The Crescendo (The Musical Interlude) (8 page)

“Very well then. I’ll wait here, just outside the door.”

“Petting room?” I ask, smiling.

“Si, Signorina,” she confirms.

It’s a Bengal! I knew it.
No, I’m not the kind of woman who walks around with a tiger on a leash. I do not take my status as a celebrity that seriously. However, the prospect of owning a Bengal, something Jada and me always said we’d someday do when we took over the world, fills me with both happiness and accomplishment and nothing but adoration for the man with whom I’ve chosen to spend the rest of my life.

I follow the girl into the room and toward a large box sitting on the far end of the table, grinning so wide it makes my face hurt. Along with the large ventilation slots on the sides and across the top, a strange emblem of some type is plastered across the front of the box. It reminds me of one of those coat of arms thingies I’ve seen in spy movies. Right. So that’s a bit strange, but this is Alek’s way of giving in to my needs somewhat, so I’ll roll with his imagination and hope that the kitty hasn’t hyperventilated from being stuck inside a box.

“I’ll leave you alone with your new babies,” she says and quickly closes the door behind me. I’m too excited to even begin thinking about why she’d leave me alone with what could possibly be a wild animal that might maul me to death, considering it doesn’t know a thing about me.

I rip into the box, grinning wide and thinking of all the thousands of ways I’m going to violate that sexy ass Maestro of mine when he gets home. Inside the big box sits a smaller one that has tiny ventilation holes inside it just as the big one does and a note taped to the top. I lift it up, thinking: a) the kitten must be scared to death since it’s so quiet inside that box, and b) he must’ve been starved by his former owner since the box weighs about as much as a cell phone.

“
For all twelve of our babies
,” I read aloud.

Wow! When Alek gives in to one of our disagreements, he does so with all his heart. I rip open the top and freeze. I literally stand there with my eyes wide and my mouth hanging open while my brain and instinct catch up to what my vision’s processing. About twelve spiders that have bodies the size of quarters are making their way up my arms. What’s even more paralyzing to my body besides the bites I’m starting to feel is the red dots all over their bodies. Black and red on spiders never points to anything good.

The scream I hear in the distance suddenly comes into focus inside my ears, and that’s because I’m the one screaming. I start swatting and someone’s banging on the door.

“Erin! Unlock the bloody door!” Sam yells from the other side.

The venom from the multiple bites I’m receiving takes hold on my arm muscles and my abdomen. With that fast of a reaction it can only mean one thing—these spiders are some kind of weird looking black widow.

My legs start to lock up next. If my arms go out on me and I can’t get all these little shits off my body, then I’m finished. My life flashes before me as the room darkens.

“Sam! Help me!” I yell, dropping to my knees, my heart thudding so loud and hard I can hear it and feel the panic in my throat.

I manage to scoot toward the door, reaching toward the handle, feeling my forearms growing numb. With the small amount of strength I have left inside me, I fling my weakening body toward the door and latch my twisted fingers onto the lock, turning the knob that’s preventing the door from opening. I fall down in front of the door, my body blocking Sam’s entry, unable to move as my breath catches and hangs inside my chest.

Staring at the ceiling that’s shifting in and out of focus, I think of all the people I’m never going to see again—Alek, Selene, Adriana, Luca, Carla… my mom.

I start crying because the pain sets in next, burning straight through my skin and into the tissue of my muscle. Some of the little shits must still be attached to my body because I continue to feel pinches ripping at the parts of my skin that haven’t gone numb.

“Erin. Stay with me, love,” Sam says from somewhere far off in the distant remains of my subconscious mind. “You’re going to be fine. Just fine.”

I make one final attempt at nodding just before I give in to darkness.

Alek

I storm into the hospital, my chest swollen with anxiety, my head storming with worry. Most of all, my body is throbbing from the rage inside me. My worst nightmare has sprung to life. I knew it would be this way. If any permanent damage has been done to Erin, then I’m going to rip someone’s fucking throat out. That’s a promise.

I head into the intensive care unit, trudging straight past the nurses’ station, ignoring a woman calling out for me to stop. Mother has already texted Erin’s room number to me before I arrived. By the time I make it to Erin, I think I’ll probably have exploded from all the crazy shit going through my head.

She’s lying in a bed and must have at least ten tubes attached to her body, her tiny frame covered up to her bosom in sheets. Tubes protrude from her nose since apparently she’s had some trouble breathing after the attack.
Fuck! Somebody hurt Erin.
Monitors sitting beside her bed indicate her heart rate’s still pretty strong, however they manage to conjure up memories of the time I was in this predicament months ago.

Mother sits beside her bed, holding her hand, her eyes locked on Erin’s face so that she doesn’t notice me standing in the doorway. When her gaze meets mine, she blinks away her tears. I calm my
heaving chest and move over to Erin’s bedside, smoothing her hair back because I’m almost afraid to touch her. With her face makeup-free and her pale lips slightly parted, she looks completely innocent.

“She did not deserve this.”

“The doctors say she’s going to be fine, Aleksandr,” Mother explains. “She’ll be in pain for a few days, but they were able to get the anti-venom into her system in time.”

