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“De Luca,” he murmurs, letting the name roll over his tongue as if to see how it tastes. “Interesting.”

I smile wryly. “You’d have preferred it to be a Russian guy.”

Papa chuckles, shaking his head. “What Ipreferis that my daughter is happy, safe, and respected.” He eyes me. “If he slips up withanyof those things, even once, the smallest bit, you will tell me, please.”

I grin. “So that you can carve him into little pieces, stuff him into an oil drum, and roll him off the back of a boat somewhere down-current of the city?”

He smirks. “Who said anything aboutlittlepieces?”

“Papa—”

He chuckles, reaching over to take my hand. “In all seriousness, Ididalways imagine you ending up with a Russian.” He smiles.“Funny—Dmitriy Kislev has tiptoed around the subject of his son Laz and you on more than a few occasions.”

A shiver tickles down my spine.

“Has he?”

Papa nods. “He has. But as I’ve always said, my daughter is not a bargaining chip.”

I grin as I squeeze his hand. “Thank you,” I say quietly.

“An Italian…” he muses, smiling to himself, shaking his head. “Well, who knows. Maybe Nero will submit to one of those DNA tests and discover he’s got some Russian in him after all.”

“Problem solved,” I laugh. Then I glance at the time and wince.

“Shoot, I need to get to work.”

I stand and walk over to him, throwing my arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. As I turn to go, a thought hits me. I turn back to him, frowning.

“Papa…You and Kir are friends, right?”

He nods slowly. “We’re friendly. I’m not sure Kirhasfriends, to be honest. But I trust and respect him, and I think he feels the same about me. Why?”

“Do you know why he andNeromight be friendly?”

Something flickers across his face that’s gone as quickly as it came.

“What does Nero say?”

“He…doesn’t.”

Papa smiles. “I don’t know,solnyshka. Maybe they do business together.”

I nod slowly, the wheels in my head turning.

Then I go upstairs to get ready for work.

27

MILENA

I don’t getstage fright.

Not when I perform, not at auditions. Oh, I sometimes get butterflies right before the curtain rises. But it’s the fun kind of excitement, a thrill teasing through your body that energizes and excites, not worries. So the nervous feeling I get as I hold different dresses against myself in the mirror is new to me.

I’mfrettingabout it all: the dress, my hair, if my nails are the right shadeifI go with the blue dress I’m leaning toward instead of the white one.

The nick on my calf from shaving. The fact that Iwantto wear the freaking gorgeous shoes that Evie got me for my last birthday, but I only ever wear them at home with close friends since they’re open-toed and show off…ugh…my mangled dancer’s feet.