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CHAPTER 5

VINCENT

“ W ow, you kind of look like shit,” Zara says sarcastically when she arrives at the penthouse with coffee in hand the next morning.

Only she could get away with saying something like that to me without fearing my wrath. It’s hard for me to get angry at my sassy, cynical tech and security specialist since the sibling-like bond that we have reminds me a bit of my sister. I keep Zara close, not only because she’s highly intelligent and a valuable hacker, but also because she’s devoutly and unquestionably loyal. I saved her from prison a few times when she was a delinquent foster kid, hacking into things she shouldn’t have been. In return, Zara now works for me.

“I got little sleep last night,” I admit as justification for the dark circles under my eyes.

“Do you ever?” she teases.

She’s not wrong—I rarely sleep. But last night was an even more extreme exception than usual. My memories disturbed me too much for me to close my eyes and rest.

“So, why did you call me here?” she asks as she hands me coffee in a disposable cup.

I wave it away and head to the fancy espresso machine on the kitchen counter. “You shouldn’t drink that crap. Roach droppings likely fill those coffee hoppers at the local cafes. I’ll make you an espresso or a latte, your choice.”

Zara laughs and sticks out her chin. “A latte ? Since when did you turn into fancy pants drinking fluffy, designer coffees? A little extra protein in my coffee won’t kill me.”

I roll my eyes and take the cup from her hand to pour it out anyway. Zara acts tough, but underneath that bravado, she’s got a soft heart.

“I called you here because I would like you to monitor my guest for the afternoon,” I say as I make her a latte that even she can’t resist.

“Oh, I heard about her, the ballerina?”

“Yes. She’s proving to be a bit more difficult than I had intended. I thought that she’d respond to you better than she seems to get along with men.”

“Difficult in terms of being hostile or in terms of you not knowing what to do with her?” she asks, keenly observant, as always.

“ Both .”

Zara takes the coffee that I hand to her and smiles after enjoying the first sip. “Sure thing. And while I’m here, I can also work on updating the camera surveillance system. It was glitching out a bit the other night. It needs a new software download.”

“Perfect. Thank you,” I nod as I reach for my jacket. “Junior is standing by the door outside. I’ll be taking care of a few things downstairs at the club. And if she tries to con you into leaving the penthouse, the answer is a very firm no .”

“So, she’s not exactly a guest, then, I’m guessing?”

“More of a mandatory stay,” I say as I walk out into the hallway.

“Morning, boss,” Junior says dutifully.

“No one goes in or out until I return,” I instruct him.

He nods in compliance as I step into the elevator. My schedule overflows with business, yet I’m headed to the casino this morning for personal reasons.

Despite the bar’s emptiness, I take a seat.

“Vincent, what brings you down so early? Bit early for a drink, isn’t it?” Gabriel says as he reaches for a glass to pour me whatever I want, regardless of the time of day.

He excels as a bartender but truly shines as a listener. Sometimes it’s easier to talk to him than my consigliere about sensitive things . Perhaps it’s his charm and charisma that make the words flow more freely.

“I’ll pass on the drink for now,” I say. “I’m actually looking for a verbal fix this morning.”

“You got it, boss,” he says with a chuckle. “But remember, I’m not an actual therapist. I only play one behind the bar. What’s on your mind?”

“The past ,” I say with a heavy feeling. “I thought that maybe since you have such a pulse on the plight of the people in this city, you might offer some insight into how a man goes about keeping memories at bay.”

“Ah, that’s a tough one,” Gabriel says as he leans his elbow against the bar. “It’s been my experience that if certain things from the past keep popping up in your head, that means there’s a reason for it. Something unresolved usually, although I’ve never known you to leave any loose ends untied.”

“You’re right about that, I don’t.”

“Speaking of loose ends, there was someone in here asking around last night—a cop ,” he says in a low voice, even though we’re alone. “He was trying to go incognito, yet I easily recognized him.”

Gabriel’s explanation about a potential undercover officer in my casino is unnecessary. I’m well aware that it has something to do with Isla’s disappearance.

“After I made him, he left his card,” Gabriel says as he reaches under the bar and pulls out a small square of paper with an emblem embossed on the front of it.

Detective Hale Monroe , not a name that I am unfamiliar with. He’s not just a cop, he’s a dirty cop, one that works both sides of the law and both sides of the criminal underground. He’s not exactly a friend of my family’s and I’ve had run-ins with him in the past. His aim is mostly likely to ruin me. Unfortunately for him, that will never happen.

“Thank you, Gabriel,” I say as I slide the business card into my pocket and stand up to leave.

For the rest of the day, I try to focus on business. I call a few meetings, check on a few deals, and send my underboss, Alonzo, to the dance studio to shake things up with Madame Dunant a bit before there’s trouble. But after finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate and calm my nerves, I decide to return to the penthouse and to Isla. She is the problem I need to solve so that I can move on with everything else. While I’m stewing over her, my enemies are making moves in the city to steal territory and undermine some of my own business channels. I have to organize my affairs and compose myself for clear thought. And the one thing that always works to soothe me, ironically, is the ballet.

I’ve always found the ballet a place of peaceful beauty. My mother instilled an appreciation for the art when we were children. While my father engaged in more violent and volatile matters, my mother would take my sister and me to the theatre to watch performances of Swan Lake and Giselle, in order to keep our young minds protected from the horrors that occurred off the stage. To this day, it’s still my refuge. And it just so happens that I have an extremely talented ballerina in my possession right now.

