Fear swept through me. Had something happened to my father?
“Ms. Novikov. We have an issue with the lighting.” The stage manager appeared before I had a chance to ask her any questions.
“Of course, Justin. I’ll be right there.”
Maybe she’d just heard the story about my ‘family’ and that I was an orphan. Yet as she walked away, my stomach did a series of flip-flops. My father’s warning about following my instincts kicked in and I rushed backstage, pushing my way through the dancers while heading to my dressing room.
I rushed toward my phone, hopeful that I’d received two calls.
From Jaxon and Sophia.
No one had called.
Something was wrong. There had to be.
Breathe. Just breathe.
“Don’t panic. Irina doesn’t know you.” Saying the words out loud normally made me feel better. Why was it that this time they didn’t?
Because of the way Irina had looked at me. Not as if she was sharing a motherly piece of advice or even showing an empathetic side I’d yet to see. As if she knew me. As if she’d partaken in keeping me out of harm’s way.
That was ridiculous.
I debated calling Jaxon but knew how he’d react. His last words had been very clear. Trust him. How could I trust another mafia man when I’d left that world behind? I needed to trust someone. But first, I had to calm my nerves. One call to my father. I just needed to hear his voice. Then I’d be fine.
Once the cellphone was in my hand, I brought it to my head for a few seconds before dialing the number.
Which went straight to voicemail. His phone was off. At least the sound of his voice brought some sense of peace. “Papa. I was worried when I didn’t hear from you. We need to talk. There’s something wrong. Please call me. I have a performance tonight. I wish you were here to see me dance and just remember I…”
Blip. The call ended.
“Love you.” Exhaling, I sat down on the stool, staring at myself in the mirror. I needed to get dressed and put on makeup. My stomach remained in knots, every muscle tense.
I was a big girl. With everything Jaxon had told me, I’d just placed myself under duress. The knock on the door meant my time alone was up. When the door was flung open before I had a chance to invite them in, I had a momentary bout of fear that paralyzed me for a few seconds.
“Anna. Take off your leotard. We have little time,” the costume mistress barked as members of the wardrobe crew flew in.
In the next few minutes, I was primped and prepared, including the seamstress needing to make a few adjustments on the first costume. Others lined up the ones I’d change into throughout the performance with their assistance.
My hair was in a bun, sprayed to holy hell so not a strand would fall free. My makeup was caked on, my lips stained red.
Like blood.
I was fighting one too many emotions, my stomach aching.
“Did you hear about the huge explosion?” one of the girls mentioned to another. My ears perked up.
“You mean on the interstate. God, yes,” the other girl responded.
“What are you talking about?” I piped in.
“It was some military style bomb. My brother was near and he said it looked like a rocket launcher hit a big SUV,” the first girl said. “The traffic is snarled. I hope that doesn’t interfere with tonight.”
“Maybe a mafia hit,” the second girl laughed.
Their laughter was drowned out by the buzzing in my head. Jaxon. What were the chances? No, he was okay. He was a powerful man.
Just like your father.