“Anti-venom? What the hell happened?” I ask Mother as she stands and places her hand over mine. I flinch. She and I are still getting used to these new people we’ve been trying to become over the past few months, so her sign of affection feels somewhat odd to me, but I’m trying to roll with this thing.

“She was lured into a pet shop by a fake employee. The real owners were found gagged and tied up outside a pier a couple blocks away. Apparently, you wrote a note telling Erin you had a gift for her.”

I scoff. “A note? Why would I do that instead of calling or even texting?” Outside of scribbling a few notes on music sheets, I don’t write anything. Both Mother and Erin know this.

“At any rate, she was lured into a back room and given a box filled with widows. The kind found in the Mediterranean.”

“Black widows? Fuck. Vladimir,” I hiss more at the thought of discovering this new information
than at my mother.

At once an image of a black widow tattooed all over the backside of a man who once taught me how to break someone’s neck with one well-aimed blow to the area underneath the chin springs into mind. The ink on Vladimir’s back covered the entire area, making the little red dots characteristic of this particular widow look about as real as any spider crawling across the ground. The eight legs were drawn so that they appeared to embrace various spots on his shoulders, waist and abdomen if you were staring at him from the front. The thing that most sticks out in my head is the way the design of the legs turned into tiny knives that dripped blood at the end of each one, a lewd design for a man with no scruples or morals, or even a conscience.

“There’s more, Aleksandr,” Mother says, a worried expression on her face. “There was an insignia on the box and a note that said ‘For all twelve of our babies’.”

That would be referring to the twelve boys in the combined gangs of The Master and Vladimir, the ones I encouraged to leave, destroying Vlad’s operation the day Nikolai and I broke free and returned home.

“He said I’d never leave. Told me there was only way out. Now look what I’ve done.”

I take Erin’s hand in mine, trying not to think of how many times she must’ve been bitten since her arms are completely covered in bandages. “Oh,
baby.” A wad of something knots up in my throat and I feel weak all of a sudden. Leaning over Erin, I place a light kiss on her dry lips, causing her to stir the tiniest bit. “Why after all these years has Vladimir decided to resurface?”

“I’m not sure,” Mother answers, but she’s staring at the floor. “Perhaps he thinks your father has lost interest in protecting his family?”

“You’re lying,” I accuse. Her face snaps up and she locks a hard gaze on mine. “This is war. I will personally see to the mutilation of each bastard who took part in this.” My voice raises more than I’ve intended, and Erin begins to stir.

“You’ll do no such thing. I’ve already attended to the situation. You’re upsetting, Erin.”

“Alek?” Erin’s groggy voice croaks. With what must be a great deal of effort, she manages to open her eyes, turning her head and focusing on me. I’ve never been so happy to see that dark gaze focused on me before.

“Easy, baby,” I say, kissing her lips and taking her right hand in mine, being extra careful with the way I choose to move her bruised fingers. “This will never happen again. I’ll make sure of it. I promise,” I assure her, taking both her hands in mine and covering them with kisses.

Mother must be able to sense my desire to be alone with Erin because she sighs and walks toward the door.

“Our conversation isn’t finished,” I remind her.

“Of course not,” she replies with another sigh and heads out the door toward Hagar who is standing in the hallway. He places a light jacket over Mother’s shoulders and embraces her as soon as she reaches him.

Turning back to Erin, I stroke her hair, smoothing the dark locks away from her face. “What were you doing? Trying to get out of singing the Rose for me again?”

“Oh, yeah. Gotta get my point across, you know?” She laughs and immediately starts coughing as a result, wincing as she does so.

“Easy, Jaybird.”

She manages to move a shaky arm up to my face, caressing my cheek. “I thought I was never going to see this beautiful face ever again.”

“Can’t get rid of me now, no.” I turn my face into her palm and kiss it. “You’re tattooed on my soul, baby.” She gives me a weak smile and even that small gesture seems like it causes her pain.

“As you are on mine,” she answers in a ragged voice.

“Didn’t I tell you not to go wandering off by yourself?”

“There was a note. I thought it was from you.” She closes her eyes, wincing.

“Somebody wanted you to believe it was, yes.”

“I’m sorry I’ve caused so much trouble.” Her eyes fill up with tears.

“You didn’t. I’m not upset. Hush now.” I kiss her forehead and try to contain the venom boiling
inside me. I don’t want Erin to know exactly how pissed off I truly am, the strength of the rage inside me, weakening my willpower and pulling me back toward the place I've worked so hard to avoid throughout the years. “Who found you? I should be thanking this person?”

“Sa—Mitch was there...” Erin answers as she glances toward the doorway behind me.

“Who the hell is Mitch?” I ask, turning my head.

“Hello, Aleksandr.” A guy who can’t be much older than Erin’s twenty-two years of age steps into the room. He’s tall but doesn’t quite meet my six-foot-two frame. The outfit he wears, tapered and created using expensive material, tells me he places a great deal of emphasis on his appearance. The way he stares me down, a suggestion
of a smile playing on his face while the deadly gleam in his eyes challenges me at the same time, hints at a man of prestige and importance and something else I can’t quite place. Nevertheless, I don’t like the way his gaze keeps drifting back and forth between Erin and me.