Before I make my way back to the penthouse, I stop at the theatre. Because the missing dancer hasn’t returned, they have stopped all performances, so the theatre is now empty. However, they typically leave the back door unlocked for deliveries and dancers to access the rehearsal space. When I first walk inside, I figure there’s a chance Isla’s dance shoes might still be here. They must have fallen out of her bag backstage when she witnessed The Devil in his true form. Almost as soon as I walk behind the stage, I see Isla’s ballet shoes sitting on top of a long, narrow table that has been made into a sort of altar, complete with flowers, caring notes, and a picture of the missing ballerina. I suppose this sort of thing might be sentimental to most. To me, it’s simply opportune .

I take the shoes from the table without a second thought and bring them back to the penthouse with me. When I get there, Zara is sitting at the table with her laptop in front of her and the door to Isla’s room remains closed.

“Any luck with her?” I ask.

“Nope. She’s an iron fortress of resistance,” Zara laughs. “She’s definitely not happy to be here.”

“Yeah, that much I know,” I groan. “Maybe these will help. Give them to her and tell her I want to see her dance.”

Zara eyes the ballet shoes in my hand and shakes her head as she takes them from me. “Isn’t there some saying about how you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink?”

“Just do it.”

It takes less than two minutes for Zara to return empty-handed. “She took the shoes.”

“Good,” I nod. “That’s progress.”

“I wouldn’t say that. She threw them at the wall and said to tell you to go to hell .” Zara chuckles as she picks up her laptop and heads for the door. “I need to verify the camera update. Good luck with her. She’s a handful.”

For several minutes, I stand within the penthouse, straining to hear Isla’s pointe shoes. But the silence drives me stir-crazy, and my nerves unravel. I finally go to her room and throw the door open, taking a different approach with her this time.

“ Dance ,” I order.

“Go to hell,” Isla repeats without even turning to look at me. Although she looks away, I see her eyes reflected in the windowpane.

“What makes you think you can defy me?” I ask, striding toward her and stopping only when my chest is practically against her back. “I brought you your ballet shoes, and now I want to see you dance.”

Isla turns around slowly. The space between us is so tight that I can practically feel her trembling. She’s scared, but trying not to show it.

“Is that how you think this works?” she asks as she glares up at me. “Are you going to force my feet into the shoes and bend my body to move? Because unless you plan to do that, then I refuse . I don’t feel like dancing.”

“I don’t believe you,” I say, keeping my temper at bay. “I think that your body is likely aching to move after being cooped up in this room. You haven’t been able to dance since you got here, and you’re probably used to training for several hours a day.”

She says nothing, but the look in her eyes and the flinch of her muscles tell me I’m right.

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll make you a deal,” I offer. “If you dance for me, then you can earn your freedom.”

“What? You’re kidding me, right? Is this some sort of sick trap?”

“No, it’s an offer . Watching ballet helps me calm my nerves. So, if you dance for me, I’ll repay the gesture by allowing you one step closer to getting out of here. Every step you take in your pointe shoes across the penthouse floor will be a step closer to your release. You can think of this place as your new stage for now, and your dancing will be your way out.”

She thinks about it for a second, staring at me with skepticism as she weighs her options before conceding.

“ Fine ,” she says angrily. “Wait out there.”

Isla gestures toward the door, crosses the room, and collects her shoes. She stands there holding them in her hand as she waits for me to leave the room.

After a short time of sitting on the leather couch in the sprawling living room and waiting for her, Isla emerges and stands in front of me in her pointe shoes with the ribbons wrapped high around her ankles.

“I need music.”

I turn on the penthouse’s sound system, and the room fills with the sound of Charles Gounod’s classical opera.

Isla raises a brow at me in a sort of angry amusement. “ Faust , really? I suppose that’s a fitting piece for the Devil to listen to.”

I give her a small smirk, and then she dances. But Isla doesn’t just move across the floor. She dances furiously , defiantly— passionately . Instantly and almost against my will, she captivates me completely. I’m entranced as I sit there watching her every movement.

My eyes follow each curve of her body. I want to run my hands over the smooth lines of her form. Her languid figure glides across the floor with such grace that I can barely hear the wooden blocks of the shoes beneath her. The longer that I watch her dance, the more enraptured I become. I not only forget about the memories that had been plaguing me, but I also forget about everything else. It’s as if the entire city, the world, and my whole empire have dropped at this woman’s feet. And I realize that things have suddenly just changed. Isla Hart is no longer just a witness or a problem to be dealt with. She’s no longer just a pawn or a problem for me to handle. She’s becoming an obsession that threatens to be my undoing.

“Stop,” I say, as I reach to turn off the music abruptly.

She freezes in place before letting herself down off her toes to stand and stare at me.

“What’s the matter? You don’t like it?” she asks.

I can’t even form the words to answer her at first. My thoughts are spiraling, and my heart is racing. I haven’t felt this out of control since the night I lost my sister.

Without answering her, I stand, grab my keys and coat. I head straight for the door, leaving her secured with Junior outside the door. I can’t be here any longer right now. I can’t let myself be around her.

Pausing for a moment, I touch the doorknob, muttering to myself something I realize I should have known. “I’ve made a mistake.”