Page 79 of Vows of a Mobster

“No, can’t say that I have,” she took a sip of wine, her cheeks flushed. Although I wasn’t sure whether it was wine or glances thrown my way.

“I thought maybe you have since you said your mom liked classical music,” Antonio replied.

A frown creased her delicate forehead. “No, that was her method of torture,” she muttered.

“You hate classical music that much? It’s not that bad,” I told her.

“No, it’s not bad,” she agreed, cranking her neck. “I used to dance.” Antonio gasped mischievously in response. “Ballet, before you get too excited,” she chuckled. I wasn’t surprised to hear it, considering we saw her dance at Marissa’s party. And I was positive it was Brianna who I saw perform the night I visited the Boston Opera house. “Anyhow, three to four hours of practice with classical music in the background would be enough to drive a saint crazy. So when I wanted to wind down, I preferred more upbeat music. My mother disagreed.”

“Wow, real ballet?” Antonio asked, impressed. “How long did you dance?”

“About fifteen years.”

“Do you still dance?” I asked her.

“Occasionally. I mostly teach kids ballet class once or twice a week. Once in a while I do a show at the local theater.”

“At the Boston Opera?” I questioned her.

Her eyes flashed in surprise, her gaze on me. As if she was pondering how much she could reveal. “Yes, sometimes I cover certain parts in the ballet at the Boston Opera.”

I knew Antonio connected the dots and came to the conclusion Brianna was the friend Giovanni visited the evening of the ballet performance that Angelica and I attended.

“Why didn’t you dance professionally?” Antonio asked her. “You seem to be really good.”

“I slowly started skipping classes in college, which ended my professional dancing,” she answered. She rolled her shoulders and craned her neck, as if the conversation alone was making her tense.

“You didn’t like ballet?” I wouldn’t believe her if she told me she didn’t like ballet. That expression on her face when I saw her dance, it was telling. She loved it.

This woman managed to constantly surprise me. I remembered thinking she had the grace of a dancer when we first met, but I never expected her to be a real ballet dancer. Fifteen years of ballet must have ingrained grace and discipline into her.

“I did. Very much in fact. But not as much as my mom. She was a prima ballerina. Pretty good too but she had me and then broke her leg in her twenties just as her career took off.” She gazed out the window as if she was remembering a past she didn’t like. Then her eyes returned to us and she brought her glass of wine to her lips, taking a sip, then continued. “She was adamant to relive her career through me. While I loved ballet, I didn’t want it to be my entire life. Not like it was for her.”

“Yes, sometimes parents put the demands they couldn’t meet onto their children,” Antonio never looked my way but I knew it was a comment made for me. “You’ll have to dance for us one day.”

“Not likely,” she retorted, taking another drink of her wine.

My father wanted to be head of the family but could never quite get that far. It was always his brother that people followed. So when my father noticed that our men tended to listen when I spoke, following my lead, he jumped onto that wagon and started his training. It wasn’t the training I needed, because at that point, I already superseded my father’s skills by a long shot. But I didn’t want to disrespect him so the painful lessons went on.

“Were you good at ballet?” I asked her, watching her with interest. Everything about her appealed to me. I knew she was good. I saw it firsthand. She was amazing.

“Unfortunately,” she muttered, a bitter smile on her face. “When I got offered the role of Odette inSwan Lakeat the Royal Opera House, you would have thought I scored an eternal life.”

“I don’t know much about ballet but it sounds like a big deal,” Antonio commented.

“It is a big deal, when it’s what you want and work for,” she agreed. Her fingers traced the rim of the glass, her thoughts lost in the past. “I was tired of all the regimented schedules and constant sacrifices. My mother didn’t believe in a balanced life. It was all dancing or nothing, but I believed there could have been a middle ground. Occasionally, I wanted to have a normal teenage life. Anyhow, I started missing most classes. It wasn’t fair to those that worked their butt off for it. When I refused the role, my mother lost her shit. The harder she pushed, the more I dug in. I started going out, all my discipline, training, and diet out the window. I made up for all the parties I missed.” There was hurt in her voice but she tried to hide it with sarcasm. I had a feeling I knew how it ended but didn’t want to interrupt her. “The last straw was getting pregnant. I shattered all her dreams of a perfect family legacy. And here we are.” A sarcastic smile on her face. “We should drink to that,” she added, raising her glass, a slight bitterness to her voice.

I couldn’t say that I regretted it though. I was glad she was here; it all led her to me. If she hadn’t stood up to her mother, we would have never crossed paths.

“How did you meet Marissa and Daphne?” I asked her and her smile turned genuine.

“At Columbia. I was able to skip a few classes by taking exams to show I was ahead in my studies. Ballet and my college load were brutal so it was my only way to get a breather. But ultimately the professor had to sign off on skipping a class and getting credit, regardless of how good my test scores were. My English professor wanted those two out of his class by passing it. So he agreed if I tutored them, he’d sign the paperwork allowing me to skip his class. And the rest is history.”

“Those two were probably partying too hard,” I muttered under my breath but Brianna just smiled.

“Isn’t that what colleges are for?” She looked at me curiously. “Did you go to school here?”

Now, that made me feel old.