“I understand,” Ms. Poitier says. “We’ll get her back. I’m sure she has her reasons.”
“NO! There is no fucking excuse. No justification she could give. She walked out on the vows we made to each other. She will pay a price.”
“C—”
“Get the fuck out of my face!”
She sighs in disappointment, turning away. “As you wish. I just hope you come to your senses soon. This is no game, C. We’re in the thick of it.”
I don’t bother asking what she’s lecturing me about. Ms. Poitier’s opinion is one of the few I respect, but make no mistake, I do what I want above all else.
A lot may be happening at once with the war between my family and the Vorones. Nero has waged an even more concentrated war with me after what happened at the theater. Loyalties are all but gone in my family after I discovered Carmelo’s betrayal.
More level-headed capos would focus their time on these matters. They’d devote more of their energy and efforts to battling Nero and besting the family members who are out for Pa’s throne.
I’ve never claimed to be a level-headed man. I’ve never cared about inhabiting thrones or winning stupid titles. All of it is meaningless when I shut myself off from the rest of society mostdays. What do I need with the mantle of Don when reclusion suits me so much more?
I have my estate. I have my men. I had everything I wanted except for…
…mia bella ballerina.
She was the missing link to my life. She was the angel of my dreams. The person who helped me through the pain and looming death. How could she disappear as if she never cared?
I’m out of howls to give. I’m out of things to break.
My chest aches. The pain stabs away at me.
Finally I give in and seek Dr. Tulio out. I find him in his office where he usually is. He snaps into preparing the treatment from the second he spies me walking through the door.
“I’d hoped you’d come,” he says, grabbing the vials. “You must be in pain.”
I sink into the exam chair and close my eyes, exhaustion already setting in. Nevaeh creeps into my thoughts.
“Always.”
Fogginess clears like clouds when the sun breaks through. It’s no wonder why they have—she twirls into view with her arms arced gracefully and the point of her toes barely touching the ground. She’s defying physics the way she flits about so light and airily.
Suddenly, the razors cutting me up from the inside fade. I’m no longer consumed by pain. At least no longer cognizant of the damage its wreaking.
Her every move entrances me. She spins and leaps, telling a story with the petite body I know so well, the pale pink tulle skirt she wears glittering in the light.
Hypnotic in how she launches into pirouette after pirouette. I’m unable to look away until it dawns on me others have materialized.
We’re no longer alone for her performance. The others edge closer as if trying to intrude.
She notices, slowing down, coming out of her twirls. Her pretty dark eyes widen.
We come to the same conclusion at the same moment. Something’s not right; something is terribly wrong.
The pain rushes in, a thousand sharp pricks stabbing into me all at once, as I open my mouth and yell.
“NEVI!”
Her name leaves my lips over and over again as my arms and legs thrash.
“Mr. C, please! Restrain yourself!” Dr. Tulio grunts. He’s leaning over me with his hands scrabbling to grab hold of mine and pin me down.
I’m too brutish, too monstrous for him. I spring up despite his efforts to hold me down, and I knock him back a couple steps. Sweat pours down the sides of my face and sticks my shirt to my back. I’m clammy and dizzy, my lungs short on air.
