But as good as Milena, Naomi, and I are, we’re not Alicia-level good. We’re also not in her band of mean-girl suck-ups. Actually, if you want to cast this whole thing as a high school movie, my two friends and I would probably be the freaks in black who sit at the weird-kid table in the lunchroom and don’t get invited to parties.
“Well, you’re doing something now,” Alicia grins at me. “C’mon.”
She turns on her heel, along with Irena, and starts to waltz out of the dressing room. Like that’s the end of the conversation.
“Um, what?”
Alicia sighs heavily, stopping and turning to give me a look that says I’ve just committed the ultimate social faux pas.
“Are you in or out, Bianca?”
I’m smart enough to know that asking “for what” pretty much guarantees this conversation is over and that I will not be going with Queen Alicia on whatever her adventure is. So I shrug as casually as I can and slip my tablet into my bag.
“Oh, in. Totally in.”
She grins. “Good. C’mon.”
I glance down at my “outfit” nervously before raising my eyes to her. Alicia looks great, of course. She’s already showered, her hair is done immaculately. Her makeup is perfect, and her outfit is cute. Irena’s the same.
I, on the other hand, am in B-team leggings and a hoodie, with my long hair up in its usual bun, with zero makeup. I also didn’t shower after rehearsal, because I don’t shower here.
I can’t.
“I… Should I go home and change—”
“You’re fine. C’mon.”
I know Milena would roll her eyes hard enough to sprain something if she saw how quickly I jump to my feet. But she’s not here, and you know what, give me a freaking break. I mean I love the friends I have. But it’s not like you make a lot of them when you’re a mafia don’s daughter with three extremely overprotective older brothers.
I leave my dance bag in my locker and quickly follow the two of them out of the dressing room. We exit out the back of the Mercury Opera House, which houses the Zakharova Ballet, and then climb into Alicia’s Tesla. I manage to hold my tongue for all of three minutes more before I clear my throat.
“So, where…”
Irena grins as she lifts her eyes to the rearview mirror, looking at me in the back seat. “An adventure.”
My brows knit as I chew on my lower lip. I glance out the window as Manhattan passes by us. Then I open my damned mouth again. “What, uh… What kind of adventure?”
“The mayhem kind,” Irena grins.
I’m pretty sure she didn’t say that to calm my nerves. In which case, bravo. Anxiety gnaws at my stomach as I glance out the window again. Irena is Russian Bratva-adjacent. Her cousin, Grisha Lenkov, besides being a major creep, is an avtoritet for the Chernoff Bratva.
He’s also Alicia’s on-again/off-again boyfriend.
Remind me why I got into this car?
Alicia drives us over the Williamsburg Bridge, then deeper into Brooklyn, until the hipster bars and ironic coffee shops have given way to a truly industrial area. Alicia pulls into a dark parking lot next to a closed-down diner and turns off the car.
I now fully regret agreeing to this.
“Um…”
“Don’t be such a scaredy cat. It’s fine,” Alicia sighs as she steps out. Irena shoots me a mean-looking grin before she gets out, too. I slowly follow suit as Alicia hefts a duffle bag out of the trunk.
“Alicia.”
She turns to me. “Yes?”
“What are we doing?”
She sucks on her teeth, grinning a little. “Just something for Grisha.”
My stomach knots as my eyes drop to the duffel bag.
“Don’t…” Her grin fades as she shakes her head. “Don’t ask. Seriously. But it’s going to be fine. He wouldn’t have asked me to do this for him if it was dangerous.”
Bullshit.
I’ve met Grisha once or twice before when he’s come to pick Alicia up after rehearsal. Calling him a “creep” is like calling Jeffery Dahmer “a guy with strange eating habits”. He’s a dick to Alicia, rude to pretty much everyone he sees, and almost definitely arrives early to pick her up just so he can walk into the dressing room while everyone else is still changing.
Alicia closes the trunk and hefts the duffel bag again. “C’mon, let’s go.”
She starts to walk across the empty parking lot and around the side of the shuttered diner. Irena is right behind her, with me hanging further back.
“Okay, seriously…” I look around nervously as we come around to the back of the diner: an alley with brick walls, a rusted-out dumpster, and only one way in…or out. “Alicia, what are we—”
“So, Grisha sends his bitches to do his deliveries for him now?”
My heart lurches into my throat. Whirling, my face goes white when I see the two men now standing behind us at the entrance to the alley. They’re both built, with lots of visible tattoos on their necks and hands, and dressed in dark suits with no ties.
