The Dark Duet (18 page)

“Your brother? Bu–but ... you told us ...”

“I told you what you needed to hear in order to stop you from blaming yourself for the rest of both our days. Little good that did,” I explain. Turning away from me, she crosses her arms.

“Told you I was the selfish one. I don’t deserve to be happy,” I say more to myself than Adriana. She swivels around and gives me an incredulous look.

“Why do you feel that way? Because of you, I didn’t get raped that night we escaped Moscow. Because of you, I grew enough guts to follow my dreams, even when my heart was hurting for my father.” Moving closer to me, she places her hands on my thighs and says, “And because of you, I’ll always be haunted by that infamous question that has followed people to their graves since the beginning of time. I’ll always wonder, what if?” Her confession shocks me into silence. This makes the first time she has ever admitted she has doubts about choosing Luca over me. We lock gazes, the intensity of the unspoken words flowing between us silencing me.

“Oh, Adriana. Don’t do this right now. Please,” I beg, closing my eyes. She’s referring to the time eight months ago when she had to choose between myself and her fiancé, Luca Martuccio. Because of my scheming, I lost her heart forever ... or so I thought. This conversation we’re having both disturbs and excites me. I open my eyes and caress her cheek.

“I don’t consider myself to be nobody. You know what that means? Anybody who can make me feel the way you’ve done in the past has to be somebody special.” Her sea-blue eyes gleam with sincerity as our gazes lock. “No more pushing your family away. Let us help you through whatever it is you have going on. That’s what we Dostovskys do.”

“You are beautiful for offering. Your words inspire me. Yet I have something I must finish. You, Alek, and Katerina need to continue keeping distance between us,” I explain. She opens her mouth to say something, but I place two fingers on her lips. “This is for your own good. Please say you trust me.”

“I trust you,” she whispers. “Can I at least come to the show tomorrow night?”

She’s even more persistent than her brother. “Bring your driver and your fiancé.”

“Yes, Daddy Nikolai. You’ve built a little empire over here. I’m so proud of you. But don’t turn your back on a chance at happiness, okay?”

“I will consider your wise words, yet again.”

What’s left to think about? Alese hates me. I have built the empire Adriana speaks of with money bled from the bones of Rudolph Burkenstein’s victims, plus Vladimir’s circle of violence and slave trade as well for that matter. For the time being, I’ll focus my attention on my first love, the one constant woman in my life—Inamorata.

CHAPTER 20

~
Nikolai~

It’s opening night and Maleficent faces a full house. The dancers prance around in high spirits. They’ve worked hard and put up with my tirades during practice, the fits of anger that had absolutely nothing to do with them, so they deserve this moment. As the soloists file into the symphony pit just below the main stage, I truly begin to understand the results of my actions. My gaze lands on Alese’s empty seat in the violin section, and all I can think about is how easily I have allowed her to walk away. Now, I find I’m more lost than I’ve ever been before.

Focus. Dance. This is your night.

Lose yourself inside the music.

“Signore! Goodness to Mary!” Paolo calls out to me as he approaches, his hand laid up against his chest. “Three no-shows in the symphony. Three! I think I’ll have myself a heart attack now. I can’t believe this is happening.” Dressed in black silk tights and a dark Conquistador-style shirt, which is trimmed in gold on the sleeves and breast, he’ll be dancing the role of the prince, while Harmony Tomczak will dance as his princess, the sleeping beauty, and Melody, her ambitious twin, will dance the role of Maleficent.

“And where is our violinist? The same girl who happens to be the provider of lush, sexy harp music for my lovely princess and me. What have you done to her this time?” he chides.

I round on him. “How do you conclude I am the one to blame for Alese— Miss Ballentine’s absence? It’s blaringly obvious she isn’t here, yes? The show goes on without her.” We stare each other down. Several intense moments pass before Paolo backs off. He might be a touch superficial and pompous when it comes to his choice of clothing and food, but he takes matters that affect the theatre—especially this production since it’s also his debut—to heart. His loyalty to Inamorata is what I most respect about him.

“Get ready to go on stage. The violins will cover both of Miss Ballentine’s parts.” I nod to Crow standing behind him.

“The musicians are all in place, sir,” Crow explains.

Paolo rolls his eyes and throws up his hands. “This company will be the death of me,” he mutters in Italian as he walks away.

“Any word on Alese’s whereabouts?” I ask Crow when we’re alone backstage.

He shakes his head. “I used every available channel. Even checked with the guys I used to run with before you hired me. Nothing. I’ve never had anyone elude me this way. Alese Ballentine is truly like a ghost.”

“That she is,” I say, turning away and focusing my attention on the forest scene set up on the stage, even though I’m not really looking at the admirable intricacies of the details.

I hang out in the wings, encouraging my dancers and getting ready to step on the stage in front of the crowds of adoring fans. However, inside I remain empty. I’m dancing the roll of the king; and when the cue for me to begin my part comes, I toss my body out onto the stage, making sure to inject every bit of pain, remorse, and anger storming inside of me into each step I make as the father who has discovered he has been betrayed. I dance, but it doesn’t fill me with joy the way it usually does. At this moment, I suddenly understand the uselessness of fulfilling myself when I am still broken inside.

And then the sound of a harp fills my ears.

Paolo hesitates at first as he glances across the stage toward me. Right away, he begins smiling and resumes his dance. My heart thuds so badly, I’m almost afraid to turn around. But I do. Alese sits in the middle of the stage, her fingers gracefully strumming the chords while her body sways back and forth, caught up inside the passion of each seductive note she releases from the harp’s strings. She wears a light blue dress that shows off the elegance of her shoulders and flows around the seat she’s sitting on, reminding me of a goddess; and her hair, those luscious locks that drive me wild each time I run my fingers through the soft strands, flows down her back in rivulets of loose, dark brown waves.

