Chapter 3

Dante’s pov

Everyone must be wondering what a guy like me is doing at a ballet recital. I stood at the corner watching, waiting in my charcoal suit and matte leather shoes. But what had people staring uneasily was the ghastly look on my face and my towering size. I didn't soften my face or attempt to seem approachable. I knew how people saw me and the way conversations stalled whenever I drew near. It was familiar, almost boring even, among the perks of being an enforcer for the Italian mafia. Most of these people had an inkling of who I was which I can confirm if I bothered to listen to their hushed whispers. Needless to say, they were not who I came here for. I arrived half an hour earlier to secure my usual spot at the deserted corner where I had the best view of my pretty ballerina on stage and I was well hidden from view. My leg bounced without me noticing. Every tick of the clock was louder than the last. The promise of what was coming filled me with anticipation and impatience. There is a poster of her with her toes in a pointy position and without thinking, I lift my finger to trace the contours of her face. She looks exquisite with her long raven hair tied in a bun framing her gorgeous round face. Her eyes are closed in the poster but I know they hold the glow of light brown like the sun through honey. Sometimes when I'm riddled with delusions, I think about asking her to dinner. We would go to the chic quiet restaurant in a tucked away spot in the city which I know she would absolutely love. But then the veil of my fantasy is ripped away and I'm reminded why I should never entertain such thoughts. She is too pure to be tainted by my filthy hands that have known more violence than gentleness. And that's what she deserves, someone gentle to listen to her talk and shower her with affection. I couldn't help the stab of jealousy at the thought of her belonging to anyone else other than me so I stopped that train of thought before I did anything stupid like lock her away for my eyes only. The faint notes of the piano drifted through the air which signalled the start of my ballerina's solo. She is a vision, twirling in her pink skirt -which I now know is called a tulle. There's a quiet confidence reflected in her dance and like a magnet, it draws me to her and I can't help but oblige. I watched with rapt admiration and imagined it's just the two of us in the theatre - her dancing and me beholding her unblinkingly. If only. Her posture looks regal and her moves effortless and God, she looks so painfully young. I shook my head and roused myself from my stupor. This obsession has gone for far too long and I was sure to be cautious about it. I am mad to be doing this. Crazy, insane even. What am I doing standing in a dark corner stalking a girl that young so maniacally? The melody wound down and like every time I came to watch her, I was sad at the thought of leaving her. I would have to wait for another one of her performances to have a chance to gaze upon her greedily. Before I made my way to the exit, I left her a bouquet and a note on her dressing table and rushed out before anyone caught me lurking. I got in my car that I parked across the street but I couldn't drive off. I am overcome with the need to go to her and kiss those pretty luscious lips before taking her out to dinner. Pent up frustration at myself clouded my vision that had me crushing the steering wheel in my grip. I berate myself for doing this dance every time her performances come to an end. Maybe I should stop coming to these performances altogether but I know I'm not fooling anybody by saying that. I know she deserves better than what I can offer her but I'll be damned if I let any man near her. Was it not clear already? SHE IS MINE. My mind was assaulted with images of her and her boyfriend, James which were posted in the tabloids. My blood boiled when I thought about every time he got to spend time with her and not me. James, son of Nathan Holdings and future heir to Holdings and sons firm was exactly what suited my ballerina on paper. The two of them made sense. Many attributed their compatibility to the fact that they’d lasted more than two years. They were seen together going on dates and pictured holding hands and even kissing in the tabloids. I held the steering wheel with a knuckle white grip as I recalled scrolling through endless photos of them together. It doesn't matter who she dated or kissed before me because none of that will matter when she's with me. I'll make her forget about all those puny undeserving boys she hung around. I'll replace their memories with my touch so that she never thinks of another man again. I was a coward for sitting on my hands about the whole situation. It's time my ballerina stopped fooling around with that little boy. I would bid my time until I orchestrated a suitable plan to have her all to myself. I hit the gas and sped away from her and everything that reminded me of her, going over the speed limit. Unbeknownst to her, I will claim her very soon and nothing could stop me from seizing what I wanted. I could be patient if she is the sweet prize I get at the end.