She was supposed to be Nikiya the temple dancer. Instead, she was Ava the prima ballerina. There would be no mistaking who she was. This evening, she solidified her position in history. With every move, she told the audience that no one would compare. Nobody else could fly in the air like her. She rose as if she had wings. Supernatural power. She turned with so much speed at times she blurred.
Be careful.
She transformed the very definition of what ballet should be. Every one of her movements was a combination of masterful technique lathered in poetic expressiveness. Tonight, she proved to us all that dance could not satisfy only the eye, but a performance could penetrate the soul.
Pirouetting and leaping high in the air, Ava’s skin flushed and glimmered in the haunting light.
Adrenaline coursed through me.
My heart beats increased.
Most of the first act, Mrs. Jones held her hands to her chest and whispered to me, “She’s going to give me a heart attack. Is she supposed to leap that high?”
“I don’t know.”
“Every time she lands, I’m scared she’s going to break something.”
“Me too.”
The first act ended, she stood with her long legs extended and balanced on the tips of her toes, showing impeccable strength and restraint. The lights dimmed. Only her silhouette remained within the temple’s fire.
The audience shouted and clapped.
My cock grew hard.
Rolan leaned next to me. “Not bad. But is her grandmother single?”
I clenched my teeth. “Not bad? That was art in motion. That was—”
“Good. But when does this end?”
My cock went soft. “Do not talk to me until this is over.”
“So there’s more?”
“Yes, and don’t worry about her grandmother being single.”
“It doesn’t matter if she is or not. I would just need to know the man’s name so I could kill him.”
“Enough, batya.”
My phone vibrated in my pants. Frowning, I pulled it out and checked the message. My annoyance left.
Valentina: Fine. We can meet.
Me: When and where? I’ll come to you.
Valentina: No. We will come to your condo.
Excitement flowed through me.
I smiled.
Me: When you say we. . .you mean my daughter and you?
Valentina: Yes. But we just meet with you and your guards. No ballerina or any of your other whores.
I frowned at that text but pushed through my aggravation. Valentina was going to bring Natalya. It appeared this battle with her on fatherhood would be easier than I thought.
Me: Fine. When?
Valentina: After you go to Paris and help my brother.
I scowled at my phone.
Me: This better not be a trick. When I return from Paris, I want to meet my daughter.
Valentina: You will.
I put away my phone.
The audience continued to cheer, even after the orchestra began a new song to start the second act.
I should have known that Valentina’s compliance would come with ultimatums.
My balcony’s door opened. I didn’t bother to look. Maxwell always went to smoke around this time. I figured that he left for a break.
A minute later, someone nudged me from behind. I checked and spotted Maxwell still in his seat.
“Yo, who’s that?” Maxwell pointed at the door.
I looked in that direction.
Pavel.
I groaned, knowing where this was going. Earlier, Valentina warned me about her brother sending Pavel to fetch me.
And here is the idiot.
Looking like a disco dancer, Pavel wore a bright white suit with a black shirt and tie. His long hair was curled at the tips and ran well past his shoulders. It might have reached the middle of his back.
I glared at him, ready to snatch him by those tresses and sling him off the balcony.
He gestured for me to come.
Light appeared on the stage. The second act was beginning. Ava would be out in ten minutes.
You send this long-haired idiot for me, Kazimir? Did you really think he could make me go anywhere?
I rose and signaled for Maxwell to join me. Rolan remained too hypnotized with Mrs. Jones to follow. How interesting that Rolan was worried about me being distracted by new pussy. Here he was completely sidetracked. Most of the performance I caught him gazing Mrs. Jones’s way.
Pavel noticed my approach, opened the door, and stepped into the hallway.
Let’s make this quick.
Maxwell whispered by me. “Are you going to tell me who this guy is?”
“One of Kazimir’s men that he has sent to get me.”
“What’s up with his whole. . .outfit? Is he a fan of the movie Saturday Night Fever?”
“I never heard of the movie so I don’t know, but Pavel is a moron that thinks he has style.” I entered the hallway.
Pavel glared. “I heard that, Misha.”
“Good.”
The door shut behind me.
“I’m sorry about your father.” Pavel maintained a serious expression. “He was a good man.”
My father tattooed Pavel many times. Several summers, Pavel also would come and visit Kazimir in Prague. Even then, he kept his hair long and past his shoulders. I’d never seen it short.