Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“Tanaka.” He lowers to my level. We’re eye to eye, and there’s no mistaking his apprehension. Gianni is the poster boy for every Italian gangster costume that gets mass produced around Halloween. Slicked jet-black hair, gold rings on his fingers, and the stereotypical New York accent. I couldn’t take him seriously on my best day, but I’m taking him seriously now.
“What is it?” I curl my legs under me and rise to my feet, my stretching forgotten. He can’t be seen here with me and he knows it. So, if he’s here, it can only mean something’s up. I have the sudden urge to puke, and it has nothing to do with the impending performance. My stomach is a riot of nerves, and it’s all his fault.
“You promised me.” My spine sags forward as I clutch my waist. “You swore everything would be okay.”
All I can think about is my dreams going up in smoke. Principal won’t matter if I’m dead. Nothing will matter if I’m dead. The years of training, the countless hurdles I’ve overcome, they will have been for nothing.
Gianni glances at the door. “I came to warn you.”
“Warn me about what?”
The conversation screeches to a halt when there’s a knock on the door. The knock I’ve been dreading since his arrival. I knew it would come, and there isn’t time to finish what Gianni started. He curses under his breath, bolting for a chair in the center of the room. I wave at him frantically while he pulls himself up through a displaced ceiling tile.
“Principessa,” my father calls through the door. “Are you decent?”
The tile slides back into place, and I clear my throat. “Yes, Papà.”
The guard opens the door, and my father enters. I meet him halfway as a sign of respect, and he kisses each of my cheeks. The ritual is predictable and familiar, but the uneasiness in his dark eyes is not.
Impeccably dressed in a suit and trench coat, my father remains steadfast in his old-fashioned ways. He will always look his best, and everyone around him should too. But even he can’t hide the grimace in his step as he paces the perimeter of the room with a keen eye. It could mean one of two things. A business deal gone bad, or his debts are worse than I had imagined.
I don’t ask, and he doesn’t tell. A father does not discuss these things with his daughter. At least not in our world. My days, weeks, and hours are slave to a dancer’s regime, while criminal activities consume his.
At first glance, the man is an improbable source for my paternal genes. He is a throwback to his Italian roots with dusky eyes and sooty hair. My complexion is far more coppery, and my eyes a more forgiving shade of amber. He is stocky in stature, and I am willowy like my mother.
I am grateful to have inherited her features, believing that in some small way, she lives on through me.
“Sei Bella.” Papà roosts on the chair that Gianni used for his escape only moments ago. “Tonight, the audience will see a genuine angel.”
I smile at the compliment, but beneath his words is an undercurrent of despair, and it worries me.
“You know you must give this up soon, Principessa.”
My answering nod is stiff and obedient. “Yes, Papà, I know.”
Soon sounds quicker than I anticipated, but it is not entirely surprising. Dante has been making quiet preparations to marry me, and the moment I agree, my life will change entirely. Dancer’s accolades are of no significance in a man’s world. A mafia wife has one sole purpose, and it is not outside the home. I’ve been raised to know the challenges that await me. The sum of my life is only as great as the man’s name that I take.
“Dante would like to have a word with you,” Papà says.
I comply with a quiet, “Okay.”
After one short command from my father, Dante enters dutifully. He greets me with a respectful kiss on the cheek and nothing more. It is as much contact as we ever have under the watchful eye of my father. I am to remain pure for my husband, and only on the wedding night will my virtue be taken. This is the way of my world, and one of the many reasons for my constant guard.
“You look like a goddess.” Dante squeezes my hand. “I expect you will mesmerize the entire theatre. I am only disappointed I will not be able to see it.”
My face crumples. “You aren’t staying?”
Dante looks at my father before answering. “I wish I could, but business calls.”
I nod because it isn’t my place to argue. Business is business.
“Thing is,” Dante says with undisguised bitterness, “the business is overseas. I could be gone for a couple of months.”
A couple of months? This is news to me, and it’s the first time I’ve ever known Dante to resent his marching orders. Orders undoubtedly handed down by my father. In a bold display of ownership, he slips his hand over my cheek and leans in to whisper in my ear. “When I return, I’ll be making you my wife.”