Page 28 of Violent Pawn

The address leads me to a nondescript building appearing a bit run-down from the exterior, all made of glass that reflects my image back at me.

It’s Anastasia’s territory. As if there’s a force field around it, I’m hesitant to approach. Undoubtedly, she’s aware of someone stepping into her space and is prepared to react.

After driving off the Bratva property, Lev texted me the studio’s door code to slip inside without knocking, so I type it in and open the door, bracing to be screamed at. Instead, silence sucks me inside to the tiny foyer with a mat holding a set of sneakers, a coat hook with a jacket hanging, and a plant. The wall in front of me has a glow coming from the other side that I follow. Soft music notes pull me into her proximity.

I stop by the end of the wall, taking in the mirror-wrapped room with two versions of an enchantress spinning and leaping across the smooth hardwood floor. Her eyes are shut, wholly enthralled in dancing.

Crossing my arms, I lean against the wall to watch her two-step motions and impressive twirls that I’m certain have an official term. Ribbons are tied above her ankles on her legging-clad calves, and I find myself visually tracing the silk.

She goes from one end of the room to the other, and then mid-stride, lifts a foot before launching herself into the air. She comes down a couple of strides away. If only she’d open her eyes, she’d realize she’s no longer alone.

As she twists, leaps, and dances, magic is formed. A mystical energy she began weaving eleven years ago on a different stage in a different country in a different scenario. Back then, I was trying to make it through the night without destroying my soul and never could have guessed that years later, I’d be watching the same ballerina in a more intimate setting while our best friends are getting engaged. Maybe I would have interacted with her differently back then, knowing she’d be in my future.

The song comes to a slow close, and she stops in the centre of the room, feet together, heels aligned, and arms in some pose I don’t get. Seeing as she’s finished, I clap to announce my arrival.

Almost comically, her lids fly open, and her peaceful expression is replaced by the familiar rage and irritation I’ve come to coin as the special look she has all for me. “What the hell are you doing here?”

I shove off the wall, taking a single step into her space. “Our bosses are looking for you, so I came in their stead. They’d like to take us all to dinner, and we both know for what.”

She glances at the time on the wall. “I didn’t realize how late it got. I’d stay here all day if I could.” Her brows suddenly come together, and she jerks her head, almost like she didn’t mean to admit that aloud.

Biting down on my smile, I manage another step. “Your brother mentioned something about a Christmas show. What’s that about?”

She heads to the bench on the far side where a small bag and water bottle rest. “You know,” she says, attention narrowing to where my feet are through the reflection, “these floors aren’t meant for outside shoes tracking in snow and mud.”

“Seems I’ll owe you for two things since you put me to bed last night. I’ll send cleaners in.” Technically, her life debt is a whole lot bigger than dirty floors and being lugged into bed, but getting onto Anastasia’s side means getting onto her side.

Her face pales a bit before her cheeks flush the prettiest shade of rose pink. “Someone had to.”

“Christmas performance?”

She begins untying the ribbons of her slippers, nimble fingers quickly undoing the silk. “Since you’re so damn insistent… Every year, a local troupe puts on The Nutcracker for about a week as a fundraiser. Ticket proceeds get donated to women’s shelters, children’s charities, and other organizations that help the underprivileged during the holidays. Even though I’m not part of the troupe, they always ask me to join them as the snow queen.”

They know her worth, as does the rest of Russia. Her name sells out, and she’s a benefit to their fundraising when people come to see her. Anastasia is smart enough to be aware of how this benefits them more than her, and she does it out of kindness.

Moments like this make it hard to see the bigger picture of what is happening in my life. Because it feels like in the background, I should be aware of something else.

Once she’s finished untying her shoes and placing them on the shelf in the corner with a few others, I intercept her return for her bag. “Dance with me.”

“The bet’s been paid. How about no.”

The bet was paid with the highest value. I got more than a dance last night. I experienced the performance Anastasia puts on. I got to mark in her a manner I didn’t realize I craved, and then back away and watch her flounder. Unfortunately, the marks have since faded.

It might have been a sick thrill that drove me, but last night something shifted between us. Something I’ll use.

“The bet’s been paid, but I’d still like us to dance. A dance like we would have at the wedding.”

Her eyes flick between mine, searching. Whatever she finds has her softly mouthing her agreement, inhaling deeply, then resting her palm in my outstretched one. She’s warm, presumably from her workout. Her other grips my shoulder as my arm comes around her waist to pull her away from the mirrors and into a wide arc angled at the centre of the room, where I bring her in closer than a waltz requires.

After a moment of silent spinning, she admits, “You’re good at this.”

“I took dancing lessons to fit into the Cosa Nostra.”

Strands of her hair practically go up my nose with the speed she flings her head back to look me in the face. “Your father wasn’t in?”

“Civilian. Padre runs a bakery that’s been in the family for a few generations. It’s supposed to be mine, but it’s not what I want. A few years after meeting Zeno, he told me who he really was, and I took an interest in the lifestyle. When the bakery went through financial struggles, I spoke to Giovanni about joining.”

She stares at our reflection over my shoulder. Questions couldn’t be more obvious, nor how she twitches every so often, as if needing to ask them. I don’t encourage her to, using today like a fishing line. Giving her enough to keep her curious so she’ll want to return to learn more.