Page 5 of Bound By Hate (Born in Blood)

And before I know it, I’m standing up and tossing my napkin at Vera’s face. She gasps like I just threw gasoline on her and lit her on fire. “I am better. I am the Bratva princess.”

“Not anymore,” Vera says. “Now that my husband is in charge, my daughters will run this world. You’re old news, Viktoriya. Do yourself a favor and get married. And put aside that ego of yours.” She chitters, and the other women join her.

I walk away before I can make an even bigger fool of myself.

I find myself standing outside Celine’s dance studio. She was my instructor and is the choreographer for the New York City ballet.

I wipe away the tears that have spilled from my eyes after that horrible luncheon, rip open the door, and walk inside. Celine is in the middle of teaching a class to four-year-olds. If Mila were here, she’d be gushing over all of them.

But she’s not. I’m here, and I find four-year-olds to be annoying and disgusting with their sticky hands and needy ways.

I catch Celine’s eyes, and she gives me a warm smile. I wait for the class to be over, and once it is, she approaches me. “Viktoriya,” she says in a faint French accent. “I haven’t seen you around in a while.”

“My ankle has been healing.”

“I was so sad when that happened. You were one of the best dancers I’ve ever worked with.”

Wereone of the best?I think. “I’m still a dancer,” I remind her.

“Oh, of course, of course,” she says too quickly. “I just meant … well, I assumed …”

“You assumed wrong. Once my ankle is fully healed, I’ll be back to dancing soon.”

“Well …” She averts her gaze.

“Well, what?”

“It’s not just … your ankle, Viktoriya.”

I cross my arms and stare Celine down. She’s worked with me since I was four years old. She knows I don’t back down from anything. “What is it, Celine?”

She sighs. “It’s … everything. Your weight.”

“My weight?” I wrap my arms around my stomach. “What about my weight?”

“It’s obvious you’re still thin, but … just looking with my eyes, you’re too big now to be a ballet dancer.”

Before, I was barely a hundred pounds. And as a taller woman, at five-seven, I know I was underweight. Ever since my ankle broke and I haven’t been able to move as much, I’m now resting around a hundred and twenty-five pounds. If I’m being honest with myself, I’ve preferred the way I’ve been looking lately.

But Celine’s words punch me in the gut.

“I … weigh too much?” I ask.

“You have hips now, Viktoriya,” she says gently. “You’re not as thin as you once were. Maybe once your ankle is ready and you drop a few pounds, I’ll consider letting you dance again on stage, but until then …”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. First, I’m not good enough for Vera and her band of insipid bitches. Now, I’m not good enough for ballet.

“But I’m technically in a healthier weight range now,” I say, feeling dumb as I say it.

Celine shrugs. “That’s not good enough. I need you skinnier.” She reaches her hand out and hovers it over my arm before dropping her hand. “I’ll talk to you later.” She leaves me standing in the dance studio I once trained hours in, all alone, feeling completely unworthy of anything.

The moment I get back home, I rush to the kitchen, grab a piece of cheese, and stuff it into my mouth. Then I feel myself swallow, and I regret it instantly.

Rushing to the sink, I stick my fingers down my throat and force myself to throw back up my food. The acid burns my throat and tastes disgusting, but the second the food is out of me, I feel instantly lighter.

“What are you doing?” Mila’s voice makes me jump.

I wipe my mouth and turn to her. “What?”

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