots of jumps and spins.
My eyes lock on to Nikita with ease. She's hard to miss, her smile brighter than the sun, the stars, and the moon combined. I don't know how she does it. She's in white leggings and a tutu with a deep mahogany sports shirt on top. Her hair is pulled up into a tight bun, giving me a clear view of her pretty face. She's a gazelle, twirling and leaping and all those other minute, complex movements executed to perfection—all while on the tips of her toes.
She makes it look so easy that I begin to think evenIcould do it, though I know that's the furthest thing from the truth. This is what years upon years of dedication and training looks like. I remember wondering what she did for a living when I claimed her that night, when I ran my hands, my lips, and my tongue all over that small, taut body of hers. Something related to athletics did come to mind, but not once did ballet cross through. It’s a delightful surprise, though. Nikita is captivating, impossible to look away from. The music comes to an end and she holds for the finale. While I think she's the most breathtaking creature I've ever laid my eyes on, her mother seems to think otherwise.
“What the hell was that?” Inessa grumbles. “Your pas de bourree into plie near the end is sloppy. I've never seen such lazy footwork!”
Something protective and fiery rises within me. Who the fuck does this woman think she is? I've only got one good eye, but even I can see that Nikita was nothing short of spectacular. Just when I think about stepping forward, though, Nikita puts her hands on her hips and simply nods.
“I'll do better,” she says, resolute and unshaken. I think it's admirable, her determination inspiring. “Just tell me what I need to fix.”
“You need to lift up more. They're going to be able to hear you clomping around like a damn elephant. You need to get this right before we move on to the pas de deux.”
The doors to the practice room open wide. A group of four police officers step in, the stomping of their hard boots against the floor inconsiderately loud. My first instinct is to look for an alternate exit. Are they here for me? Did Pavel the security guard rat me out and call the cops? Bratva and the law don't mix, so it's only natural that my first thought is to shrink and try to avoid their attention.
Except they're not looking for me. They walk straight to Inessa and Nikita, their expressions as serious as the grave.
“Nikita Belova?” one of the officers says. “Do you have a moment?”
Nikita's about to open her mouth, but Inessa steps in, pushy as usual. “Actually, she doesn't. We're in the middle of rehearsal.”
“It has to do with Vanya Karoshka. Concerning what happened the other day.”
My ears burn as I listen from afar. I'll admit I've been curious about this supposed sabotage incident I heard about. Nikita didn't go into detail, and I frankly didn't want to push her. But now that I'm here, I'm on the edge of my seat.
“What do you want to ask me?” Nikita pipes up. “I want to help in any way I can.”
“We'd rather do this at the station.”
I set my jaw, the muscles in the back of my neck growing tight. They want to take her down to the station for a couple of questions? Something isn't right here.
Without a second thought, I rise from my seat and step forward. Were it anyone else, I wouldn't have even considered putting myself in the line of fire. I'm opening a can of worms by staying.
But I can't stand idly by, either.
“She's not going anywhere,” I say clearly, firmly. I can feel the heat of everyone's eyes on me.
“Leo?” Nikita breathes. Her smile is both excited and embarrassed. “How did you…”
“And you are?” one of the officers asks.
“Her counsel,” I lie through my teeth. If there's one thing I know how to do—it's how to evadejustenough suspicion to look innocent. Who knew my expertise could prove so useful?
Chapter 10
Nikita
Ihave a million and one questions, but I don't know where to start.
