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)
Her dark lashes flutter open, and I’m caught staring. The warmth in her honey eyes fractures, and she visibly recoils at the narrow distance between us. She can hardly look at me, and I don’t blame her.
“Have I overslept?” Her voice is dead, her beautiful face plagued with sorrow.
“No. We still have an hour.”
She is quiet, and I am too. I have no explanation for my being here. I only know that I need to leave before I get any closer. She doesn’t need to smell the alcohol or perfume on my clothes.
She doesn’t need another reason to hate me.
“If you come to my office now, you can make your phone call.”
She sits up in bed.
And just like that, everything else is forgotten.
Nikolai lumbers down the hallway, leaving a faint wake of smoke and perfume in his path. His shirt is wrinkled, and his eyes are bloodshot, and I don’t want to consider what’s kept him occupied in his absence, but I can’t seem to stop anyway.
He gestures me into his office and points at the chair opposite his desk. I do as I’m prompted and sit down while he slides a landline across the deep expanse of cherry stained wood.
“Five minutes,” he tells me. “Then Nonna will come for you.”
An unnatural stillness settles over me when I nod. He’s giving me five minutes with the phone.
Alone.
My fingers tremble when I pick up the handset. He wants me to dial the numbers before he goes. The numbers for the director of my company, who I told him I wanted to call. Maybe he knows the number, or maybe he doesn’t.
It’s a chance I’m willing to take.
I dial the number with false confidence. Outwardly, I know I’m holding it together. But inwardly, my heart is in my throat.
He can’t know.
He can’t.
I have to pull this off.
“Hello?” Gianni answers.
“Hello, Jean Claude. It’s Tanaka.”
A beat of silence follows, and I know it’s up to me to steer the conversation. Even when Nikolai leaves, my responses will likely be recorded on camera for later dissection. We must tread carefully.
“I was just calling to check in,” I say lightly. “If you have time, I’d like to fill you in on my rehabilitation.”
“I see,” Gianni answers.
From the doorway, Nikolai’s eyes meet mine, and for a split second, I think he knows. He knows, and he’s going to slaughter me right here in his office. But instead, he taps his watch and issues a final reminder.
“Five minutes.”
And then he is gone, taking my breath with him.
“Are you recovering well then?” Gianni asks from the other line.
What he’s really asking is if I’m all right.
“I’m fully focused on my health,” I answer. “And hoping to return to the company very soon, should there still be a spot for me.”
Gianni is quiet for too long, and I don’t like the sound of that silence. He knows what I’m asking. Has my position been held for me? Has he spoken with the director? What can he tell me?
“At this time, we believe it would be best for you to focus on your recovery. We can discuss your position with the company when you are ready to dance again.”
I swallow, and it hurts. Everything hurts. I don’t want to accept what he’s telling me. Even though I knew it would come to this, I don’t want to believe it.
“The company sends their love,” Gianni adds. “They all wish you a full recovery.”
I think he’s trying to tell me that he wants to help me, but his hands are tied. I can’t be certain, but it must be what he came to warn me about that night. He knew Nikolai was coming for me. He knew my life was about to be obliterated.
“Have you had any luck on the investigation into my shoes?” I ask.
“Very little,” he replies. “But there is a rumor it was an outside job. Someone by the name of il demone.”
My stomach twists. He must be confused. Or I am. Something is getting lost in translation.
“I don’t know who that is,” I answer. And I wish it were true. I wish I didn’t know that il demone is the name my father is known as on the streets.
“Where are you staying during your recovery?” Gianni asks.
It’s a bold question. And I can only hope my answer doesn’t get me killed.
“I’m at home. In Massachusetts.”
He needs to know I’m still in the same state, so he can come for me. So he can take me away from this place and Nikolai.
“I hope to pay you a visit soon,” he says.
Nonna enters the room, and I close my eyes. “I hope so too. Speak to you soon, Jean Claude.”
“Soon,” he echoes.
Shortly after the arrival of the guest downstairs, Nikolai comes to collect me from my room. Clean from a long shower, his hair is still damp, and he smells like himself again. Cloves and smoke, and maybe a bit of spicy aftershave. He made an effort to look presentable, but his face still looks like he spent a night in hell. In black trousers and a starched white button-down, he seems torn between light and darkness. Sinner or saint, it’s hard to tell from one minute to the next.