What’s his deal? My body tenses and I’m about ready to introduce him to my fist when he finally decides to speak up, almost as though he can sense what I am thinking of doing.

“I’m Mitchell Swansea. Your new booking agent. How is she feeling?” he asks with more concern in his eyes and voice than what should be considered normal, given the circumstances.

A storm of questions slaps me next. Why is he looking at my fiancée that way? Why am I getting the feeling that this isn’t the first time they’ve talked, or maybe even been near each other for that matter?

“It’s all right, love. The authorities will handle this,” he says to Erin. She frowns and blinks, hugging herself while doing so, signs that she’s uncomfortable.

“Love?” I repeat. Road manager or not, he best offer up an explanation for the way he just addressed my fiancée.

“Alek. This is Sam. We attended school together...” She hesitates a moment, sighing. “He’s from Lafayette, too. Well, not really, but you know what I mean.”

“Why the hell do they call you Mitchell Swansea then?” I ask, confusion fueling the heat inside my body. I glance back and forth between Erin and the Sam-Mitch guy. I smell Mother’s work all over this situation.

“It’s a pseudonym, which is handy throughout the social circles. It keeps the paparazzi at bay, as I’m certain you understand considering you use a variation of your real name as well,” he explains in his deep British accent. He’s too eager to comply with my questioning, which makes me not trust him.

“Guess that explains it then; Sam from Lafayette. I appreciate what you did for my fiancée.”

“Don’t be silly. I’d do anything for Erin,” he responds, and I don’t miss the meaning behind his words.

I lock gazes with the man who has rescued my fiancée, holding it, a silent conversation flowing between the two of us. I’m not completely certain, it’s only a hunch, but I have the feeling this could be the man who almost destroyed my chance of ever having a relationship with Erin. The territorial part of me stirs the bull inside me.

Erin gasps a bit, breaking the staring war happening between myself and our road manager. Right away, I turn my gaze back to her face.

Adriana bounds into the room next; her hair flowing loose and wild, and her jacket hanging halfway off her shoulders as though she has run a marathon to get here. She takes one look at Erin and covers her mouth, her face crumpling.

“Oh, Erin. What in the world happened?” She rushes toward the bed, leans over Erin, and hugs her as best she can since Erin’s lying down and every movement she attempts seems painful.

"Careful, Adriana," I say to my sister.

Luca Martuccio slips into the room next, nodding toward me, his keen blue eyes assessing the situation. One thing I respect most about the designer who has stolen my sister’s heart from my comrade, Nikolai, is his loyalty to my sister. Their relationship has grown stronger over the past six months, even though they still haven’t discussed wedding plans. After seeing the way he attacked the brutes who tried to kill me inside his shop, I have no doubt this man would kill, or at least seriously maim, anyone who would attempt to harm my sister. And if Luca didn’t succeed, then Nikolai would be waiting in the wings to finish the task. Adriana’s well-being has been covered, I do believe, which brings me back to the thought of Erin's safety and the man who rescued her today.

“Could we speak for a short moment, outside the room, Mr. Swansea?” I ask, locking gazes with the man who looks on my fiancée with more interest than I care to acknowledge.

“Certainly,” he answers and follows me into the hallway.

I steal a glance at Erin just before I leave her room. She’s caught up in a conversation with her old boss and my sister, so she doesn’t notice me heading into the hallway with her mysterious childhood friend, our tour manager who has been using a fake name.

Inside the waiting room down the hall, we confront each other. “Tell me how it is that you just happened to have been hanging out with my fiancée on this day, Sam from Lafayette?”

He makes a light laugh and shakes his head the slightest bit. “Perhaps the important question you should be asking yourself is why you weren’t the one rescuing her instead of me.”

Son of a bitch!
“I had business to attend to.” He doesn’t need to know that the task involved Gina. She had called and wanted to explain why she caused all those issues for me last week, insisting we talk in person. Being naturally suspicious of people who choose to insert dramatics into my life, I agreed to meet her; but when I arrived at the suggested spot, she wasn’t there.

“So you lied to Erin?” he asks and I can tell by the way he’s staring at me and his accusatory tone that he probably thinks I was cheating on her, yet another aspect of my past I can’t seem to shake.

I ground my temper. For some reason our road manager chooses to taunt me. “Who the hell are you? I don’t buy this booking agent shit, Mitch Swansea. Ah, yes, that’s not your real name.”

As his smile fades and a deadly gleam enters his eyes, my street survival instincts kick in and I stare him down, man to man. Obviously the woman I love means a great deal to this guy.

“You travel the world, have women falling at your feet, claiming to be such a big time prodigy, yet you have no idea what goes on in your own fiancée’s mind? Well, Sir Dostov, that sounds like a personal problem to me.”

“Make no mistake of my gratitude for what you did to help Erin, but I will not be pushed around by someone who chooses to use my family’s name to achieve his own personal goals. Including getting closer to my fiancée.”

“Consider my advice. Get to know your fiancée before someone else does.” He steps around me and moves toward the door.