Drawn To Darkness (Kings Of Mafia)

(3 months later…)

Life has been so fucking busy the past few months I’ve lost track of time.

I’ve been helping Renzo with some shit and neglected my own businesses.

Renzo’s one of the five heads of the Cosa Nostra, and over the past few months, we’ve grown closer. My friend kidnapped the best chef in the Northern Hemisphere, and somehow, Skylar fell in love with him.

Lucky bastard.

I’m not going to lie. When he first brought her to his place, I had feelings for the woman, but when I saw them fall in love with each other, I let that shit go. Now I view her the same as the other wives.

Christ. Out of the five of us, only Damiano and I haven’t bitten the bullet. Angelo and Franco are fathers and happily married, and I’ll bet every last dime to my name Renzo will have a ring on Skylar’s finger before the end of the year.

Damiano will probably never marry. If he does, I pity the woman he chooses. He’s the capo dei capi – the boss of bosses, and I swear the man’s blood runs cold in his veins. I’ve tried to form a deeper friendship with him, but only Angelo’s managed to break through Damiano’s hard-as-steel exterior.

Unlike the other four capos, I don’t surround myself with soldiers. I prefer to work alone. Then again, I don’t need an army of guards because my primary source of income comes from hacking and finding out information no one else can.

The capo title is something I’ve inherited from my father. I mentioned to the other four to vote someone else into my place, but they didn’t want to hear about it.

Besides the ballet company, I also own an opera house. That’s where my true passion lies.

Honestly, if I hadn’t been born into this position of power, I wouldn’t be in the mafia. Where Angelo, Franco, and Renzo trade in illegal arms and counterfeit goods, Damiano makes his fortune from extortion, property control, and construction.

Sure, I can fight, and I’m one of the best snipers, but I’d rather make love than war. It takes a lot to get me upset, and I’m probably the most patient and understanding out of the five of us.

With things calming down a little and Renzo no longer taking up so much of my time, I’m finally able to visit the ballet company. I was hoping to get here earlier, but I got held up at the opera house.

As I near the first studio, my eyes scan over all the dancers. I’ve always loved fine art, plays, and opera shows. When I discovered the ballet company was on the market, I didn’t waste any time purchasing it.

There’s just something magical about this world.

I watch as the women practice, their graceful movements in perfect sync. One of the ballerinas notices me, and she stumbles over her feet, earning her a stern scolding from the teacher.

I move on to the next studio, where three women have just finished with a session. This time, I’m spotted instantly, and before I can make my escape, they come rushing toward me.

One of the dancers breaks away and holds her hand out to me. “Mr. La Rosa! I’m Phoebe. It’s such an honor meeting you in person.”

“Nice to meet you,” I murmur.

I shake her hand, and as I pull away, she brushes her palm over my bicep, looking up at me with blatant interest.

For a moment, I contemplate asking her to join me for dinner, but then a certain woman pops into my mind. I’ve only seen the dancer once, and she was nothing like the perfect ballerina in front of me. Quite the opposite.

The woman I saw a while back had wild black hair, and she danced with so much passion it instantly gripped my attention. Her movements weren’t perfect, which only lent to her wild persona.

“Would you…” Phoebe starts to say something.

I cut her off with a curt, dismissive nod while murmuring, “Ladies.”

Walking away, I glance into the other studios, and when I don’t see the mysterious dancer, I feel disappointed. It would be a pity if she no longer danced at my company.

I head to Mrs. Stafford’s office. The dancers call her Madame Stafford, and she’s responsible for running the company.

When I step into her office, a welcoming smile curves her lips as she says, “It’s been a while since you graced us with your presence.”

I take a seat opposite her desk. “I’ve been busy.”

She presses a button on her desk phone. When her receptionist answers, she orders, “Please bring two cups of tea.”

She leans back in her chair, and her eyes sweep over my face. “Are you just visiting, or is there something I can help with?”

“Just visiting. How’s the preparation for the winter show coming along?”

“Very good,” she replies. “We have three ladies who shine above the rest.”

Probably the dancers I just met.

The office door opens, and Astrid brings in a tray of tea. After she sets it down on the desk, she leaves, and I wait for Mrs. Stafford to hand me a cup before I ask, “Do you know all the dancers?”

