Chapter One: Dark Aria

“Havilieri, I told you to sing. To. The. Mezzanine.” The director scuttled off before the curtains lifted and I could utter a retort… that would have to stay in my head.

I rolled my shoulders back, stretching my neck from left to right. What did it matter that my name was the one in lights on the billboard? What did it matter that strangers knew my name and begged for selfies with me?

Like the rest of my life, my career was entirely controlled by everyone else.

The orchestra began with gentle violins, followed by a single thudding drum chased by the trill of flutes. The vibration of the rhythms flooded my veins. This was why I obeyed their commands—this moment of pure joy.

When the curtains parted in a thick wave of crushed velvet, the audience burst into applause. No one had yet to sing a note. They had all paid a small fortune for their seats. To crane their necks up and wait for me to open my mouth.

I had never been able to deny someone who loved my music.

It was for them that I sang.

It was for them that I stopped and smiled for their pictures.

It was for them that I endured the cruel words from critics about my waistline.

Mezzo-sopranos were not supposed to be… plump.

I was healthy. Croissants were delicious… What idiot would say no to a buttery pastry? Not me.

The orchestra’s melody dipped, cueing me for my grand opening. I sang. Every perfect note floated up into the air, surrounding each patron with a warm embrace. The heat from the spotlights beat against me as I pranced across the stage.

That’s a lie… I didn’t prance, I struggled to walk in the gargantuan dress made of bricks. The oppressive material added to the heat of the glowing lights. Sweat slipped between my breasts, my thighs, my everything. The only place the unpleasant perspiration didn’t cover was my face, coated with some magical dust the makeup department slapped on me.

A deep tenor bounded around me before Freddie walked across the stage to meet me. His hand over his heart and a dashing smile across his full lips. He reached for me, but I turned away, bashful.

My voice blended seamlessly with his, singing about the dangers of our love. I could never risk my father discovering our secret affair, and so we sang about our romantic angst.

Sniffles from the audience reached my ears over the orchestra. Their hearts were broken for the two lovers on stage. If only they knew what a spoiled brat Freddie was. Surely, if they did, I would win an award for my performance.

The tenor was talented, but a nightmare to work with. The only person in the company who liked him was the director, and we’d all heard the rumors…

I broke away from Freddie, my fingers tenting over my heart because this was the scene where I told him my father was marrying me off and we would never see each other again.

I scoffed inwardly, glancing toward the VIP boxes. One in particular where a handsome man sat, his chair angled toward the stage. It was the most coveted box in the theater, the one someone could see the entire stage from.

He sat, sipping his wine—a red—his dark eyes on me. I forced my smile down. He’d attended every one of my shows, and every one of my practices since I was three.

Thaddeus York, billionaire entrepreneur.

My dad.

Tad knew about my disdain for Freddie. I complained to him about my snotty co-star at length. Once my dad had offered to ‘talk’ to Freddie… I stopped complaining about my coworker immediately.

Billionaire entrepreneur was how the newspapers described Thaddeus York. The country’s deadliest mobster was how the tabloids described him.

I stole a glance toward his box seat, earning a wave from him. I winked before turning, singing my lamentations to Freddie about lost love. The show pressed on with rivers of sweat and me pretending to love someone I hated.

***

“At least you didn’t miss that last note the way you did during rehearsal,” Freddie sneered. I glared at him, my robe loosely closed over my slip. It wouldn’t matter if I sat here nude, Freddie would give zero shits and try to tear a strip off me for some perceived slight.

I remained silent, as the last pins were pulled from my strawberry blonde hair. Freddie rose from his chair, leaning close to my ear when the hair stylist was finished with me. “Such a good little girl, York. Well, I guess not little.”

My father had a saying when I was young: “Someone of your station does not lash out with angry fists and vile language.”

Since he wasn’t here right now… I twisted in my seat, my nose inches from Freddie as I glared at him, my jaw fluttering in an attempt to keep my words at bay. Anger licked through my veins, a desperate pressure ready to break me apart to get free.

Freddie lingered, waiting—daring—me to lash out. But I couldn’t. What would my father think when I told him I punched a stupid tenor? Freddie laughed, walking away from me.

I tucked my robe tighter around my body before heading to my dressing room. My father sat on the plush beige couch when I arrived, a platter of fruit and vegetables splayed out over the table. A bottle of white wine sat in a sweating ice bucket.

