Chapter1
Saverio
We were the rulers of the world. Side by side, my father and I reigned over the kingdoms we called our lives. To become the man—the king of wolves—that he raised me to be, my actions had to speak louder than words. He taught me that a strong ruler understands that words are worthless unless a man stands behind them, and that, even though life isn’t a game, it still has to be won.
Or more precisely, ahearthas to be won. For a heart to surrender, a man has to speak a secret language, and the name of that language islove,followed byaction.
I spoke the language fluently, but the ballerina who hid her heart behind frilly fabric constantly pretended that she had no idea what I was saying to her.
Had been saying to her.
Since we were kids.
She was like one of those people who sat in a room full of other people who spoke a language they thought she didn’t understand—until she opened her mouth and joined the conversation.
If she thought she was fooling me, she was fucking wrong. She should have known better. She was the one who had taught me how to speak the language and win her heart. And if there was one thing she guarded ferociously, it was that thing beating in her chest.
She.Mia Bellarosa Fausti.
Yeah, her father couldn’t have given her a more perfect name.Mia. It meantminein Italian. And that’s exactly what she was.
She belonged to me. Always had.Always will.
My heart beat faster as I counted down the seconds in my head…
5
4
3
2
1
The lights faded, the audience silenced, the curtain went up, and the music started to drift from the orchestra close to the stage.
It was soft. A caress that lingered on the skin and made goosebumps rise on my arms. More than the tone of the music, it was the anticipation of her that made me feel flighty and rooted at the same time. The woman who the world of dance called “The dancing Ghost,” because she was as ethereal as an apparition on the dance floor when she moved, was about to reveal herself to me.
Soul. Heart. Bones. Skin.
She’d come to life before my eyes because she could feel me out in the audience—when I said she belonged to me, I fucking meant it. The heart that beat inside her chest was mine. It pulsed with the sound of music because she breathed.
Collectively, the audience seemed to hold its breath as she gracefully made her way onto the stage. She wore a crown on her head and a frilly outfit on her body. Her chin was raised, her regal nose set high as she extended her arm for her king. Her role as Titania inA Midsummer Night's Dreamwould mark her in this world asthe newly crowned Étoile of the Paris Opera Ballet. Her performance was as anticipated as the audiences’ next breath.
Her maternal great-grandmother was a ballet legend; her mamma was a living one.
She had legendary slippers to fill, and tonight was just the beginning of her journey. Though I knew her steps would be different from theirs. Her name might have made waves in darker realms of the world, but in this one, she had to constantly prove herself worthy.
I smirked at the stubborn set of her face and the movement of her arms when she let her king know that she was displeased with him. I knew the set of her face wasn’t only for show.
She felt me. How close I was.
If her reaction was the same as mine, her heart must have been hammering, her chest feeling hollow, like she couldn’t catch her breath, and her stomach kept dropping, like she kept hitting dips in the road.
Being this close to her screwed with my head and my heart.
Even though her steps didn’t falter, and her face hadn’t changed the expression it needed to bring the character she portrayed to life, her eyes scanned the crowd every so often looking for the pull that had her close to stopping the music, jumping from the stage, and searching me out so she could feel the same relief I did when it was almost unbearable to be apart.
