Pointe and possession, p.2
Pointe & Possession, page 2
I wanted her. I wanted her in the way a drunk wants alcohol. I wanted to possess her. I wanted to be in the same room as her for the rest of my life. I wanted to hear her voice and know what her laughter felt like beneath my fingers as I caressed the beautiful curve of her neck. I wanted to know her mind and understand her emotions. I wanted to follow her for hours just for the chance to see her glowing hair and pretty eyes and watch her cute little nose scrunch up just like it had when we’d locked eyes at Thai Moon.
Is this obsession? Is this what Lorcan meant all those years ago when he told me I’d ‘just know.’”
The older woman circling my little ballerina held out her hand and she stopped, holding the position she was in. The instructor raised her cane and tapped on the ballerina’s elbow, nudging her arm up an inch before she tapped her on the back of the knee. The little ballerina with the glowing blonde hair winced as she adjusted her position and the irrational urge to murder the little old lady hit me so hard in the gut that I had to grip the door handle to stop myself from running in there.
I watched her through her entire practice or routine or whatever ballet was called. Her skirt was loose and flared around her hips as she spun in circles. Her legs were encased in black tights and she wore those strange ballet shoes that had ribbons wrapped up around her calves. Her upper body was clad in a clingy material that shaped her curves and hid nothing. Her blonde hair that glowed under the bright studio lights seemed to almost be its own light source against the black clothing she wore.
My breathing was fast, my cock was hard, but I couldn’t look away. Not until she hugged the old lady and grabbed a large bag, slinging it over her shoulder as she made her way out of the room. I quickly clicked through the camera feeds until I found her again, walking down a hallway. She disappeared behind a door and I clicked through the feeds again. It must’ve been a changing room though, because I couldn’t find her again until she reemerged from behind the door. I followed her on the different feeds until she exited the front door and I could see her in person.
Her eyes locked on my car and her brow furrowed as she took a step backward towards the door of the ballet studio. Her hand tightened anxiously on the strap of her big duffle bag as she looked up and down the street, until her eyes met mine through the cracked window. Her look of fear morphed into confusion and her brow furrowed, her nose wrinkling in that adorable manner again. She took a step back towards the car and I muttered quietly for my driver to “Go”. The car pulled smoothly away from the curb, my eyes never leaving the warm honey colored ones that now held my full attention until we were fully past her.
“Where to, Cal?” Seamus asked.
“The office. I need to finish some last minute plans for security this weekend.” I opened my banking app and transferred the thousand to Nate’s account. Then I thought for a moment and transferred five more before sending him a text.
Me: Get me a list of all the female dancers enrolled at Primo. If they aren’t blonde, I don’t care about them. Today.
Nate: Do you one better. Took some liberties…
A moment later, a profile on a woman named Alyssa Thompson came through, along with an alert that the five thousand had been denied.
I opened the file and an image filled the screen. Pale skin, hair like moonlight and mesmerizing eyes.
Alyssa. I repeated it in my head but for some reason, the name left me unsettled. I didn’t like it, because it didn’t seem fitting. I couldn’t explain why because what the hell did I know about what her name should have been. I emailed myself the file, transferred the five thousand back to Nate and slipped my phone into my pocket as I exited the car. The receptionist greeted me and scurried off to get me a coffee. When she set it on the corner of my desk, I thanked her and powered on my computer.
She lingered, as she usually did, and plopped her arse on my desk. She leaned on my desk in a way that was supposed to be enticing but made me want to roll my eyes. I made a show of ignoring her, reaching for my coffee and focusing on my screen.
I pulled up my email and opened the file on Alyssa Thompson. There were several pictures, many snippets from playbills, a short biography about her dance career and a copy of a background check. Within three minutes, I’d been through the whole file and texted Nate back.
Me: Is this all there is?
Nate: Yep. Couldn’t find much on her. Seems her parents are dead, she doesn’t socialize much, the address on her ID is vacant and there are no utility bills in her name. The only thing I could find any kind of pattern in is her rehearsals. She shows up at Primo every Monday at 3 and every Thursday at 5:30.