“Wonderful show, Havilieri,” my father said, rising from the couch to kiss both my cheeks.

“You said that last night too.” I took the wine from the bucket and poured myself a glass. I offered the bottle to my dad, knowing he would refuse because it was white. He shook his head. Predictable.

“Was that tenor bothering you again?”

I cocked an eyebrow at him. My dad always knew when something bothered me, like some sort of freaky sixth sense. He also always knew when I was lying, which made my childhood immensely frustrating. When I asked him about it, he’d give me some ridiculous excuse about my frequency being different. Radios had frequencies, people had moods.

“Nothing I can’t handle, Dad. No need to ‘take care of him.’” I air-quoted the last few words.

Tad chuckled, popping a grape into his mouth. “I don’t know what you mean.”

I eyed him, finishing my wine. “Sure.” Regardless of what the tabloids said, I knew what kind of man my father was.

He was the man who had charities for underprivileged youth and those without enough to eat. He was the man who dressed up in stupid costumes for Halloween just to match mine.

Thaddeus York was also the man who shook hands with powerful world leaders and the worst criminals the world had to offer in the same breath.

“Get dressed, princess. The car is waiting. We can have good wine at home and you can tell me all about this silly tenor and what he said to you that has you all riled up.”

“We could go to the Parkstar Lounge.”

“No. We’ll go home.”

I worried my bottom lip between my teeth. I gave him a curt nod. “Okay, Dad. Give me a few minutes and I’ll meet you at the side entrance.”

Tad kissed the top of my head. He adjusted the silky lapels of his suit jacket, tucking the top button into its housing before he slipped out into the hall.

I sipped another glass of wine—Tad was right, it wasn’t very good—and shrugged into my jacket. Fall had arrived quickly and was promising an early and cold winter. I hated the winter, much preferring my gardens and flowers. I was free with my flowers and shrubs.

Plants never told you what to do or were disappointed in you when you told them you wanted to move out.

The corridors were vacant when I left my dressing room. It was bliss to sneak away without anyone commenting about what I could have done better.

I shoved against the metal bar, pushing the door open into a blustery night. The wind snagged my loose hair, sending my long locks streaking across my face.

“Sweetmeat.”

“What?” My fingers grappled with the mess of hair, shoving it from my face.

A leather glove closed over my mouth, filling my nose with the grotesque stench of dead cow. I screamed, though the muted sound went nowhere. I grabbed at an arm, too thick to wrap my fingers around. My foot stomped down, meeting a shoe and bones.

My captor yelled, his hold on me releasing enough that I managed a cry for help. I tried to pull away from his hold and run. My father was close. He would be waiting at the car around the corner, as usual.

“Now, now, little one, what’s your hurry?” a thick voice said beside my ear. The stench of rotting teeth made me gag. “I just want a little taste of that sweetmeat.”

My blood froze. Tears pricked against the back of my eyes. I refused to die outside the theater. Throwing my weight forward, the man stumbled, and his arms around me slipped. I spun, meeting a pair of murky eyes, a pointed nose, and black teeth. A thick scar raced up the side of the man’s left temple.

I drove my knee up, colliding with the tender part between his legs. He roared, his rancid breath pelting my face, but his grip on me dropped. I ran, screaming for my dad.

Tad had me in his arms a moment later, pressing my head against his chest. His heart’s steady rhythm soothed me. “What happened?” His nose buried into my hair, inhaling deeply. “Talk to me, princess.”

“A man…” My tears choked the rest of the words. “He grabbed me.”

My dad held me until we were in the car. I shook beside him. He pulled my seatbelt around, fastening it over my lap.

“Nick, we’re leaving. Straight home,” my father demanded. The car glided away from the curb in a smooth motion. My dad raised the barrier between the front seat and us. Soundproof. View-proof. “What did he look like?”

I described the man; likely a vagrant or a thief looking to rob me. “But it was what he said… sweetmeat.” I shuddered against the word. Anger rippled from my father, as though the emotion were tangible waves crashing into me.

“It’ll be fine, princess. I’ll fix everything. We’ll spar in the morning, that’ll make you feel better.”

I nodded against his chest, refusing to unwind from my father’s safe embrace. When Thaddeus York promised something, it would be done.

