Page 11 of Devil of Vegas

Detective Hale Monroe, not a name that I am unfamiliar with. He’s not just a cop, he’s adirtycop, one that works both sides of the law and both sides of the criminal underground. He’s not exactly a friend of my family’s and I’ve had run-ins with him in the past. His aim is mostly likely to ruin me. Unfortunately for him, that will never happen.

“Thank you, Gabriel,” I say as I slide the business card into my pocket and stand up to leave.

For the rest of the day, I try to focus on business. I call a few meetings, check on a few deals, and send my underboss, Alonzo,to the dance studio to shake things up with Madame Dunant a bit before there’s trouble. But after finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate and calm my nerves, I decide to return to the penthouse and to Isla. She is the problem I need to solve so that I can move on with everything else. While I’m stewing over her, my enemies are making moves in the city to steal territory and undermine some of my own business channels. I have to organize my affairs and compose myself for clear thought. And the one thing that always works to soothe me, ironically, is the ballet.

I’ve always found the ballet a place of peaceful beauty. My mother instilled an appreciation for the art when we were children. While my father engaged in more violent and volatile matters, my mother would take my sister and me to the theatre to watch performances of Swan Lake and Giselle, in order to keep our young minds protected from the horrors that occurred off the stage. To this day, it’s still my refuge. And it just so happens that I have an extremely talented ballerina in my possession right now.

Before I make my way back to the penthouse, I stop at the theatre. Because the missing dancer hasn’t returned, they have stopped all performances, so the theatre is now empty. However, they typically leave the back door unlocked for deliveries and dancers to access the rehearsal space. When I first walk inside, I figure there’s a chance Isla’s dance shoes might still be here. They must have fallen out of her bag backstage when she witnessed The Devil in his true form. Almost as soon as I walk behind the stage, I see Isla’s ballet shoes sitting on top of a long, narrow table that has been made into a sort of altar, complete with flowers, caring notes, and a picture of the missing ballerina. I suppose this sort of thing might be sentimental to most. To me, it’s simplyopportune.

I take the shoes from the table without a second thought and bring them back to the penthouse with me. When I get there, Zara is sitting at the table with her laptop in front of her and the door to Isla’s room remains closed.

“Any luck with her?” I ask.

“Nope. She’s an iron fortress of resistance,” Zara laughs. “She’s definitelynothappy to be here.”

“Yeah, that much I know,” I groan. “Maybe these will help. Give them to her and tell her I want to see her dance.”

Zara eyes the ballet shoes in my hand and shakes her head as she takes them from me. “Isn’t there some saying about how you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink?”

“Just do it.”

It takes less than two minutes for Zara to return empty-handed. “She took the shoes.”

“Good,” I nod. “That’s progress.”

“I wouldn’t say that. She threw them at the wall and said to tell you togo to hell.” Zara chuckles as she picks up her laptop and heads for the door. “I need to verify the camera update. Good luck with her. She’s a handful.”

For several minutes, I stand within the penthouse, straining to hear Isla’s pointe shoes. But the silence drives me stir-crazy, and my nerves unravel. I finally go to her room and throw the door open, taking a different approach with her this time.

“Dance,” I order.

“Go to hell,” Isla repeats without even turning to look at me. Although she looks away, I see her eyes reflected in the windowpane.

“What makes you think you can defy me?” I ask, striding toward her and stopping only when my chest is practically against her back. “I brought you your ballet shoes, and now I want to see you dance.”

Isla turns around slowly. The space between us is so tight that I can practically feel her trembling. She’s scared, but trying not to show it.

“Is that how you think this works?” she asks as she glares up at me. “Are you going to force my feet into the shoes and bend my body to move? Because unless you plan to do that, thenI refuse. I don’t feel like dancing.”

“I don’t believe you,” I say, keeping my temper at bay. “I think that your body is likelyachingto move after being cooped up in this room. You haven’t been able to dance since you got here, and you’re probably used to training for several hours a day.”

She says nothing, but the look in her eyes and the flinch of her muscles tell me I’m right.

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll make you a deal,” I offer. “If you dance for me, then you can earn your freedom.”

“What? You’re kidding me, right? Is this some sort of sick trap?”

“No, it’s anoffer. Watching ballet helps me calm my nerves. So, if you dance for me, I’ll repay the gesture by allowing you one step closer to getting out of here. Every step you take in your pointe shoes across the penthouse floor will be a step closer toyour release. You can think of this place as your new stage for now, and your dancing will be your way out.”

She thinks about it for a second, staring at me with skepticism as she weighs her options before conceding.

“Fine,” she says angrily. “Wait out there.”

Isla gestures toward the door, crosses the room, and collects her shoes. She stands there holding them in her hand as she waits for me to leave the room.

After a short time of sitting on the leather couch in the sprawling living room and waiting for her, Isla emerges and stands in front of me in her pointe shoes with the ribbons wrapped high around her ankles.

“I need music.”

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