I frowned and ran my hand over my beard. Valerie’s hands landed on my shoulders and she rubbed her thumbs into my muscles.
“You seem stressed today, Cal. Let me help you?”
I shrugged her hands off my shoulders and scowled at her. “I’ve told you a hundred fecking times, Valerie. It’s not happening. I don’t ride my employees. And even if I did, I wouldn’t choose you. Get back to work.”
Her mouth pinched as if she was fighting an annoyed frown but she stomped out of my office. I closed out of Alyssa’s file and opened my plans for the security at the engagement party this weekend.
I shuddered at the thought of the fecking engagement. I knew it was necessary. I knew I had to marry the Marino girl in order to achieve the peace treaty. But Christ if she didn’t give me the fecking heeby-jeebies. She was overly-forward - and not in a good way. She was always trying to touch me and she was way too excited for an arranged marriage to someone with my reputation.
I arranged and rearranged our security, making sure Lorcan would be heavily protected. My uncle was getting old and, even though I was certain he could still protect himself if needed, I wasn’t taking any chances with his life. The man had raised me after my mother died, taught me everything I know. I owed him everything and he would be protected, no matter what.
It wasn’t until late in the evening that I felt comfortable enough with the security arrangements and had finally finished going over the profits from the last fight night. My phone had buzzed several times, but I’d ignored it while I focused on business. I pulled it out and scrolled through the notifications.
Nate, 6:43 p.m.: These might interest you…
The attachment was a couple images of Alyssa getting into an old beater of a car, walking around some shops with the same brunette from earlier, and then a file attachment about her. Charlotte Black, daughter of Senator Adam Black. Nothing really caught my eye other than the images of Alyssa. I clicked out of the texts and went to the next.
Ebony, 7:58 p.m.: Lorcan would like to know when you’re coming home. He wishes to discuss something over dinner.
Ebony, 8:31 p.m.: I’ll tell him you’re still working.
I cursed under my breath, feeling guilt lodge behind my chest at leaving Lorcan alone for dinner.
Me, 8:51 p.m.: Shite. Tell him I’m on my way.
The next messages made my lip curl.
Marino, 6:19 p.m.: My daughter would like your input on wedding colors.
Marino, 6:32 p.m.: And the seating arrangement for this saturday.
Marino, 7:22 p.m.: And apparently your opinion on her wedding dress options is needed immediately.
I clicked out of his messages without responding, because, honestly, I really didn’t give a rat’s arse about her dress or where people sat or what colors she used to decorate the shite excuse of a wedding.
I left my office and told Seamus to take me home, chuckling to myself about how irritated Marino and his daughter would be at being ignored while I set a reminder on my phone for Thursday at 5:00 p.m. with only one word.
Primo.
3
Rory
“Papà!” EVERYTHING IS RUINED NOW!” Fernanda’s nasally screech echoed through the house, bouncing off the walls and grating in my ears like nails on a chalkboard. I put my flat iron on the bathroom counter and walked through my bedroom, sneakily opening my door just a crack to hear their conversation.
“Principessa, we will find a dancer, don’t worry. Your engagement party will be exactly how you want it.” My stepfather’s voice was sugary and placating, the way a parent talks to a spoiled toddler to put an end to a tantrum. It sent a shiver of foreboding down my spine.
“Daddy!” she shrieked again, drawing out the word, and I heard her stiletto stomp against the marble tiles. I crept down the hall to the top of the stairs, peeking around the wall but staying out of sight. “Anastasia has the stomach flu and she’s the best! She was supposed to be there and now she won’t be! It’s going to be ruined!” Her voice shook with false tears that always resulted in her getting exactly what she wanted as she waved her hands through the air dramatically. The grossly ostentatious ring on her finger sent light reflecting all across the sitting area, casting rainbows across the white marble floors and painted walls. It was a huge, oval monstrosity, ringed by many smaller diamonds. It was beautiful, because it was a diamond, but it was ugly because it was just so flashy.
