Chapter 12 - THE AUDITORIUM TRAP
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Saturday afternoon arrived under a bright, cloudless Chicago sky.
The historic Auditorium Theatre was packed to maximum capacity with two thousand wealthy patrons, city officials, and art lovers.
The glittering crystal chandeliers illuminated the gilded arches and crimson velvet seats of the historic hall.
Backstage, the air smelled of hairspray, rosin powder, and nervous excitement.
Sophie stood in front of the illuminated vanity mirror in dressing room number four.
She looked like an angel.
She wore a pristine white tutu adorned with silver embroidery that caught the light like morning frost.
Her dark hair was pulled into an immaculate ballerina bun, secured with a diamond-encrusted clip that had belonged to her mother.
I knelt beside her, carefully tying the satin ribbons of her new pointe shoes around her slender ankles.
My hands were perfectly steady now.
There were no needles.
There was only love, protection, and trust.
“How does the ribbon feel, Sophie?” I asked, smiling up at her.
“Snug, Claire,” Sophie beamed, her eyes sparkling with pure happiness.
“Not too tight, just like you taught me.”
She looked at herself in the mirror, turning her head from side to side.
“Do you think Mommy can see me from heaven today?”
My heart melted, and I reached up to gently squeeze her small hands.
“She is sitting in the very front row of the angels, sweetheart,” I said softly.
“And she is prouder of you than words can ever describe.”
The dressing room door opened, and Luca stepped inside.
He looked breathtaking in a bespoke midnight-blue tuxedo, a white silk pocket square resting over his heart.
He carried a bouquet of twelve white roses, each petal fresh with dew.
Sophie squealed with delight, carefully hopping off her chair to avoid creasing her skirt, and threw her arms around her father.
Luca caught her effortlessly, kissing both of her cheeks with radiant pride.
“You look magnificent, my prima ballerina,” Luca whispered.
“Thank you, Daddy!”
A low knock sounded at the door, and Marco stuck his head in.
His eyes flicked toward Luca, giving a nearly imperceptible nod.
“Five minutes to curtain call, boss,” Marco said.
“The VIP box is secure.”
Luca set Sophie down, smoothed the lapels of his tuxedo, and looked at me.
“Claire, take Sophie to the stage left wings.”
“I will be watching from box tier one.”
“Be careful, Luca,” I whispered as he passed me.
Luca brushed his knuckles against my cheek, his eyes glowing with quiet determination.
“Always, my heart.”
I escorted Sophie down the backstage corridor, where thirty other young dancers were nervously warming up.
The stage manager gave the two-minute warning, and the house lights began to dim.
The heavy velvet curtain rose, and the symphonic orchestra began the swelling, melancholic overture of Tchaikovsky’s masterpiece.
Sophie took her position behind the velvet drapery, taking three deep breaths.
Far below the stage, in the concrete labyrinth of the theater’s maintenance tunnels, the darkness was absolute.
Elena Bellini, dressed in tactical black, moved silently along the damp brick wall with four heavily armed mercenaries.
“The alarm on door B is bypassed,” Elena hissed into her earpiece.
“We breach the dressing room corridor when the solo begins.”
“Grab the girl and the maid.”
“Shoot anyone who gets in the way.”
The lead mercenary reached for the heavy iron push-bar of door B and shoved it open.
Instead of an empty backstage stairwell, the door opened into a blinding wall of halogen floodlights.
Elena gasped, shielding her eyes.
Standing thirty feet down the corridor, backed by twelve armed Moretti enforcers, was Luca.
He stood with his hands tucked into his tuxedo pockets, looking at the intruders as if they were nothing more than insects.
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“Welcome to the theater, Elena,” Luca said, his voice echoing off the brick tunnel walls.
“You’re just in time for the finale.”