She nods while taking a sip of her beverage. “As you’re aware, every applicant has to audition before they’re permitted to join the company.”

“I ran into a dancer a while back. She’s a head and a half shorter than me and has curly black hair that reaches past her shoulders. Gray eyes,” I say, hating that I don’t have a better description of the woman.

Mrs. Stafford lets out a contained burst of laughter. “Half our dancers have black hair.” She glances at the diamond-encrusted wristwatch, then mentions, “The rehearsal is about to start. Will you be joining me?”

Finishing the tea, I set the cup down as I rise to my feet. “Of course.”

Leaving the office we make our way to the auditorium where the rehearsal has just begun. I take a seat in the middle of all the rows, and soon, I’m absorbed by the graceful movements of the ballerinas.

When the performance ends two hours later, I remain seated while the auditorium clears out. Silence wraps around me as I soak in the ambience left behind by the dancers.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and pulling it out, I see a notification from the facial recognition program I have running at home. I’ve been searching for Servando Montes, a dead-man-walking, who’s at the top of Renzo’s list of enemies.

The match is only partial, and after checking the photo of a man at a gas station, I delete the notification and pocket my cell phone again.

I’ve been getting a ton of partial matches, and a few weeks ago, I almost tracked down Montes in Europe. I’m tired of the cat-and-mouse game and wish the fucker would crawl out of whatever hole he’s hiding in so we can put an end to this shit.

The lights turn off, filling the auditorium with darkness, and it has me digging my phone out of my pocket again. Checking the time, I see it’s already past nine.

I suppose I better go home and get back to work.

Letting out a sigh, I get up from the seat I’m occupying and use the flashlight on my phone as I make my way to one of the exits.

The place is empty as I walk toward the section where the studios are, but as I turn up the hallway, I hear music playing.

The corner of my mouth lifts, and when I reach the open door of the studio, the lyrics, ‘I was here,’ fill the air as the elusive dancer I was asking Mrs. Stafford about does a double twirl before leaping through the air.

My heartbeat speeds up as I watch the mistake-riddled dance unfold before me, and a sense of calm I’d pay millions for pours through my body.

The woman must be a beginner because her movements lack grace and years of training, but still, I can’t tear my eyes away from her.

Unlike most ballerinas, her skin is tanned, and her black hair isn’t tied back in a tight bun. She’s wearing a mismatched outfit, and her feet are bare.

She’s the complete opposite of the ballerinas who work themselves to the bone to achieve perfection.

My eyes rove over her tanned skin, glistening with a layer of sweat, and the sight makes lust unfurl in my chest.

The first time I saw her and we had the short interaction, I felt the attraction between us. Where I felt protective of Skylar when we met, I want to throw this woman down on the floor so I can rip the tight shorts and flimsy shirt off her body.

There’s an urge to see if she’s strong enough to handle a rough fuck.

My phone begins to vibrate, and with a frown forming on my forehead, I pull the device out.

Seeing Renzo’s name on the screen, I answer, “What’s up?”

The black-haired beauty’s eyes lock on me, and even though surprise flashes over her features, she continues to dance.

“Nothing,” he replies. “Just wanted to check in with you.”

My gaze remains glued to the woman as she runs toward me, and a couple of steps away, she suddenly stops before moving backward while her arms appear to be reaching for me.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

I have to suppress the urge to grab hold of her and blink like a lust-struck idiot while I mutter, “No news yet. The moment the fucker pops up, you’ll be the first to know.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asks.

“No. I’m watching one of the ballerinas.”

I hear laughter in his tone as he asks, “Watching or stalking?”

My eyes narrow on the beauty as she leaps into the air. “Both.”

Renzo chuckles before teasing me by saying, “You gonna be her mystery man?”

“Nope, that’s Franco’s title.” We give Franco endless shit about the name Samantha, his wife, gave him.

One song blends into another, and when my dancer doesn’t stop, it fills me with satisfaction.

“She knows I’m watching, and I think she loves it,” I tell my friend.

“Hmm…sounds like you have the hots for her,” Renzo continues to tease me.

If hots equate to lust and wanting to have her legs wrapped around me, then yes.

“Watching her dance calms me,” I admit in a low tone.

“You can do with some calmness in your life. I’ll talk to you later. Enjoy the show.”

“I will,” I chuckle before ending the call and focusing all my attention on the dancer.