***

Slippery moonlight filled my room. I’d made sure every window and door were locked in the house. Checked them all twice. But still I couldn’t sleep. Tad had left me. Business he’d said… when a business meeting was at midnight, it was never a meeting that ended well.

I rolled around in my bed wishing I had a guard dog. Maybe a guard tiger. Was there such a thing? Probably not because a tiger was more likely to eat me than protect me.

The front door thudded open. I tucked my comforter tighter around me because in my mind, the fluffy fabric would protect me from an assailant.

Sweetmeat. The word made my skin crawl.

My dad’s steady footfalls entered the house. I’d recognize the sound of him trying—and failing—to be quiet anywhere. His keys jangled when he tossed them in the little bowl at the front door before he climbed the stairs to his room.

I checked my phone, three a.m. My dad would expect me on the fencing piste in five hours no matter how little sleep either of us had. I rolled over, staring at my moonlight-stained ceiling. Originally, when I’d told Tad I was going to move out he told me no. There was no questioning the matter, with Thaddeus York there never was. It was his decision and that was that.

Stubborn as I was, I’d fought him anyway and eventually won my argument. I moved out into a lovely apartment not too far from his home. I survived a week. Tad knew I wouldn’t last long on my own. I was convinced it had all been part of his master plan to keep me under his roof until I died an old crone.

To assuage my disappointment, my father converted a portion of the main floor into an apartment for me. Unused kitchen and all.

Between our housekeeper, Iaothe, and him I’d never been permitted independence. Why learn to cook? Iaothe would do that. Why drive yourself? Nick would do that. Why make your own coffee? The machine—that no one ever showed me how to use—would do that.

I’d won a few battles over the years, but they were truly battles. I’d have to best my dad on the piste in order to force him to concede. Winning a fencing match had been the only way I convinced Tad to allow me to learn to drive myself. Though, to Tad’s credit, I drove too fast and held little regard for the rules of the road.

Dating had been another disaster entirely. The first boy I ever went on a date with I’d met during fencing lessons. We were both fourteen and the date was embarrassingly chaperoned by my dad. He sat between us during the movie. The boy never called me again.

The first guy I ever took to bed faced a worse nightmare. The morning after, he drove me home and we were met by Tad and Iaothe. Both of them were scowling at us from the top of the steps. My dad thundered down and hauled me out of the car, twirling me into Iaothe’s arms as he slid into the passenger seat and ordered Tommy to drive.

They came back twenty minutes later. Tad had a calm and pleasant smile across his face. When I stooped to glance at Tommy, the color had leached from his face and the sour stench of urine wafted from the car. He squealed his tires, the passenger door thunking closed as he tore away down the street. He never called me again either.

I stopped telling Tad about the men in my life after that. And none of them were permitted to come near my house if Tad was home.

Giving up on sleep around five thirty, I made myself tea and a bowl of cereal—the only two things I could make myself—and scrolled the New York City news. I was completely aware of my own vanity as I checked the arts and culture section for the opera’s reviews.

Glowing.

Havilieri York sang as an enchantress as usual. Not a dry eye was left in the house.

That should make the director happy and hopefully he’d piss off about singing to the damn mezzanine. I could whisper in a maze and everyone would hear me because that’s what I’d been trained to do for two decades. Twenty-one years of my life had been spent learning to control my voice and the intent with which I sang.

I checked the police’s wanted page, they always posted about dangerous criminals on their social media. It was a great way to keep citizens informed… even if searching for the man who’d attacked me was a great way to convince me that hiding beneath my comforter was the best idea ever. Tad would love that, another way of keeping his little girl at home.

The headline chilled my bones. My eyes pricked with tears as I stared at the face of the man who’d told me he wanted to taste me with his carrion breath.

Vagrant Found Violently Beaten to Death.

My stomach soured. Was there a gentle way to be beaten to death? I doubted it. I also doubted my father’s lack of involvement. Thaddeus York aggressively protected his interests. And he had no greater interest than my happiness and safety.

I closed my phone, not wishing to see another piece of news. My mind drifted between Tommy all those years ago and the man I was currently kind of dating.

One day, I might meet a man who earned Tad’s approval and trust. A man who could stand up to a mob boss and decide I was worth risking cement shoes for. I laughed, no such man existed.

Too bad fantasy realms and daring princes weren’t real.