“What is?” My brows draw in. I’ve been on this train for hours and not one person has spoken to me. A creeper stared for a while, but he eventually moved or got off. Not that I want conversation. I’m exhausted.
She reaches for the piece of paper, her gaze roaming over the words as her head jerks from side to side, a sneer on her lips. “They say it’s an open audition, but in reality, Swan School of Dance doesn’t accept nobodies. They invite people they plan to enrol—the rest is just for show.”
My stomach knots. My jaw tenses. Snatching the flyer back, I smile. “Good thing I was invited.” It’s an easy lie that slips right over my tongue, but my eyes betray me as they fill with anxious tears.
If that’s true, I wasted the last of what little money I had coming here. I don’t even have enough to stay in a hotel. It’s why I couldn’t travel the day before the auditions.
Our farm is in debt. It’s a sinkhole that hasn’t sunk yet. I knew coming was a longshot, but there aren’t schools that could offer me a career back home.
Back home…
Oh god. I can’t go back there and end up like mom. Bitter, and cruel.
She had been a dancer when she met my dad. They married young and moved back to his hometown to take over his family farm. She gave up her dancing dream when her real dream happened: having me.
Lies. Lies. Lies.
When I was young, I’d allowed those words to bloom within me, to flourish and nurture me. Eventually, her words turned to angry rants about wasting her youth, her ability, me ruining her body. “It’s never the same after a baby. Don’t make my mistakes.”
“You must be good,” the girl says in a soothing voice, bringing me back from my thoughts. I am good, but am I good enough? Does it even matter?
“Good luck,” she quips, shouldering a duffle bag and heading toward the doors. As the train slows, so does my heartbeat.
This is it.
I’m here.
Chapter Five
Luca
I fucking hate being in the same building as my kid brother. The arrogant, drunk prick grinds my gears, and I don’t have the fucking patience today.
“It’s those motherfuckers opening up new clubs. They want to give ours a bad reputation. It’s not uncommon, Luca.” His voice erratic and slurred. It’s not even lunchtime.
He swipes at his nose, then pinches it to elevate the tingling as he paces my home office floor.
There are multiple wings in this house and yet he always lurks in my damn office spewing out stories he made up in his head to give him a reason to incite violence and chaos.
I like chaos too, but only when it’s warranted and controlled. There’s no room for rash decisions.
“You’re high and not thinking clearly, Antonio. Like fucking usual. Can you not go one day without snorting that shit?” I growl, my nostrils flaring.
His lips pull back. “Stop worrying about what I’m doing and start coming up with a plan to make these cunts pay. That we’re just accepting this kind of attack is an embarrassment.”
My hands twitch with the need to tighten around his neck. “It’s been one fucking day—and there’s no we. My club, my employee, my problem.”
“Nah.” He shakes his head and walks over to my liquor stand. Popping the lid off a bottle of three-hundred-dollar whiskey, he takes it down like it’s water. Pointing at me, the bottle curled in his fist, he says, “Leto is the name on that club—not fucking Luka. This is a fuck you to all of us, and Dad agrees.”
Motherfucker. Getting to my feet, I round my desk and prowl toward him. Grabbing the little prick by the lapels of his shirt, I smash his back against the wall.
“Stop telling tales to our sick father to get your dick off on a little carnage. When I find out who did this and why, you’ll know. If you’re sober and not wired out of your face, I may let you play with their insides.” I release him and swipe down his shirt to straighten the creases I made.
Snatching the bottle from his hand, his glassy eyes lower. “Until then, go eat something and take a shower, for Christ’s sake. You smell like a bum who sleeps on a park bench.”
“Whatever.” His face twists into an ugly sneer before he leaves the room, slamming the door behind him, rattling the glass bottles.
Ever since Annemarie slit her wrists in their bathtub, he’s been drinking from dawn ’til dusk and taking his rage out on anyone foolish enough to look his way.
I allowed him time to grieve. Now, it’s time to sober up and come back to the fold. There’s no room for reckless assumptions.
We have enemies waiting for us to slip up and do something stupid so they can pluck at the threads until our kingdom unravels. We have to be smart. I have to be smart.