Page 18 of Thorns of Death

We stood for a moment, and I thought she’d say something, but then she shook her head, as if convincing herself not to say another word.

“I’m fine. Break a leg. I’ll see you later.”

With that, she turned around and went in search of our friends. People often wondered why Phoenix bothered coming to these events. Yes, she was legally deaf, but she could feel the vibrations from the sound waves. She could feel it roll over her skin and down to her bones, and I knew she enjoyed being surrounded by the beauty of it.

“Miss Evans, hurry up, this way.” The event manager’s panicked voice spurred me into action. I made my way down the long corridor to the backstage area and waited my turn in the wings. As I reached my position, the concertmaster walked on stage and led the orchestra in the tuning session that happened before any concert. Once everyone settled, the conductor took his place in front of me in preparation for our entrance.

“Are you ready, Miss Evans?” he asked with a smile. He was my favorite conductor. It was so much easier to work with him than some of the other pricks in the industry who thought themselves gods. This one was more down-to-earth.

I smiled in return. “Yes, I am.”

I secured my violin in my hand and stepped onto the stage, taking my spot as the crowd burst into applause.

When the hall quieted, my mind shifted back to the first time I played—truly played—the violin. I refused to stop practicing until I could get one whole song right.

And I didn’t go for “Ode to Joy” like everyone had suggested. I went for Beethoven’s “Allegretto” and refused to stop until I got it perfect.

I still remembered that feeling; it came back each time I played.

The conductor nodded towards me to see if I was ready. I nodded back with a confident smile. Then...Tap. Tap. Tap.

The conductor announced the start, and I placed my instrument in position. The bow became part of me, and I closed my eyes as the notes danced in my mind. The first piece’s melody echoed and everything left my body. The shift in the air swirled all around. Soft, peaceful feelings washed over me and my lips stretched into a smile.

A free, happy smile.

The violin felt like an extension of my soul as I played with all my heart. I didn’t know how to play it any other way.

The notes sent a chill through my bones. When I played “Adagio” by Albinoni in G minor, I felt the heartbreak as if it were my own. I absorbed the sorrow and pain, sending shudders through me. I let go completely and thoroughly. It was the only time—aside from a few nights ago—when it felt like I was free-falling, drifting through the air along with the melody.

As the last note left my string, the sudden roaring applause startled me out of my dreamlike state. The spell was broken, interrupted by the loud cheers filling the hall. I opened my eyes and found the audience on their feet, some clapping vigorously while others discreetly wiped under their eyes.

My senses awoke. Even though I hadn’t taken a step since I started playing, I needed to catch my breath. The musicians in the orchestra behind me released what sounded like a collective exhale, patting each other on the back while waving their bows in tribute as I acknowledged the audience. When I left the stage, the conductor, who had followed me off, walked over to me, took my hand, and smiled.

“You’re a marvelous musical prodigy, Isla Evans.Brava.” He spoke with a heavy French accent, and my mind flitted to the man from two nights ago.Enrico.

A delightful shudder rolled down my spine.Damn him.How I’d felt that night was as close to playing a violin as I’d ever gotten. To taste something so close to perfection, only to realize it was tainted.

“You were magnificent,” the conductor continued as he took my hand in his and kissed it. “I have yet to find another muse like you.”

I smiled uncomfortably, fighting the urge to wipe my hand on my black knee-length dress—another one of Reina’s designs. Black was my least favorite color, but it was flattering, and Reina had a way of adding a little creativity into her dresses. Like sunflower designs over the skirts. Or like the wide, white belt this one was styled with.

As the conductor talked and talked, I became vaguely aware of a presence in my periphery. I sensed eyes on me, so I turned around, nearly losing my breath.

Enrico washere.

I blinked once, twice. He didn’t disappear. The man I slept with—a cheater—was entering the backstage area behind me, wearing a black three-piece suit with diamond cufflinks that glimmered. He looked composed, but there was a vibe around him that I’d missed before.

Danger. Ruthlessness.

It emanated from him in waves. I’d seen it before. In Mr. Romero. Even in my brother, although he tried to hide it. This man—just like them—was lethal.

How could I have missed that?

Probably because I was blinded by his beauty. That strong jaw. Sun-kissed skin. That body that put twenty-year-olds to shame.

Reina’s words echoed through my mind, warning me. This man was involved with the mafia. His whole persona screamed trouble.

Shit, I had to get out of here.