Page 32 of Run, Starlight (The Royal Ballet Presents #3)

ONE YEAR LATER

Deadhawk Studio is the most cutting-edge performance art experience in the city.

A mixture of ballet and blood, beauty and violence.

A composition made of my heart, soul, and body.

A score built on Enzo’s violence. Between the two of us, we create the profound, the macabre, something so intense that it’s hard to look upon, but people pay for the right anyway.

And of course, my Lucciano keeps the lights on.

He stares at me from over the top of his desk in the office in the back.

Enzo keeps a studio by comparison, and I wouldn’t call much of what he does in there official.

Lucciano shifts through papers, doing the math and making ends meet so we can continue our strange dance of murdering and performing for the masses.

We left the city behind and all of our histories and responsibilities with it. We can be new people here, but I suppose we’re not that new, considering I’m still famous in my own way and so is Enzo. I suppose they don’t have a boss here at least.

I’m pregnant with one of their babies, but I can’t say which one.

I guess that is the downside to taking loads from brothers, if you care about that kind of thing.

We’re not exactly normal, but the three of us might be the perfect combination as parents.

The most important thing is that our little ballerina will be so loved and protected by her dads.

Fabrizia is pure light. I can feel it in my belly, and our new mission will be to protect her.

“Go check on him, please,” Lucciano says.

I give him a thorough kiss before granting his request. The theater is beautiful, and everything I want it to be.

I can’t help but appreciate where my life has wound up as I move to check on our Enzo.

I don’t bother to knock. I open the door, finding that he’s already completed tonight’s work.

I’ve found that Lucciano was right, and I’m not all darkness like Enzo would like me to be.

Sometimes I want to kill, and sometimes I want to leave it to him and simply enjoy my performance.

“Number Nine,” he comments to me as I step inside and shut the door, finding him coated in blood.

I stand over top of the dead body. This was a guidance counselor of ours who ignored the signs of harassment all around us. He needed to pay, but my hands didn’t need to be stained for it. Enzo moves to his back, cutting at the still bleeding flesh.

“I want you to do the fifth nocturne tonight,” he says as he works.

“Can I see?” There’s a hopeful lilt to my voice.

He rolls his eyes. “It’s supposed to be a surprise. You’re impatient as always.”

“Please,” I beg, knowing he’ll give in to me.

“Fine, Miss Marcella,” he teases me as I step around him, smelling the thick blood in the air.

My hand massages his shoulder as I stand at his side and look at the elaborate carving that will be on display tonight.

An angel adorns his back, beautiful and ethereal, and I don’t need to ask to know she represents his mother, an angel of light dancing in the afterlife with his angel of darkness. It’s beautiful, poetic, and perfect.

It’s us.