Page 6 of Where Wild Hearts Dance
I’ve always been this way. Expressing myself in normal ways—talking to friends or having a good cry—doesn’t come easily to me. Instead, I bottle it all up then release it through the movements of my body. Antonio says I’m “too wild,” that I’m “untrainable.”
It’s become a part of my identity, for better or for worse.
These days, he accepts the way I come alive in all the inconvenient, unconventional ways, but tonight, he said I was “unhinged.”
That’s a new one.
I wonder if the reason I was unhinged in this evening’s class is because I couldn’t hear the music over the ringing of gun shots in my ears. Or because I couldn’t sleep last night. My mind seemed to prefer replaying footage of the Di Santo’s entering Fed’s home and killing his uncle.
I hate that the Di Santos areeverywhere. It’s not often they are seen but my God they are felt. Their presence penetrates everything. New York seems to be in a permanent state of collective anxiety.
I’m certainthat’sthe reason I haven’t slept and not the bronze eyes that saw me watching as the Di Santo’s shot Mario Falconi, an innocent man. What if the owner of those eyes tracks me down? What if me witnessing the killing is inconvenient for them?
A tremble vibrates down my spine until I remember that I’m a complete nobody. A shadow who lives in dark corners. They won’t care that I saw anything. I don’t matter, and that’s just the way I like it.
The street is quiet. It’s tucked away in the heart of Alphabet City, just a few blocks across from Mr. Falconi’s offices. I’m about halfway down it when I hear the sound of footsteps not far behind.
Slow, deliberate, measured.
My heart sticks to my chest, making its beats reverberate through my torso. Maybe I do matter after all.
I walk faster, focusing all my attention on the sound of the footsteps.
They’re still behind me, inching closer.
I dare not look around, but pick up speed until I’m almost jogging. The footsteps quicken slightly but they sound like they might belong to a much taller person who can take longer strides, moving faster without taking more steps like I have to.
I pull my house keys from my pocket, shove one of them through my fingers, the jagged edge pointing outward, and curl my fist around the rest. The end of the street where cabs usually pass is still a few hundred yards away. My breaths quicken with adrenaline.
A long thin shadow stretches across the road. Whoever is following me isn’t far behind. I pull out my phone and dial Allegra. Even without the speaker switched on I can hear the dial tone.
It just rings and rings.
Shit.
A quick flick of my gaze across the street again and the shadow is even closer.
I end the call and break into a jog. I just did three hours straight dancing and I’m exhausted, but I force my feet to move quicker, harder. Blood thumps through my dormant muscles making them ache.
I’m breathless when I finally round the corner. A couple of cabs are heading my way, only one with its light glowing. I run out into the road, my lungs burning. Thankfully, the cab stops and I jump in the back, breathlessly announcing my address.
As I squint in the direction of where I’ve just run from, I can’t see any movement. Whoever was behind me didn’t turn the corner.
When we near the end of the block I glance sideways and see the same shadow stretching across the street. There’s a man standing on the corner, just out of sight. I jerk my focus back to the road.
It's only when the cab is over the Brooklyn Bridge that I properly exhale, and the reality of what happened makes my blood run cold.
I’ve just been followed.
In the heart of Alphabet City under a thin veil of darkness.
My cell buzzes in my fingers and my aunt’s name flashes up. Now that I’m out of immediate harm’s way, I debate whether or not I should tell her what just happened for all of five seconds. Allegra became a surrogate mother to four spirited, strong-willed girls just three years ago when Mama was killed. We are a daily cause of anxiety to her. The guy who just followed me… it could be nothing, and I don’t want to give my poor aunt any more reason to worry about us.
I press the speaker. “Hey Allegra.”
“Hi Tess. I got a missed call from you. Is everything okay?”
“Oh yeah, everything’s fine. I’m sorry, I must have butt-called you when I got in the cab. I’m on my way home.”
