Page 23 of Dance with Death

For now.

I stare blankly at the cabin’s bathroom door beside me.

I feel hopeless, helpless, already dead.

My tears only come harder and faster when I think of Ezra. I can’t help but think of him. My life with Nikolai had been a complacent wreck of servitude, but it had been predictable.

My heart feels shame now because I’m angry with Ezra. The raw ache of being fucked dry was something I’d been able to endure before. But then Ezra showed me love, showed me pleasure, showed me wanted touch and affection, and in doing that, he ruined me.

He loved me and he ruined me.

All at once, I feel as though I love him and hate him. I love him for everything he gave me, and I hate him for giving me anything.

Ezra gave me love.

Ezra gave me hope.

Ezra lifted me higher than I knew I could go.

And because he did, I have farther to fall in disgrace.

Chapter 7

Anya

We’ve arrived inPalermo, but this is not our final destination. We’ve landed on another private airstrip where we transfer from the jet to one of the Vittoris’ helicopters. Now that we’ve arrived in Italy, we’ll be trading land for water, flying across the Tyrrhenian Sea. The Vittoris have their own island, somewhere off the coast of the mainland, though I doubt it could be found on any map.

The four families work together to keep their secrets, using their wealth, their reach, their political power, and social influence to protect them.

Our helicopter charges ahead into the darkness, crossing over the deep black sea which looks still, almost peaceful in the night.

But it doesn’t fool me.

That black ocean below is ready to swallow a person whole if they should fall into its serene trap. It was much the same as Vigo. He always seemed so…unaffected, so calm, appearing still and quiet. He was, by all accounts, a subtle man…until his internal storm broke the surface into crashing waves and twirling violence.

Another twenty minutes have passed by the time our helicopter lands and I’m exhausted.

I watch out my window as we close in on the Vittoris’ private island. It’s a tragically beautiful place. There isn’t a sandy beach around the edges, but rather mountainous drop-offs where the seawater has rubbed away at the edges of land over time, creating steep cliffs.

As panic begins to spread across my mind, I imagine the rocky edges eroding away with great speed, the brutal ocean splashing across and scrubbing away the filth of the four families, reclaiming the island and swallowing it whole.

But truthfully, the sight of their rocky shores is magnificent—magnificent and overwhelmingly disturbing. Escape from their shores is impossible without an aircraft, but it doesn’t matter.

I’d given up on escaping a long time ago.

Our helicopter lands at the edge of one of the cliffs—we can hear the waves violently crashing against the mountainous side, even above the roar of the helicopter rotor whipping the propeller blades overhead. The breeze they create is chilling in the winter air.

It’s not far to the car and I manage to hobble to it mostly without issue. As I settle into my seat and look out through the window over the cliff’s edge, I briefly wonder if I should have hurled myself over it. I shiver, not just from the cold, but from the thought and how easily it had come to my mind.

Am I capable of doing such a thing?

Am I capable of ending my own life?

A driver takes us away from the helipad at the cliff’s edge, following a gravel road that curves around and down toward a hidden path. The dirt-covered road is obscured from above by some of the most fascinating pine trees I’ve ever seen. Nikolai told me once they were maritime pines. Their trunks reach tall toward the sky, no branches hung low, only splitting off at the very top where they sprout into plush, green pine needle clusters that look like soft grass overhead.

I watch the trees pass by on our silent drive to our final destination. The car stops ten minutes after we’ve left the helipad, and my mind circles around panic-inducing thoughts.

Where will he keep me?

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