Claimed

2. An Odd Visit

Chapter two

An Odd Visit

Melanique headed in the other direction to check on the other ballet dancers.

Please, don’t let them ruin my day.

My hand trembled slightly as I reached for the doorknob to my dressing room, steeling myself for the encounter ahead.

The applause still echoed in my ears. It was a sweet but temporary escape from the reality I was about to face.

What could they want now?

So scared, I didn’t even open the door yet.

Memories flooded back unbidden. I’d left Maximo’s estate at fourteen due to earning a scholarship at Landmark Academy, the top ballet boarding school in the nation.

Honestly, it didn’t matter if it was the worst boarding school. I just wanted to get off that property. The scent of blood and death was always in the air.

Although I never personally saw my stepfather kill anyone, I always heard it in the dead of night—the sharp crack of gunfire, his harsh laughter, and boisterous cheers from his vile cronies afterward.

The chilling silence that fell on the estate by morning was always shattered by the arrival of the local undertaker who was well-accustomed with our address and visited weekly.

I let go of the doorknob and dug my nails into my palm.

Relax. Nothing is going to happen to you. Maybe. . .he really is here to congratulate you.

Hadn’t I given him what he’d wanted long ago? An excuse to not have to fully take care of me?

He signed the papers to that ballet boarding school without hesitation, practically shoving me out the door without so much as a goodbye.

It had hurt, but I was glad to escape.

Granted, it would have been nice for my stepfather to take me to the school like other parents did, but I did it on my own.

Maximo gave me the money and at fourteen I figured out what flight to take, booked it, called the cab, and even notified the school—to their surprise—on when and how I would get there.

Either way, my brother Vito—at ten years old—walked me to the cab and when I lowered down to give him a hug goodbye, he gave me a stinging slap, followed by the metallic taste of fear as he brandished a gun at me and the cab driver who'd dared to intervene.

But that was Vito—a violent, twisted little kid that had watched his father kill too many times to keep him sweet and normal. Sometimes at night on the property, when I would wake up to a man screaming. . .I heard Vito giggling.

Anyway. . .had Vito not had that gun, I would have kicked his little ass.

But. . .Vito did have a gun, and I knew damn well that even at ten years old, he knew how to use it.

At Landmark Academy, I felt safe from that twisted estate, and was happy to not hear from either of them.

My stepfather opened an account for me and gave me an allowance of $1000 a month which greatly helped with getting supplies and toiletries. I did my best to save as much as I could every month and I succeeded, accumulating great totals for a teenager.

I never went home during Christmas or summer breaks, I volunteered for the school and remained there to help the servants clean the hallways and dance studios.

Other times, a good friend would have me come back home with them.

After four years, I graduated from the academy and won a scholarship to Julliard.

My stepfather didn’t come to the graduation, but he did send a card and upped my allowance to $2000 a month.

I was grateful for it, but sometimes I did feel like it was guilt money. He knew my mother would have wanted him to do much more for me. . .like be there. . .like. . .love me. . .like say he was proud at least once. . .

But, I always took his money and said thank you.

Vito and Maximo never sent birthday or Christmas cards, but I sent them cards every year.

And I saved as much money as possible from the allowance and got a job while at Juilliard and saved those checks too.

I didn’t want to need Maximo once I graduated.

Now, I’d only been six months out of Julliard.

I returned to Obsidian Bay—my hometown.

It was nestled along a rugged coastline. The city’s name came from the dark, volcanic rock that formed its cliffs, which loomed over the stormy turquoise waters of the bay. The skyline was a blend of gothic architecture and modern high-rises.

All throughout, narrow, cobblestone streets wound its ancient neighborhoods that had seen centuries of dark secrets, unsolved murders, and treacherous scandals.

Ruled by the powerful Italian mafia, Obsidian Bay operated under a strict, unspoken code. And the mafia’s influence was felt in every corner of the city—from the luxurious mansions and castles that lined the cliffs to the busy docks where deals were made in the darkness.

For most of my childhood, my stepfather had held an iron grip on Obsidian Bay’s criminal underworld.

I knew I shouldn’t have come back here. So stupid.

The problem was that beneath the dark veneer of organized crime, Obsidian Bay was also a cultural mecca, renowned for its dedication to the arts, particularly ballet. In fact, the city was home to the prestigious Obsidian Ballet Company, a world-renowned institution that drew in the most talented dancers from around the globe.

Here, I could get my face in front of the top directors in the world.

Fuck.

Even crazier, I thought Maximo didn’t even know I was here. I hadn’t spoken to him since telling him about my graduation. I’d been living in a small studio apartment in a rough part of town, but it didn’t eat too much out of my savings. I’d even gotten a job as a barista in the theater district.

I stayed to myself, and every damned week, I went on audition after audition.

Melanique was the only director to call back and give me my first role—the Vampire Queen. When she did, I treated myself to a high-end dinner that night.

As far as I knew, everything was going perfectly.

And now, here I was, backstage at her production, fearing this encounter with my stepfather who'd shown up unannounced and, undeniably, unwanted.

Just do it. Get it over with. It will be okay.

With a deep breath, I finally turned the doorknob and pushed open the door to my dressing room.

I was greeted by the sight of him—larger than life in his expensive suit and diamond studded cufflinks, standing by my vanity mirror. His eyes met mine in the mirror's reflection.

There it was—that same cold gaze that hadn't changed since I was a child.

