Chapter 5: Meeting The Ballerina From His Dreams

(Flashback to the encounter before meeting Ayanna)

Yuri Belinsky was a Russian playwright that immigrated to the United States with nothing left to his name.

He rose to prominence when he was discovered bussing tables at Tupa, an Italian fine-dining restaurant frequented and owned by La Cosa Nostra.

Salvatore D'Angelo himself vouched for him. He put him on to bigger and better things.

Yuri went from wiping tables and wrestling with trash bins to creating ballets like Lupi Nella Notte that were hailed as masterpieces.

He morphed into the biggest name in the city’s dance circles. Soon, he outright took over the Prima Motion Dance Company, or some would anyway was strategically placed in charge as a figurehead.

It was a dirty little secret what was really going on behind the scenes. Once the curtain draws up on the stage, the mesmerizing dancers in Yuri’s payroll are put up for another type of performance.

Only those who can afford to spend know about the dinners and special events. They were certainly not cheap.

Night began to fade by the time Yuri emerged from the rear exit of the dark, vacant theater. He believed he was alone as he strolled across the promenade, fiddling with his phone.

His busy fingers tapped away and he stared at the screen, too distracted to realize a man was closing in from behind him.

It was not until Massimo was within arm’s reach that he finally sensed his presence and looked over his shoulder.

His eyes widened, his phone flew out of his hand and he leaped away in a fluid maneuver befitting the ballet.

“Take whatever you want. Just spare me.” Yuri quaked like a coward, not even bothering to put on a tough act

Massimo stalked closer forcing Yuri another few steps back.

“You’re the man I’ve been looking for.”

“If this is about a debt,”

“This is about a girl,” He interrupted. He flinched out of instinct despite the fact that Massimo was only messing with him. Massimo's large, tattooed hand tugged on the lapel of Yuri's blazer jacket as if fixing its crookedness. Massimo was amused how cowardly some men were in the face of bigger, stronger men.

“A girl,” Yuri gusts out. “What girl? I have plenty of girls.”

Massimo's lip curled.

“This isn’t just any girl. This one is more special than all the others. If you have her, then it seems we have much to talk about.”

BACK TO THE PRESENT ( HIS ENCOUNTER WITH AYANNA)

His ballerina stood frozen in place, blinking up at him. He was seeing her in the flesh, this wasn't a dream.

He noticed that his presence seemed to unnerve her. They were only a few feet apart, and yet he could see and feel the quake of her body.

She was just as he had imagined, just as he had  dreamed.

At first, he had almost been thrown by her as she was by him. To think, he almost made good on his Pa’s request to attend the D'Angelo meeting tonight. If he hadn’t listened to his instinct, the pained, twitchy heart that beats inside his chest, he would’ve missed her.

Possibly for good.

Up close, her beauty was otherworldly. Her face was softer and rounder than even he had dreamed. Her lips were full and begging to be kissed with passion. Dark hair that flowed past her shoulders, and deep brown skin that could only be described as the most exquisite shade of mahogany.

How can someone so beautiful exist in a world so hideous?

She was petite in the way that all ballerinas were. But hidden underneath the dress she wore was the unmistakable hint of feminine curves.

“You have the wrong girl,” she murmured finally, gathering nerve.

She stepped to the left.

“Please. I don’t want any trouble.”

He stepped right. She went right and then he went left blocking her.

They played this game, did this dance, several times before she quit altogether.

Taking a step back, she peered up at him with brown eyes the color of cinnamon and lashes that fluttered so gently.

She looked so polite, so classically trained.

“I said please,” she repeated in a low voice. “I just want to go.”

Her voice sounded so angelic.

This, more than anything, was a marker that she was real and not just a figment of his imagination

That she exists, for she never spoke to him in his dreams.

She was afraid of him and also because of the violence that he had  just unfolded before her. The man he had viciously beaten and left bloodied at their feet on the floor. She was not used to such carnage and brutality.

“I don’t have the wrong girl,” He answered. “You are the one."

“Please… just… I want to go!”

She scurried around him so quickly, it surprised and impressed him. He could reach out and snatch her if he wanted. If he really cared, he'd swipe his arm and scoop her right up off her feet.

But he let her go. She escaped him this time, which would be the only time.

He shoved his hands in my pockets and watched his ballerina flee across the vacant marble atrium. What she doesn’t realize now but would soon come to find out is, there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide from him.

She was the angel of his dreams, and he will make her his.