She's Mine
1039 Words
SALVATORE'S POV
Ten years ago
The door flies open, loud and hard. The noise snaps me out of my foggy thoughts. It feels like I’m falling slowly, and my mind struggles to keep up. Voices fill the air, growing louder.
A quiet gasp reaches my ears. “Oh no.”
I try to open my eyes, but it’s hard. After a few tries, I manage, but everything looks blurry and wrong.
Then, the pain hits me.
It burns like fire, stabbing deep into every part of my body. It’s so strong I can’t think of anything else. It’s everywhere.
I can’t breathe right. I try to speak, but only a weak sound comes out. My eyes close again as the world fades. The voices seem far away, like they’re underwater.
“Salvatore is alive!”
The words reach me just before everything goes dark.
“Cover him!”
“Will he survive?”
“I don’t know. He’s barely hanging on.”
“Anyone else?”
“No. Everyone else is dead.”
Present Day
My shoes make a loud echo as I walk through the quiet hallway of the Chicago Opera House. Faint music from Swan Lake plays ahead. The show has started, so this area is empty now.
I nod to a guard and keep walking to the big doors at the end of the hall.
On the wall, a poster catches my eye.
It’s a new one. The old poster showed all the dancers in the air together. This one shows just her, close up. I step closer and reach out without thinking. My fingers trace her face on the glass, her soft features, her sharp cheekbones, her lips.
Her eyes seem to look right at me. The words on the poster say it’s her last performance. Tonight is the end of the season.
For a moment, I imagine talking to her after the show. I would say a few words, ask her to dinner. Somewhere simple, nothing fancy. But then I see my face in the glass, and my hand drops. I feel like I ruined her by touching the poster. She is too perfect for someone like me.
I push open the heavy doors and step inside the dark theater. The only light comes from the stage. I stay in the shadows, far from the crowd.
I’ve been doing this for a while. I come after the show starts and leave before it ends. I watch from a distance because it’s safer that way.
On stage, the music changes. A violin solo begins. She steps into the light, and I stop breathing.
She is stunning. Her blonde hair is tied tight, but instead of making her look harsh, it makes her look fragile, like glass. Her movements are light, soft, and beautiful.
I lean against the wall, shaking my head. I know this obsession is bad, but I can’t stop.
After her part ends, I leave the theater. Before I go, I stop at a table near the backstage door. Flowers cover the surface, left by fans for the dancers. I add a single rose like I always do, then walk away.
***************
Back at the house, Adrian Di Salis enters the dining room. Everyone stands until he sits at the head of the table. His cane rests on the chair beside him. The seat to his right is empty. His wife, Nila, isn’t feeling well again.
Adrian nods at the maid. “Leave us and lock the door.”
The maid nods quickly and leaves. The room is quiet now. Adrian leans back, looking at us. “The Italians and I have made a deal,” he says. “They agreed to my terms, and I agreed to theirs. There’s one last step. An arranged marriage ”
No one speaks. Everyone looks nervous. In the Bratva, we don’t do arranged marriages like the Italians do. Marrying someone from their family would only bring problems.
Adrian smirks. “No one wants to marry a Russo?” He pulls out a photo and slides it across the table. “This is Mia Russo, Thomas Russo’s second daughter. She used to be the top dancer at the Chicago Opera House.”
My body freezes.
This can't be real .
“They really want this peace deal.” Adrian smiles. “The most beautiful woman in the Italian mafia is free.”
Sergio gives the photo to Kostya, crosses his arms, and looks at Adrian. “What’s the catch?”
“Why would there be a catch?” Adrian asks.
“The Italians would never give up a capo’s daughter, especially one who looks like that, to the Bratva. There must be something else going on.”
“Well, there is a small catch, but I’d call it a bonus.” Adrian smirks.
I take the photo from Kostya and look at it. She looks even more beautiful with her hair down, framing her perfect face, and her light brown eyes smiling at the camera. My teeth grind, and I pass the photo to Ivan. Just thinking about one of my men being with her makes me so angry, I have to grip the arms of my chair to stop myself from doing something stupid.
Ivan looks at the photo, raises his eyebrows, then nudges Dimitri and gives it to him.
“She doesn’t look very Italian.” Dimitri looks at the picture. “I thought Italian girls always had dark hair. Was she adopted?”
“Nope. Her maternal grandmother was Irish,” Adrian replies.
Nico takes the photo next but doesn’t even look at it. He just gives it to Pavel.
“Damn, she’s hot.” Pavel whistles and shakes his head. “Do you have another photo? Maybe one with less clothing?”
I focus on the wall in front of me, gripping the chair harder, trying to stop myself from getting up and punching Pavel in the face or doing something worse, like shooting him. Pavel keeps staring at the photo, and I imagine him touching her, and my control breaks for a moment.
“I’ll take her,” I say.
The room goes completely quiet, and everyone looks at me, in shock
- Writer