“We can have Aurora dance for you, darling. She’s good enough.” Fern gasped in offended outrage and Elio sighed dramatically. “Mia figlia, think of how it will upset her.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “I promised her she did not have to attend tonight. I promised she could go out with that fica she spends so much time with. Imagine how miserable she will be when I tell her she will not only attend, but will be your entertainment for the evening.” The vicious glee in his voice made me feel sick. My stomach dropped and adrenaline coursed through my veins, but disappointment settled into my bones - right next to acceptance, when I heard Fern’s cruel laughter.
“Aurora!” Elio’s voice boomed down the hall and I scurried back towards my bedroom, making a show of loudly opening my door and walking down the hall.
“Yes, Elio?” I feigned innocence, my tone dripping with false niceties.
“Anastasia has fallen ill. You will dance for the engagement party tonight.” When I opened my mouth to protest, he held up a hand. “You will dance, and you will do it quietly. You will make Fernanda’s engagement party perfect for her or you will suffer the consequences.”
The consequences could be anything from a lashing to homelessness to death. He’d threatened them all, dangling the threats over my head to keep me complacent and willing to do whatever they asked of me. From house cleaning, to errands, to personal shopping for Fern - I was their servant in everything but name. They had actual servants for those tasks, but they preferred to torture me.
I looked between my stepfather and step sister and sighed. “What would happen if I should decline?”
Elio’s eye twitched and he moved toward me, only a few inches taller than me, even though I stood a stair above him. He looked at me mutely before he lashed out so quickly, I didn’t have a moment to prepare myself. His palm connected sharply with the side of my face before he said, “If you should decline, you will find yourself unable to decline a request ever again. Because, putanna,” he sneered, “I will take your tongue for disrespecting me and then you will dance anyway.”
Chills spread across my skin and I swallowed heavily. I ground my teeth together until they ached, but nodded stiffly. “I’ll start to prepare a musical arrangement. Will there be musicians, or will there be a DJ tonight?”
Fern, the spoiled little bitch, proudly told me they had a full quintet playing. I nodded sagely and turned back down the hallway.
When I got to my room, I texted Charlotte that I wouldn’t be coming out tonight and then set about picking music for the evening.
My hair was styled into a tight, perfect bun. My makeup was caked on, doing its best to hide the darkening bruise from Elio’s slap with glitter sprinkled across my eyelids and cheekbones. I wore a cream colored leotard and my best tutu, the pale pink one with the shiny rhinestones and sequins sprinkled through the tule. That was Fern’s demand.
My silver pointe shoes were laced perfectly, my music selection was beautiful and I was on a small platform off to the side of the room.
Partygoers walked by, admiring the beautiful ballerina with the graceful moves.
None of them knew the dark, ugly thoughts that spun through my head like a carnival ride, unleashing chaos and making me want to throw up. The fear of messing up even one of my routines lay heavily in my chest, a sturdy weight that prevented a full breath from expanding my lungs.
I smiled graciously as the current on-lookers moved on to admire other parts of the stupidly extravagant party.
Fern was to be married to the new Boss of the Irish Mob. I didn’t know what he looked like, but Fern hadn’t shut up about Callahan and his good looks since the engagement had been arranged.
The party was an excuse for Elio to flash his wealth around and remind everyone in attendance of who he was - but I knew the truth. I was largely ignored by my stepfather and stepsister, when I wasn’t being ordered about. Nobody paid much attention to me, the tiny, shunned stepdaughter of the Marino house. And so, I was able to slip about, eavesdropping on things I shouldn’t and witnessing things I sometimes wished I hadn’t.
One of the most interesting conversations I had overheard was when Elio told Fern that the marriage had to take place soon, because the Marinos were going broke - and fast. He was losing traction as a trusted leader. They needed Callahan’s money and influence to reassert Elio’s power, wealth and leadership of the New York Cosa Nostra.