My ghost has appeared from inside the realms of which she has disappeared. Even Crow struggles to stay focused on conducting the strings as the violinists play softly in the background, making the whole moment seem as though we have stepped into a dream. Crow’s well-coiffed head has turned several times since Alese started playing. He keeps checking her out as the harp’s segment ends and the lights dim. Hell, we both do. I am so relieved I could probably pirouette onto the roof. A row of dancers surround the place where Alese sat, and when the line divides there’s nothing but an empty stage. My ghost has vanished as quickly as she appeared, haunting me as nothing has ever done before.

I manage to finish the show and storm backstage, hoping that maybe she found it in her heart to forgive me. I didn’t think she would bother with this show tonight, but she did ... because she loves me. I can feel it as I’ve never felt anything before, and cannot walk away from something we’ll both regret.

“I tried to find her after the harp segment ended,” Crow says to me while we stand in the back office later that night. “Sorry, Nikolai.”

“Do not apologize, for a ghost will be found only when it chooses to be.” Like myself, the one they call the Phantom. I return to an empty apartment with an empty heart.

~Nikolai~

Not even the stellar reviews of my production scattered across the front page of the Courier’s arts section the next morning eases the impending sense of doom, a strong sense that some catastrophe is about to happen, but I’m not certain about what that could be. The feeling stays with me over the next couple of weeks, during which time I’ve yet to see Alese at all. This feeling has to be about her. Either she’s in trouble or about to find herself that way. I don’t need the gift of a psychic to know Burkenstein is involved. I want to speak to her, to apologize, to explain, but I’m not sure I can do all those things. To be honest, I’m not sure I’m the person I thought I could be.

There’s only one way to find out.

Setting my newspaper down on the kitchen table, I pick up my BlackBerry and choose not to bother with texting Alese. My call goes straight to voicemail. “Fucking answering machine!” I slam my hand down on the table and dial her number again. No luck. She’s avoiding me; understandably so. However, I’m not the type to give up on something, or someone in this case, who I believe belongs to me. Throughout the day, I call several more times and leave many different versions of my apology.

What the fuck are you doing? This isn’t your style, this matter of begging a woman.

I stop calling for a couple of hours between lunch and dinnertime. Later that evening, I try again. I don’t get a voicemail message this time. Instead, she answers, but doesn’t say a word. My heart leaps into my throat. “Alestasia!” I say with more desperation in my voice than I mean to use.

“Ah, she’s Alestasia to you now,” a male’s thick voice says on the other end. Every muscle in my body coils and my mouth goes dry, the bitter taste of revenge rushing through me yet again.

“Where. Is. She?” I ask, my free hand forming a fist.

“Indisposed. Away from the likes of you. The man who would kill her husband and then fuck her inside his bed.”

“You fucking liar ... She’ll never believe you.”

“You’ve made quite the enemy in our little ghost, I’m afraid,” he continues in an amused tone. “I suspect you should consider the consequences of your actions if you choose to continue on this quest Vladimir sent you on.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not the one who bends over like a dog for Vladimir, Burkenstein,” I hiss.

“But you did. Many times in fact, I hear. Yet you don’t remember the extent of your services thanks to my handiwork.” He chuckles like the evil bastard I know him to be. A strong sense of déjà-vu begins coursing through me, making me think of something that eludes me and has escaped my memory for years.

What set you off on this path of pain and love, and darkness and light, Nikolai?
Alese had asked me before, the night I trusted her enough to open up about my fucked up past.

The emotions surrounding me as I recapture the memory of that moment, the most humiliating yet liberating night of my life, threaten to put me down. More than ten years have passed since then, yet some things remain etched in the folds of our minds for the rest of our lives.

“Silence from that mouth of yours. Finally,” Burkenstein’s voice says on the other end of the phone. “Yes, I will say what you won’t allow yourself to believe. You were his dog, his slave, his little bitch up until the day he broke you. And you were a feisty one, oh yes. Yet, he preferred you over all of the others, the unfortunate ones, the bodies he tossed into the sea as though they were maggots. Vladimir held you as his slave in all ways, trained you in his image, silencing the weak little boy until the day he turned you into a cold-blooded killer. I was brought in to erase your memories, to watch over you throughout the years. And then you were sent to live with the Master Phoenix.”

“You lie,” I growl.

“Am I lying, Nikolas? You lose track of time, do you not? As the Phantom, you experience days when you have no idea of where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing, right? Why do you think I approached you about becoming my negotiator? How do you think Gash was able to get into your place so easily?”

Because he’s done it many times before without me knowing, and because I was fucked up in the head, which explains the headaches, mood swings, and why I wouldn’t remember handling Alese’s husband.

Pain shoots through my clenched fist and short bursts of air escape me, leaving me feeling winded and nauseous. Why can’t I remember negotiating a deal with Aaron Jeffers before I supposedly ordered his assassination? Something doesn’t make sense.

“Nevertheless, your job is done, and Alese will make a very useful tool. Especially on this night,” Burkenstein continues, while I stand on the other end of the phone holding my thoughts together. “I’m thinking her first course of action will be to avenge those she has lost. An eye for an eye, or in this case, one family member for another.”

“You tell that bastard of a fake spider god no one messes with my family,” I hiss. “I will take you down and anyone else who rises up against my people.”

I get Burkenstein’s oily laugh as my response. “We’ll see.” The line goes silent.

Can the woman who has stolen my heart be capable of turning against me this way?
You’re responsible for murdering her husband you fucking idiot! What do you think?