Italian Ballerina Novels & Stories

Elena Romano showed up to the ball in style. She arrived in a sexy, black gown that hugged her figures like a dangerous secret. Her hair was perfectly styled, flowing over her shoulders in shiny waves of black. As she stepped into the ballroom, there was a sudden silence, quickly followed by hushed murmurs and whispers of both admiration and envy. Giovanni Tarini smiled delightfully when he set his eyes on her, abandoning the group he had been discussing with just to welcome her.

* * * * * * * * SIERRA "Alright, who told him?" I demanded. The girls in the dressing room, who had been rushing to finish their makeup and slipping on their outfits, all turned to me. I wagged my fingers at them. "Who told the Mafia guy that they were so jealous of the Vixens?" An arm wrapped around my shoulders. "Uh oh." Lilith, whose real name was Betty, sighed. "Who pissed off Odette over here?" I gave her a playful push. Apparently, they would never stop teasing me about ballet.

All four I've tried on in the last half hour made me feel more like a bride than the ones previous to them. I'm currently wearing a ball gown that's made of sheer material that glitters from every angle. It's Alfredo's most expensive dress at one hundred thousand pounds. The tule that covers the bodice is white, and the skirt is so large that my petite frame is swallowed up by it. Yet I resemble Cinderella, my blonde hair only highlighting the fact I'm an imposter in the world of Italians around me. Yet Anna gasps as she re-enters the room, her eyes wide with what I presume are happy tears.

Some more than I wished, since Killian insisted on introducing me to them, almost dragging me to their table. Some seemed bothered by my mere presence, while some seemed to be delighted and even offered me some compliments. Few recognized me as Madelaine Malvak, the famous ballerina and even fewer were actually real fans of what I was doing. I could not deny that this made me a bit sad, but there was nothing I could do about it, just hope I would have the freedom and time to keep dancing.

Or should I say I threw them all once again? Walking with my cheap heels that looked like only two dances or less and it will break, I saw three women with outfits not looking so far from what I am wearing. Though theirs are quite more revealing. "Ethel! Come here, let's prepare!" One of the dancers approached me. She's Morette, Moretta Agustin. She said we should be calling her 'Morette' since it sounded more classy and elegant than her real name, thus she became 'The Morette' of Artemis High-End Funclub.

"In this world, there are only 6 dancers who have the title of prima ballerina assoluta. They are Mikaela Xandrova and Gelya Alexandria from Russia, Alicia Folko from Australia, Maya Chironomidae from Sweden, Jasmine White from England, and Maria Horrorette from France." Stella observed some photos of the dancers she had just mentioned. She has a large collection of photos of female and male dancers on her smartphone. "Had I not quit ballet, would I have been possible to become a female dancer with the title of prima ballerina assoluta? It is because of that highest degree that my dream since the age of 7...." Stella ended her remarks with a bitter smile. She wiped away the tears that had es

But deep down, I know one thing for absolute certain: it is no longer hatred. I pull my phone from my pocket, keeping it out of her line of sight beneath the counter. I open the encrypted chat with my team and type out a fast message. ‘Gabriella told me her mother was an Italian ballerina here in New York. Look into any Italian ballerina from roughly twenty years ago who was connected to Tomaso. Find out what happened to her.’ I hit send. Somehow, I know that whoever this strange, unknown woman was, she is the key to tearing Tomaso’s empire to the ground.

De Luca was probing for a crack in the armor. Dante didn’t react. He kept his posture, didn’t let a single line on his face betray anything. “And what of it?” Luca smiled—a flash of white teeth in the dim light. “Well, it’s curious. Because they also say she was the prima ballerina of the Bolshoi. And that the Bratva doesn’t look kindly on one of the most powerful men in the ‘Ndrangheta kidnapping one of their girls.” Silence. Dante calmly lifted his glass, took a sip, and set it down without breaking eye contact.

I stood up from the tub and in quick movements dried out with the help of the young woman and did the same. The moment dried undergarments were on, I quickly wrapped another dry towel around me waiting for Ella to be done. And good thing, because no sooner had I secured it around me, the guard turned around. Asshole was hoping for a free show. A maroon ball gown cascaded down Ella’s body, accenting all her curves. She looked beautiful, her blonde hair and golden tone skin from our time in Italy, accented by the red colors. “Red is reserved for courtesans.” The guard’s gleeful voice had my heart instantly sinking.

Angelina asked professionally with a robot like tune to show him perfectly that she was there for business and nothing else. "Your the famous stripper........Bianca right?"He asked, his tune was deep and icy. "Yes sir" "If that is so, then, I want you to dance for me......"