I hoped with every bone in my body that Callahan was an evil man, one who would marry Fern for the clout and then make her fucking miserable. And I hoped to Hell and back he never gave the Marinos a fucking cent.
4
Callahan
These parties are fecking shite.
They’re nothing but an excuse to flaunt money and power, just a whole lot of socialites who hate each other, flouncing about and pretending to be people they aren’t.
I didn’t have the fecking patience for it. I sat at a table, scowling around and sipping an expensive, single malt Irish whiskey. My bride-to-be, a pale faced woman with plain brown hair whose name I didn’t care to remember, flitted about, basking in the attention and preening about her engagement ring. The ugly thing had cost me nearly three million but Elio, the pompous arsehole, insisted she would want something flashy.
While my bride walked around trying to look like a perfect mafia princess with her hair half-styled and makeup poorly done, an admittedly ugly designer dress draping her body in shimmery yellow material, I sat at this table with my jacket slung over the back, my shirt rumpled and half unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up to my elbows and my hair a mess from running my fingers through it.
“You look like shite,” my uncle, Lorcan, commented. He’d retired recently and since he had no heirs of his own, I had taken over the Irish Mob.
“That’s probably because I’m being forced to marry that strega,” I sniped, pointing at…Fran? Fanny? No, Fern! That was it.
“You will not be the first man to wed a woman he did not love. You only have to tolerate her long enough to find out what Elio’s plans are and then we can figure out how to end it.” Lorcan sighed, having given me this same speech three times already.
I didn’t respond to him, already as bored with the conversation as I was the fecking party. I watched Elio with narrowed eyes, noticing the sweat that dotted his forehead when a higher ranking member of the Cosa Nostra didn’t stand in respect as he approached. Interesting. I elbowed Lorcan and he followed my line of sight, a slight smirk curling his mouth. He raised his eyebrow in a telling manner. Perhaps Elio was not as respected within his ranks as we thought.
The string quintet in the corner began to play and I filed the new information away for later use. As the musicians began to play, a small woman dressed like a ballerina walked out of a curtained entrance and stepped up onto a small platform next to them. Something about her captured my attention like nothing else at the party had. She raised her arms and planted her feet in an unnatural-looking position before rising up on the toes of one foot and positioning the other leg behind her. She reminded me of a swan, graceful and beautiful.
She was dainty, her movements small yet fluid. She did a series of turns and leaps, the overhead stage lighting glinting off her white-blonde hair and glistening off the rhinestones in her fluffy skirt. Her shining hair gave the appearance of a halo and the makeup on her cheeks and eyes glittered in a multi-colored show of beauty. It reminded me of the Northern Lights.
Mo solas beag.
My heart hammered in my chest as I watched the girl I’d been sort of following for almost two weeks dance. I don’t know how long I watched her for but when Lorcan cleared his throat, I noted the song was different. I slid my eyes to his. His mouth was pinched, his nostrils flared and the crows feet beside his eyes grew more pronounced.
“Níl,” he said sternly. “Mo nia, that is a bad idea. We need this peace treaty.” My eyes found the little ballerina again and flicked back to my uncle.
“Not as badly as I want her, uncail.” My voice was not as confident as I had meant it to be, something in my gut trembling in the face of the pretty little ballerina.
“Want is a dangerous thing, mo nia,” Lorcan said, but I ignored him.
She danced through the whole party, her body graceful and never once stumbling. I could see her small chest rising in heavy breaths, a slight tightening around her mouth as she smiled at attendees admiring her from closeby.
Through dinner, drinks and late into the evening, she never stopped dancing, though I could see the strain her body was under. Her smile was tight and lined with discomfort, her eyes squinting with nearly every movement. There was no way it was easy to dance on her toes like that for hours on end. I found myself half-out of my seat when one of her spins ended less like the others, her other leg coming out of its position to catch her near-fall. She recovered quickly, sliding her body into a graceful backbend with her arms curled over her head toward the floor. Her torso extended and caused her ribs to protrude from her small, lean body in a pronounced way that had my cock twitching.