Although, time had siphoned away some of his vigor, none of the latent danger he exuded left. My stepfather's hair had turned silver since I'd last seen him, and the suit that once would have strained against his muscular frame now hung more loosely.

When Maximo spoke, the voice that greeted me wasn't one of adoration from a theatergoer; it was laced with an accent of old money, death, and great power. “Bella.”

My middle name was Isabella. He always shortened it and never called me by my first name, Erica. This got others around him to do the same.

I stepped inside, but didn’t close the door. “Hello, Father.”

He turned around, revealing that he held a bouquet of roses which seemed so out of place in his large, callused hands. “Brava, my dear! The whole time, I thought you were actually a vampire.”

His smile was warm, unnervingly so, considering the coldness I'd come to associate with him over the years.

A dark chuckle left him. “I almost didn’t come backstage to say hi.”

I wish you hadn’t, and I damn sure wish I was that powerful Vampire Queen right now.

A vision of me hissing and showing my claws entered my head.

I forced myself to speak, “Thank you.”

I moved my gaze to my brother, Vito, who loomed in the back of my dressing room like a treacherous shadow waiting to engulf me.

Wow. He’s grown now.

My brother had sprouted up like a giant demented beanstalk since the last time I’d seen him, his boyish features replaced by sharp ones that mirrored his father's.

He used to have an afro similar to my mother’s. The kids at school would pick on him for it. We’d been the only students of color there. When he was in the first grade, Vito almost killed one kid by slamming his head over and over into the pavement because of the teasing.

No one picked on his hair after that.

But now. . .apparently, he kept his head shaved.

Completely bald.

It gave him an ambiguous ethnic appearance. With that barely tanned complexion, I bet many couldn’t guess what he was.

Vito’s wicked hazel eyes remained on me.

Good God. He’s only eighteen and has to be at least six feet.

In his hand, he twisted a very sharp knife. Silver skulls with empty eye sockets covered the handle. Strange symbols had been seared into the blade.

I cleared my throat. “Hello, Vito.”

He formed his mouth into a cruel smirk but said nothing, choosing instead to let the knife speak for him.

It twisted and gleamed under the vanity lights.

And for a second, I caught a hint of red streaks on one side like. . .he’d just killed someone with it, and never cleaned the blade.

Jesus.

A bead of sweat ran down my back, seeping through the fabric of my costume.

Suddenly, my father's gaze shifted from me to Vito. “Put that knife away. You’re scaring Bella.”

A dark terrifying voice left my brother’s mouth as if something messed up had happened to his vocal cords. “I’m sorry.”

I shivered.

What happened to him?

“I wouldn’t want to scare sweet Bella.” Vito continued to hold my gaze and keep that cruel smirk on his face. Slowly, he deliberately slid the knife into the sheath at his side.

My stepfather turned back towards me, and his eyes softened momentarily and for a second, I swear I saw a flicker of regret.

But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual air of cool indifference. “You’ve done well for yourself, Bella. I am proud of you.”

The impact of those words shouldn't have had any effect on me, but they did.

My heart swelled with emotion, and I felt even more euphoric than I had while suspended above the stage, basking in the thunderous applause of the audience.

In fact, the rush of adrenaline was nothing compared to the warmth that spread through my chest at this unexpected declaration.

Did he really say that?

My life, my work, my passion—all acknowledged and validated for the first time by the man who always seemed unreachable. Despite all my bitterness towards him, despite everything we'd been through, I was profoundly touched.

Mom. . .did you hear that? Maximo is proud.

My eyes watered, but I refused to let myself cry.

He came over and handed me the bouquet of red roses. “Again. . .brava, my little Bella.”

Blushing, I took the bouquet, and the flowers rustled in my hands.

“This is beautiful.” I looked down at them. The petals were velvety soft, with delicate folds and curls that brushed against my fingers.

It was odd to think, but the roses looked like huge drops of blood. Deep red and liquidy. It was a bouquet that seemed to have been plucked from someone’s heart. The thorns jutted out like miniature weapons.

A black silky ribbon tied the stems together, adding an elegant touch.

The intoxicating perfumed scent of the roses filled the space.

Okay. This isn’t a bad visit.

My nerves calmed.

I was worried for nothing.

My voice cracked with emotion. “Thank you, Father.”

For a moment, we fell into silence.

The tension in the room grew thick, like a live wire ready to snap at any moment.

I turned to Vito who hadn’t said anything else since putting his knife away.

It was odd, but I kind of wished he talked more. His silence was more intimidating for some reason, making me feel like prey, as though at any moment he would pounce and tear me to shreds.

I returned my gaze to my stepfather. “Well. . .”

I took the bouquet of roses over to the empty vase at my vanity table, noting how close it was to Vito.

“So. . .” I began with feigned confidence, forcing myself not to stumble over my own words, “I'm glad you enjoyed the show. But I have not finished the performance, the next act is coming. I have to change.”

My stepfather cleared his throat and stood straighter, adjusting the cufflinks as he spoke, “Actually. . .”

I placed the bouquet in the vase and looked at him. “Yes?”

“Actually, you need to leave with us,” my stepfather stated flatly, and his tone declared that there should not be any argument about it.

However, I hadn’t been around him in over eight years, and I was now twenty-two years old.

I would not be told what to do anymore. “I’m sorry, but I can give you my cellphone number so you can call and then we could arrange a time to meet for maybe. . .dinner or something.”

Vito snickered.

I blinked.

“Bella. . .” My father’s face hardened, and his voice came out chillingly calm. “It's time to pay up for all the family has given you.”

What?