ROSALINA'S POVI finished the en pointe sequence, my heart hammering a frantic tattoo against my ribs. Applause, polite and restrained, pattered on me, but I barely registered it. My perfect arabesque, the culmination of months of sweat and sacrifice, felt worthless.Even Mrs. Petrova thought the same. "What a shame it is that Liora broke her leg, isn't it? Such a talented girl." Mrs. Petrova's voice, dripping pity, was the knife that cut the final string of my forbearance. "You stole her role!" -poisoned thorns twisting in my gut. Each graceful movement, each flawless pirouette, felt like a betrayal. I wasn't dancing anymore; I was drowning in a sea of guilt and doubt.Was I, the understudy, the opportunist, who snatched the crown from the rightful princess? My legs, once instruments of grace, felt heavy as lead as I stumbled out of the stage. Tears welled up, the pain of getting crushed under the weight of accusations and expectations becoming unbearable. I needed air, escape. "

ROSALINA'S POVThe lobby, usually buzzing with the hum of gossip and lively chatter of old ladies, felt like a tomb tonight. Pushing open the heavy oak door, I inhaled the stale air, the scent of dust and disinfectant a familiar comfort.Frankie, perched on his stool by the elevator, looked up. His weathered face, usually etched with a lively grin, was creased with concern. "Hey, Frankie, how have you been?" I forced a smile, the words hollow in my throat.He sighed. "Oh, I've been fine and dandy, young lady. Same as always, watching the world go round from my little corner."My smile faltered. "I bought you some food," I mumbled, the paper bag heavy in my hand. "Italian, of course.""Always," he rumbled, his voice a low tremor. His calloused fingers brushed mine as he took the bag, sending a jolt through me that had nothing to do with the touch. It was the unspoken question hanging in the air, thicker than the aroma of simmering marinara."I forgot to mention," he said, his voice ba

LEONARDO'S POVThe stage lights, harsh and unforgiving, sliced through the gloom of the opera house in the heart of Manhattan, casting long shadows on the velvet seats where I sat. Two of Rosalina's female cousins squealed when the curtains lifted, but all I saw was her. Dressed in a white feather costume, gliding across the polished wood like a graceful swan.But it wasn't just her that held me captive. It was the unnamed dancer whose hand brushed hers with an intimacy that sent a viper of jealousy slithering through my veins. Their steps, synchronized yet separate, spoke a language I could barely decode. My gaze narrowed on his hand on the curve of her waist, the way the back of his hand grazed her cheek. Was it the choreography or the intimacy they shared off-stage? The thought of another man's hands over her body, that I had claimed for myself triggered the green-eyed monster gnawing at my soul. With each spin, her tutu became a blur, a white cloud swirling around her. But then,

ROSALINA'S POV"Remember what the doctor said? Your leg needs time to heal, and any extra strain from dancing could slow down the process or even make it worse. We want you back on your feet soon, so let's focus on following the recovery plan and hold off on the dancing for a bit." My eyes turned deaf to any sort of consolation from Mr. Bennett.This injury feels like a cruel joke. Everything I've ever pushed myself for, every sacrifice, every aching muscle... for this? To miss the chance that defined my entire career path? Valentina's curse replayed in the back of my hazed mind, clear as a lucid nightmare. "I hope you never dance again." She said. And that was what had happened. I missed the biggest opportunity of my life."What about the show?" I asked.Mr. Bennett's eyes turned to Sophia standing at the corner. "Sophia will play the final, Odette. Since she looks like you a little and with the makeup, the audience will barely notice a thing." "I'm so sorry, Ro," Sophia said, her

LEONARDO'S POVI checked the magazine of my precious Kalashnikov, feeling the weight of the bullets in my hand. My cousins were doing the same with their weapons. Luca and Lucio had their Desert Eagle gun, Alessio, and Stefano Colt-Ar 15 rifle. We won't stop until each one of Antonios' men ends up rotting under the stone. We had been planning this for months, ever since we learned that Antonio Armando was behind the kidnapping and trafficking of innocent women and children He had a network of warehouses across the city, where he kept his victims in cages, tortured them, and sold them to the highest bidder. He was a monster, and we were going to end him.Acting on a tip from Agent Matthews, the rogue FBI agent who had to infiltrate the Armando clan, swiftly moved to Antonio's main warehouse—the one with the basement—where he safeguarded his most valuable merchandise for his personal pleasure. We needed to act fast before he relocated them to another location.We parked our van a few