An Aria in Venice

Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Someone Like Me ...

Nikolai

I am an ass.

I know this, yes.

She is very much like a little sister to me, a baby, a girl who should be protected ... especially from someone like me.

The Piazza Del Duomo sits in the heart of Milan. All sections inside the rectangle lead up to the Duomo cathedral sitting at the far end of the area. This part of the city, along with the Galleria Del Vittorio, Milan’s largest shopping district, always fills me with wonder and intrigue as I walk through the cobblestone streets. It is almost as though I can feel the history and can see the workers laying the brick work to one of the grandest buildings in the world. Normally the distractions would be a good enough reason to forget my problems. The scent of coffee drifts from inside corner one. Rose petal fragrances fill the air as we walk around corner two and enter the arch leading into the Galleria’s hundreds of shops. The scent of food envelops me next. There’s always some kind of aroma drifting inside the air of Milan. However, thoughts of her perfect breasts, her hips that are dangerously curvy for a dancer, and the desire in her eyes haunt me. Not even the ancient beauty of Milan can rival such a memory.

I have watched her move from a little girl, falling on her ass each time she tries to do a pirouette, to a woman with a body that turns heads anytime she enters a building or walks down the street. I have marveled over the way she has learned how to handle an automobile to mastering the art of using her body—that stacked steeple I do believe was created by some kind of goddess bent on torturing me—to the art of using her innocence to entrap a man. But Adriana Dostovsky does not want just anyone, no. She is not that type of woman, and I know she will make some lucky bastard extremely happy someday. No, my comrade Alek’s little sister has her mind hell bent on having one man ... me.

The way she fired off at Ines Barilla’s offhanded remark stirred something inside me. She has spirit, guts, and passion. In all my twenty-four years, I have never met anyone like her before. I’ve never been around a woman who intrigues me half as much, or turns me on in such a way that is almost painful. Rein in your thoughts, Kolya. What do you do when the flat-chested baby sister of the man who saved you from life itself suddenly turns into a woman, one who has the curves of a goddess? You turn away. That is what you do. There is only one problem, though. I cannot.

The more I try to resist Adriana, the harder she tries to do things to get my attention. She wraps me up in a place where only the images of her sweet lips, so perfectly full, and her exciting blue eyes, filled with innocence, rake over me. She pulls me under her spell, piercing my heart through to the core, and killing me with every single gesture I make to deny her the chance to give me her heart. In turn, I lose the ability to restore my own faith in the word. Life has ripped me out of one hell—the confines of a Russian overlord who was hell bent on keeping me as slave to pleasure—and tossed me straight into another ... a place where the most perfect life dangles before my eyes, only to be held at bay, teasing me with its vicious reminder that Adriana deserves a hell of a lot more than to be caught up in the f****d up world of someone like me.

“Nikolai, you’re miles away from me, hon. Where’d you go?” Katerina Dostovsky asks me, her gray eyes scanning over my face. We’re standing in front of one of her favorite bistros as we wait for my lead dancer, Mikhail, to arrive. The hustle of life in Milan moves around us in full swing on this day. Not even the beauty of the Galleria can sway my thoughts away from her ... my Rishka, the fighting spirit, a nickname she earned long ago.

Glancing into her mother’s gray eyes, I see the resemblance between the two. Suddenly, guilt assaults me. Eight years ago, this woman risked everything to rescue her family and me—a child stolen from his life, what seems like an eternity ago—from the streets of Moscow. She bravely brought us into this life of beautiful people, things, and cities here in Italia. “Did you hear me, Nikolai?” she asks again.

I turn back to Adriana’s mother, the woman who has been both my rescuer and protector over the years. For this reason alone, I manage to move my traitorous thoughts of her daughter away from the depths of my mind ... although, I know it will not last long. “I am here. I promise.” I give her a smile that does not reach my eyes. In return, she narrows hers. Nothing escapes her keen gaze. I suspect that is how she has risen from the hardships of a no-name life in Houston, Texas, to become the wife of a Russian overlord, and finally to own a repertory company she only recently established using Aleksandr’s skills as a Maestro and mine as a ballet dancer.

Stopping in front of The Caffe Florian, she places her hand over mine, preventing me from opening the door. I turn to her and guard my eyes, a little trick the Phoenix—the man responsible for inducting Alek and me into a Russian gang—taught all his disciples to do. “I’m not quite ready to sit among the chatty just yet. Since your new dancer doesn’t seem to be able to tell time, I think we’ll continue walking.” Nodding, I obey as we turn and head through the plaza, the sun beaming a warm welcome as the rays start to shine from inside the storm clouds.

“I know there’s more to this sudden mood swing of yours than you’re saying.” She places her arm through mine as we walk along Milan’s cobblestone streets, stopping every so often to admire a Gucci bag here, Adriana’s favorite brand, and a scarf designed by Fendi there, Katerina’s preferred house. Women. I should think I will never understand the fascination with shoes and bags; and especially Katerina, whom I do believe owns a part of every single fashion house here in Milan. The woman has a room in her villa, which sits beside Lake Como, built specifically for housing her clothing.

“I am fine, really,” I lie, keeping my gaze focused straight ahead. I can feel her sharp gaze studying my profile. Right away, she stops and turns to me. Everyone else in the plaza walks around us. Katerina commands attention in this way, no matter where she goes. Now, I understand where her daughter has inherited her ability to do the same thing.

“Your happiness, Nikolai, means just as much to me as my own children’s does. You do know this, I hope.”

I wish I could tell her that I believe in comfy, cozy little endings. I believe that someday I will forget all the things I suffered at the hands of a mad man—animalistic acts that not even my greatest enemy should have been put through, let alone a thirteen-year-old boy on the verge of becoming a man. My life has not been the same, will never be again. If it weren’t for Alek and his mother, then I would have been tied up and left to die inside that bedchamber, destined to be no more than a toy, a dog ... a w***e. I owe only honesty and good intentions to the people who saved me.

“Katerina, I am fine. I am only anxious about meeting our new lead dancer. Be assured and happy now, all right?” I give her my best imitation of a smile, the kind I use to get what I want from women, and yes, even a few men every so often.

Katerina narrows her eyes, gives me a knowing side-glance along with a twisted smile, and says, “I’ll accept that gorgeous grin of yours for now. I know you, Nik. As well as I do my own contradictory self.” We lock gazes and hold them, speaking a load of words in the silence drifting between us. Does she know me? I sometimes wonder if I even recognize myself, the Nikolai that’s buried under layers of hate, mistrust, and heartache; feelings I just sometimes do not understand.

I am lost, and it does not even matter I have been found by a wonderful family. You do not deserve them, Kolya. Nor do you deserve her ... Rishka, not even as an afterthought. If I do not stop these voices, I think I will go insane.

Later tonight, I plan to meet up with Alek. We will go out and help him settle into this breakup with Nadya, the best move he has made since he decided to create a symphonic production based on one of the most controversial arrangements of all time, Requiem for a Dream. Then, I can do what I always do best ... I can drown my traitorous thoughts inside the warm arms of a woman.