A Dark Dance

Chapter5

#Viola's POV

I had firmly decided that I would find my own place, no matter how small or rundown it might be within the city. If my father wanted a daughter he could control, he had Beatrice for that. Sending me to live in Italy had been a mistake on his part. While my mother’s family held traditional values, they never treated their children the way my father was attempting to.

I made a point to avoid my father and siblings entirely, focusing instead on my work. I even stayed late at the office, curling up on the couch in the breakroom while searching the internet for an apartment.

My supervisor, Janet March, who is the assistant to Mr. Russell—one of the city’s top lawyers—is always polite but maintains a professional distance. I spent most of my mornings running errands and working in the file room, gathering whatever information was necessary. Just before lunch one day, Janet emerged from Mr. Russell’s office, her expression clearly troubled.

"Viola, Mr. Russell would like to see you before you head to lunch," she said, her voice neutral, though the concern on her face was unmistakable.

I nodded, shut down my computer, and made my way to his office door. After knocking, I waited for him to acknowledge me before entering. Without looking up, he motioned for me to come forward.

"Sit," he commanded.

I don’t question it; I simply take a seat and try to remain still as I wait. Up to this point, Mitch Russell had been a courteous and respectful employer. Although he mostly interacted with Janet, he had made an effort to get to know her personally and talk about her life. He was roughly the same age as her father, had three daughters, and a lovely wife. Mitch wasn’t traditionally handsome, but there was something about the way he carried himself that many women in the office found appealing, and quite a few of them had a crush on him.

When he finally looked up, his smile was still there, but it appeared somewhat more restrained than before. "Viola, I was hoping we could discuss... a conflict of interest," he said.

My eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "Conflict of... what exactly do you mean, Mr. Russell?"

Mitch sighed deeply and leaned back in his chair, his fingers rhythmically tapping on his desk. "One of my clients called me this morning, insisting that he is your fiancé."

"My..." I gasp sharply, sitting up straighter in my chair as if suddenly struck by a bolt of lightning. "Did he seriously pull that stunt? And let me guess, your client is none other than Dante Socci?"

Before Mitch can even open his mouth with a "Viola," I shoot up my hand like a schoolkid trying to stop a teacher mid-sentence.

"Just to be clear," I say, my frustration practically oozing out, "I am not engaged to Dante Socci, never have been, and frankly, I think he’s scheming to get me fired. Classic Dante move, right?"

Mitch sighs and runs a hand over his face, looking like he’s just been handed a very complicated jigsaw puzzle. "Viola, if there’s any link between you and our client, it could cause some serious issues—"

I cut him off quickly. "Let me assure you, I have zero personal ties to Mr Socci. He was supposed to be engaged to my sister, not me," I exhale dramatically, lifting my chin with the kind of steely resolve that could probably cut glass. "Right now, my only mission is to escape my family home, sever all their strings, and start a brand-new chapter. So, Mr Russell, let’s focus on that, shall we?"

He seems to consider something a moment and rubs a hand over his face. “Viola, I like you. You remind me of my oldest girl, stubborn, sure.” He sighs and leans down into a drawer, pulling out a set of keys. “There’s an apartment that the company keeps. We’ve never used it, at least not in a long time. Fully furnished, doorman.” Mitch holds the keys out. “Until you find something more suited to yourself.”

For a second, all I can do is stare at the keys—brass and ordinary, but gleaming like a ticket to freedom. My mind does a quick inventory: possessions to pack, the relief of not returning to my childhood bedroom, the dizzying possibility of solitude. I try to catch my composure before gratitude spills out in an embarrassing wave.

“I—Mr. Russell, I don’t know what to say,” I manage, my voice suddenly softer, stripped of its earlier bravado. “You don’t have to do this. I can figure something out—”

He cuts me off with a gentle but unwavering shake of his head. “You don’t have to prove anything to me, Viola. It’s not charity. Sometimes the best way to cut strings is with a little help.” He slides the keys closer, the metal clinking on the polished desk. “Just make sure you don’t let your father or anyone else talk you out of starting over.”

A strange warmth settles over me—relief, a glimmer of trust, maybe even hope. “Thank you. Really.”

Mitch’s expression softens, the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling with something like encouragement. “You’re welcome,” he says quietly. “Now go on, take the afternoon. Get yourself settled.” He pauses, one corner of his mouth quirking up. “And, for heaven’s sake, don’t tell Janet I let you off early.”

I laugh—a real one, bubbling up from somewhere unfamiliar. The keys in my palm feel heavier than they should, loaded with the weight of possibility. As I leave Mitch’s office, the world beyond his door seems just a little brighter, and for the first time in a long time, the future isn’t something to dread but to shape, one small, brave step at a time.