Chapter 2
The backstage reception area of the theater was a chaotic yet beautifully lit space, cluttered with the remnants of previous theatrical productions. A massive, heavy rolling costume trunk sat near the wall, surrounded by empty garment bags, lightweight theatrical masks hanging on hooks, a freestanding acoustic-panel stack, neatly folded backdrop fabric, portable prop columns, and a padded rehearsal bench. The bright, cinematic lighting illuminated every dust mote in the air, creating a vivid, hyper-realistic environment devoid of any yellow warmth.
Nathan stood near the portable prop columns, looking incredibly sharp but inherently nervous. The thirty-seven-year-old wore a pristine white dinner jacket, black tailored trousers, a luxury wristwatch that caught the bright light, and gleaming patent leather shoes. His fair, rosy skin was flushed with a mixture of fine champagne and deep-seated anxiety. He was desperately trying to impress the woman standing beside him, a task that required him to walk a dangerous tightrope between his father’s terrifying legacy and his own pathetic ambitions.
"The champagne here is barely tolerable, Nathan," Scarlett complained, her American accent dripping with aristocratic condescension.
At thirty-one, Scarlett was undeniably beautiful, but her fair, rosy face was set in a permanent mask of arrogant entitlement. She wore a striking ruby-red satin gown that hugged her figure perfectly. A heavy, blinding diamond choker rested against her throat, matching the thick bracelet and rings that adorned her manicured hands. Her silver stilettos clicked impatiently against the floorboard.
"I apologize, Scarlett," Nathan said quickly, offering a placating, nervous smile. "I'll have one of the capos bring up a vintage bottle from my father's private reserve. He keeps the absolute best in the city."
"Your father certainly casts a massive shadow," Harrison noted, stepping up to join them. Scarlett’s forty-year-old brother was a ruthless Mafia associate looking to climb the ranks. His fair, rosy skin was perfectly groomed, and he wore a classic black tailcoat tuxedo, a crisp white pique vest, a luxury wristwatch, and polished oxfords. "He hasn't even looked in our direction since we arrived. Does the old man have a problem with our family, Nathan?"
"No, no, of course not, Harrison," Nathan stammered, adjusting the collar of his white dinner jacket. "My father is just... he's traditional. He focuses heavily on business at these public charity galas. It takes time to earn his direct attention. But my position in the syndicate is secure, I assure you."
"It better be," Scarlett murmured, sipping her drink and casting a judgmental eye over the backstage clutter. "I am not associating myself with a man who plays second fiddle in his own empire. I expect to be treated like the future matriarch of this family."
"You will be, Scarlett, I promise," Nathan insisted, his voice lowering to a desperate whisper.
A few yards away, hidden slightly behind the folded backdrop fabric and the padded rehearsal bench, sat three-year-old Zuri. Roland’s beloved granddaughter was breathtakingly adorable, her glowing warm-brown skin radiating a pure, innocent light. She was dressed like a tiny princess in a sparkling gold tulle gala dress, a soft white cashmere cardigan, and shiny gold ballet flats.
Completely oblivious to the dark, treacherous politics of the adults around her, Zuri was happily engaged in her own world. Using a discarded piece of colorful program paper she had found near the acoustic panels, her tiny fingers were diligently folding and twisting the material.
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"Look, Mr. Bear," Zuri whispered softly to her imaginary friend, her little American accent impossibly sweet. "I am making a beautiful flower for Daddy. He is going to love it."
She finished folding the small, handmade paper flower, her face lighting up with a brilliant, gap-toothed smile. Eager to share her creation, the little Black American girl stood up, smoothing down her gold tulle dress, and began to happily toddle across the brilliantly lit carpet toward the man in the white dinner jacket, completely unaware of the devastating heartbreak waiting for her.
