The Fall of the Swan

SIERRA

On the biggest night of my ballet career, with the audience applause still ringing in my ears, all I wanted was to celebrate with my boyfriend, Anton.

Instead, I walked in on him celebrating with someone else. 

“Oh, yes, yes!” she moaned, while he pumped into her on the sofa.

The bouquet of red roses in my arms crashed to the floor with a thud. I couldn't breathe because my chest began to burn to the highest point. 

Upon seeing me, they fell off each other, hurrying to pull on their clothes.

“Sierra?!” My so-called boyfriend and director, Anton, spoke in a hushed tone. The other woman stood frozen in terror.

“You son-of-a-bitch!” I snapped, glaring at him, and hot tears flowed from my eyes. “Sleeping with my backup dancer? In my dressing room!”

Anton gave a careless shrug. “You're talented.” Then he looked me up and down slowly like I was something cheap. “But offstage, let's face it, Sierra, you are like a wet rag, undesirable, and honestly, I'm bored with you.”

My fingers flew to my lips. 

Undesirable?

Then I yelled in outrage, flying at Anton with my nails scratching at his face, while the slut dashed out of the room.

Security had to pull me off Anton.

The next day, Anton officially fired me from his ballet studio and sued me for physical assault.

PRIMA BALLERINA GOES FERAL ON DIRECTOR.

The headlines splashed across media pages made things worse.

Thanks to him, no dance company in the world would ever hire me again. I lost my penthouse; all the money I had ever made went into payment for damages, leaving me homeless in France.

So, I packed my bags and flew to Boston to live with my older brother, Howard, who was also going through a major crisis.

They grabbed us in the dead of the night, tied us up, and gagged our mouths. When the blindfolds came off. We were face-to-face with a monster. 

The obese man sat at a table eating a turkey sandwich...at two a.m.?

“Monroe,” he spoke with a natural ease, biting through his food as if this were a normal situation for him. “I believe you owe me a debt.”

I quickly turned to my brother in panic. “Howard, what's he talking about?”

Howard's eyes grew wide with fear. “M—Mr. Santini, I can explain—”

The man sharply interrupted him. “Always with the excuses, but you had a lot of fun gambling and partying with my hard-earned money without inviting me. See, I'm also in debt; I have to pay off the Spinellis for my protection, and you don't want to owe the Mafia!”

I started shaking all over. My hands grew cold, and my knees felt weak. 

Oh God.

Not the Mafia!

Santini looked at Howard and demanded. “Do you have my money?”

“Give me two days!” Howard pleaded.

Santini didn't blink; he glanced at the large man in the corner. “Kill him.”

The large man pulled a cleaver from his coat, and Howard whimpered. As he advanced forward. I struggled in my chair to get free while screaming at Howard.

“How much do you owe?!”

“Three million.”

“Dollars or pesos? I will kill you myself, Howard!”

The man leaned over Howard, raising his cleaver, ready to strike.

I shouted at Santini. “Please, I can get you your money; just give me some time because I have many contacts!”

It wasn't entirely true; unless the cousin of the secretary to the Mayor of Paris had three million bucks to spare, we were done for!

“Kill her too.” Santini decided.

“Wait!” Howard exclaimed. “She's a dancer, Santini; look at her, she's got the perfect body.”

Howard and I exhaled in unison as the large guy backed off.

Santini rose and walked towards us. He eyed me with curiosity.

“Exotic?” he asked.

“Ballet,” I replied.

“Nice.” Santini nodded, cupping my jaw to examine my face. “Your beauty routine seems excellent. Hmm, you're so young and innocent, but I don't think you'll fit in with my girls.”

I looked at him desperately. Howard was the only family I had. “Yes, I can. I'm a quick learner. I'll work for free until his debt is cleared.”

Santini narrowed his eyes. “I'll take your word for it, but if you fail, there'll be no corpse left to bury.” His eyes flicked with humor. "That's all in the contract, by the way.”

I swallowed hard.

That was three years ago.

I still danced at Club Seven, with the Midnight Vixens. Santini had given me the stage name ‘Serena,’ and I wore a mask with a red wig so no one would recognize me.

At Club Seven, rule number one was to never touch a customer; once you do, there's no going back, and you become cheap in everyone's eyes.

I broke that rule tonight.

His name was Dante Spinelli, the current Mafia boss in the city. When Howard messed with the Spinellis, we had to hide for our lives, but Dante had no idea I was a Vixen. 

Each time we had to perform for Dante, he was either calling us whores or bitches. Santini wouldn't ban him for 'personal' reasons.

Dante was sitting on the long couch in the private lounge. While standing on stage, through my cat mask, I glared at his smug face.

“No!” I snapped at him. “We'll never dance for you again!”

“Are you nuts?” Nyx, whose real name was Brittany, whispered to me.

“Get out of here, Dante.” I hissed at him. “Come back when you show respect for women.”

Santini burst into the lounge. “What the fuck is going on here?”

“I changed my mind.” Dante said. “Your Vixens are a little pesky tonight.”

Santini turned pale, clamping his fists together. “Capo, is there anything else I can do to please you, for old times’ sake?”

Dog! I thought.

“All of them have to leave,” Dante demanded. 

We started to climb off stage.

Dante called back. “Except the redhead.”

I froze. 

Did I hear him right? 

Me? 

When we were alone. Dante said. “Alright, big mouth. Get to work, and don't waste my time.”

The smooth music started playing, I grabbed the pole, and started to move around it, with less enthusiasm because I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of a real performance.

I see him smile in a true and innocent way. 

Suddenly, I lost my balance and fell off the stage, right into his lap.

He laughed at me!

His eyes flickered in delight. “Was that part of the act?”

I scoffed, my cheeks heated, and I refused to look at him. “No!”

I quickly pushed against his chest, but he didn't move. Our faces were inches apart, and I could feel his breath against my lips. I froze as his eyes locked on to mine, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to pull away or lean closer.

How could this man rule the underworld and still appear innocent? 

Before I knew it, Dante's lips crashed against mine, my breath caught, and I felt his tongue slip through my teeth, sucking, and the pleasure of it drew me in until my lips tingled. 

Oh God, this feels so hot! 

Until he yanked the wig off my head.

I gasped, pulling away from his mouth, as he removed my mask and smirked at me.

“Well, if it isn't Monroe's baby sister.”