Devil’s Thirst: A Mafia Stalker Romance (The Moretti Men Book 1)
Devil’s Thirst: Chapter 42

Most Broadway performances run Thursday through Sunday, with rest in between. Opening nights are usually scheduled for a Thursday or a Sunday. This time around, we open on a Sunday, which I prefer because that means a few days off after all the hype of a first big performance. It also means an earlier show. The curtain draws at five thirty, and we’re nearly there.

We did a light rehearsal to warm-up and address any last-minute issues—more to settle nerves than anything. Our director gave a teary pep talk slash thank-you speech with a gentle reminder about the critics and reporters in tonight’s audience. As if we could possibly forget.

Lights and sound have been checked, and the orchestra is warming up. The cast is fully costumed with Hazel and her crew on hand to deal with any wardrobe malfunctions. And most importantly, the audience has begun to enter the theater.

Our months of tireless preparation are about to be put to the test.

The air backstage is electric yet subdued as though we’ve all won the lottery but also have a room full of sleeping babies we don’t want to disturb. Even in the dressing room, where we can’t be heard on stage, everyone speaks in hushed tones.

I adore the feeling of opening night jitters. Sure, my stomach is in knots, but there’s also a giddy sense of relief and anticipation. Even more so tonight since this is my first principal role. I can’t wait to prove myself worthy of that honor, though only one set of eyes truly matters to me. I know exactly where he’ll be sitting, so I’ll dance for him tonight.

“Hey, all ready?” Hazel asks when she joins me while I stretch to keep my muscles warm.

“Definitely.” I grin at her. “You get everything handled?”

“Yeah, Melody’s headpiece refused to stay put, but she may have to be buried in it now. That thing’s not going anywhere.”

“She’d probably prefer to lose a chunk of scalp than risk the thing flapping around during a key moment. I know I would.”

Hazel snorts. “Hey, is your new man going to be here tonight?”

“He is.” My grin is infectious. “Haze, I didn’t say anything earlier because I don’t have a ring or anything, but he proposed.”

Her jaw hits the floor. “What?” she shrieks.

“I know, it seems crazy fast, but it’s just … right.”

She gapes at me for a second before shaking her head as if to snap back to reality. “Hey, when it’s right, it’s right. And your families are close, so that helps, but I’m still blown away. Mellie, you’re engaged!” She pulls me into a borderline aggressive hug. “I’m so happy for you. And seriously, if I had a man that hot begging me to marry him, I’d say yes, too.”

I giggle at the thought of Sante begging because it would never happen. He’d probably roofie me into marriage before he begged. I keep that little nugget to myself. Just because I’ve accepted the unique nature of our relationship doesn’t mean everyone else will understand.

“Okay, I’ll let you get back to stretching. You’re hitting the after-party tonight, right?” She stares at me expectantly.

“Yeah,” I assure her. “I’ll be there.”

“Excellent. Knock ’em dead out there!”

I blow her an exaggerated kiss on her way out, then put my AirPods in to get in the zone. I have an inspirational playlist I listen to before performances. The lyrics empower me, while the music helps me focus. By the time my alarm goes off, signaling the start of the show, I’m ready for the performance of my life.

The production opens with Andrey and other dancers on stage setting the scene with a tragic yet enticing musical number that bleeds into a riotous scene at the famed Moulin Rouge. That’s my cue.

Deep breaths. You got this.

The second I step foot on stage, a spotlight locks in on me, and the entire scene draws out into slow motion as Andrey’s character catches sight of mine from a distance. The change of lighting, pace, and music is exquisite. While I’m not looking at the audience, I sense their captivation. The silent stillness of hundreds of enchanted patrons.

The thrill is intoxicating.

I perform my first dance sequence as I cross the stage. Once I’m on the other side, I have a moment of stillness while Andrey’s character reacts. Normally, I would never look into the audience, but I can’t help myself knowing Sante is out there. I want to see him. I know exactly where he is, so it will only take a second to peek.

I allow my gaze to seek its target, only it never makes it that far. Instead, my eyes lock with a sinister pair of blue eyes that laugh at me right along with the vile smirk on his face.

John Talbot is here, taunting me from the third row.

I have to fight back the cacophony of voices that begin shouting in my head.

This is not the time. You have to focus!

Thank God for muscle memory. My body automatically flows from one step sequence to the next at certain cues. Meanwhile, my thoughts are overrun with emotions. Terror at the mere sight of him. Fury that he continues to haunt me. Uncertainty and frustration and practically every other negative emotion on the spectrum … except one.

Shame.

I used to feel so ashamed that I hadn’t stopped it from happening. But now that my secret is out, it’s taken the shame with it.

I did nothing wrong.

He’s the monster.

He’s the one who should be ashamed.

He’s the one who should be punished.

The world needs to know what he’s done, and I may be the only person capable of making that happen. Sante and the others will make sure he’s punished one way or another, but I want the truth to be told.

I want him to know I’m not scared anymore.

He can’t control me anymore.

The chaos in my head minutes ago filters away to resounding clarity. I submerge myself back into the music, allowing all residual emotions to be expressed through the dance. When we reach intermission, I feel more confident and prouder of myself than I ever have in my life. So self-assured that I’m not even worried about my career when I step toward the front of the stage seconds before the curtain falls behind me.

Some things are more important than a career.

And now that I don’t have to worry about protecting my family, I can put integrity and justice first.

The lights come up to signal intermission, but nobody moves. Everyone watches me curiously. I can hear whispers from the dancers backstage, panicking over what’s going on with me. Despite the enormity of what I’m doing, I feel remarkably calm.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” I call out, projecting my voice from deep in my lungs. “I apologize for the interruption, but there is a matter that must be addressed. Almost five years ago, when I was seventeen, John Talbot raped me.”

The audience gasps as a whole.

“Again, I know this isn’t what you came here for tonight, and I apologize. However, Mr. Talbot has made the poor choice of joining us tonight, and while he’s silenced me with threats for years now, I’m done staying quiet.” I look him dead in the eyes—his wide with indignation—then lift my gaze toward the back of the theater. “If security would come and escort this man out, I would appreciate it.”

Talbot doesn’t move. He remains seated, his icy stare locked on me.

One at a time, dozens of others stand from seats all over the theater. I scan their faces one by one and see Conner and Noemi, Renzo and his wife Shae, Sante, Tommy, Oran and Lina, Pippa and Bishop, Stormy and Torin, and even Mama G along with so many more—all standing and glaring daggers at Talbot.

They’re all here for me.

To show their love and support. Because they’re family—my family—and that’s what true family does for one another. They’ve been there all along. I was simply too traumatized to see it.

I’m so fucking grateful that my corseted top strains from the fullness of my heart.

Talbot finally peers around as if amused at the absurdity of our spectacle. When two uniformed security guards arrive at either end of his row, he slowly stands and buttons his jacket before shooting me a malicious grin. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.” His words are spoken casually as though he’s totally unruffled, but violence shines in his eyes.

It’s enough to make my legs feel unsteady. I command them to stay strong, unwilling to show this monster any weakness. When I sense my director joining me on stage in silent support, I cross my arms defiantly and watch Talbot make his exit. He gives me one last parting glare before making his walk of shame out of the theater, Sante and Oran joining his procession.

I did it.

I stood up to the demon who’s haunted me for years. I fought back.

Pride wraps me in her feathered wings and assures me that I’m stronger than I ever knew.

“Thank you for your patience, everyone, and enjoy the rest of the show.” I give a ballerina’s bow, then gracefully follow my director backstage with my head held high and my heart soaring.