Vincent had promised this gig to be ‘life changing’. His tendency to exaggerate was starting to get on Adeline’s nerves, but did she really expect anything less from a 5 foot 4, second generation Italian with a voice like a news anchor?<br/><br/>“Die, mia bella.” His italian was muddled by a thick Bronx accent.  “Have I ever lead you wrong? I got a surprise in the audience this time, te lo prometto!” And with a smack of her ass, her had sent her to work.<br/><br/>Talent agents. She only put up with it because Vincent was the best on the south end of Bronx, everyone said so. Adeline was lucky to be his current favorite, she wouldn’t put it past some to kill for what she had. Even still, his hands always smelled like cured meat.  She sighed inside her dressing room, spritzing herself with her preferred cinnamon perfume as she waited for the night to kick into full swing. She shook off a wave of jitters, turning to the mirror. Vincent had messed up her makeup, again, and with a steady hand she meticulously lined her lips with a fresh, rather expensive coat of red lipstick. Rubbing her lips together she stared emptily at her reflection, searching for any blemish or unseemly hair along her porcelain skin. But no, she had covered them all. Her nerves dulled. She flashed herself a convincing, confident smile.<br/><br/>She had this.<br/><br/>Smoothing down her dress, she made her way to the stage. Instead of marble and glass, the building was composed of wood and cement, but she could still hear the livening russell of the crowd behind the thick red curtains. Her chin raised, her back straightened. This wasn’t broadway but tonight, it would do.<br/><br/>The curtain parted, revealing Adeline center stage, wrapped in a deep blue dress that matched her eyes. She was bare of any jewelry, but her pale complexion glowed under the singular spotlight placed directly on her. The crowd quickly quieted into a dull tinkle of glasses, ending conversations, and a smoker’s cough. Every face was on her, waiting in anticipation. She soaked this in, a spark of life entering eyes as she pulled the mic to her lips and broke the lull with her voice.<br/><br/>Everyone was replaceable, you know. There were plenty of girls out there with a set of vocal cords to rival her own. And they, unlike her, were starving on the streets of New York City, willing to put out just for a chance.  She had to stay sharp. She had to stay fresh. She wasn’t even that amazing. Her husky voice was unique, yes, and enjoyable to listen to with some friends by your and a sharp whisky in your hand. But there was always someone better.<br/><br/>Through a half lidded gaze she saw Stavros enter. Through the fog of the room, through the daze of the moment, she assumed without question that he was the man, the treat that Vincent had promised. She pushed her pitch-black curls from face and held his sharp gaze, singing to him.<br/><br/>The music seized her then. She sang from the bottom of her heart, which was an expression that never made sense to her until this moment. Nothing else matter to her but the music, not her bills, not this building, not her future. It was freeing. The last note died out from the accompanying piano and she peeled open her eyes, trying to recall how she had blown through a whole set without noticing.<br/><br/>Disoriented, she blinked under the spotlight and took the crowd’s applause as her cue to curtsy, just a little.  She walked off the stage, glancing back over her shoulder for a sight of that table, front and center…<br/><br/>"Ahhh, molta bella!" Vincent was waiting for her off stage, his cheeks ruddy as he plucked his cigar from his mouth and pulled her down to him, kissing both her cheeks. "That was your best performance yet, bravissimo, bravissimo. Head back to the dressing room, when Vincent promise a surprise, Vincent delivers, eh?"  He pushed past her, stepping onto the stage to say his usual closing quip.<br/><br/>Adeline rubbed her face, blinking several times before numbly walking back to her room.