Nina stood in the darkness across from the opera house. Dressed all in black, she blended into the shadows, watching Giovanni.

He was waiting, she thought, waiting for his little ballerina to emerge from the theater.

She could sense his mind probing the night, searching, Nina knew, for her.

Nina smiled. Did he honestly think he could keep her from exacting revenge, that he could protect that silly little mortal woman?

The smile died on her lips as she recalled how he had refused to share a single night with her. In a thousand years, no man had ever refused her and lived to tell it.

But she would not kill Gianni - it would be so much more satisfying to destroy his woman.

Or so she told herself. It was a lie, and she knew it, but she refused to acknowledge that she simply could not bring herself to destroy him, that even now, after all these years, after the way he had coldly dismissed her, he was the only man she had ever truly cared for, and he had refused her because of another woman.

Jealousy rose up within her, as bitter as gall. It was unthinkable that a man who had once adored her had spurned her in favor of that doe-eyed creature with her innocent blue eyes and pale blond hair.

Eyes narrowed, she stared at Giovanni, and at that moment she hated him, hated him as fervently as she loved him.

In a thousand years, she had desired many men, made love to many men, but she had loved none of them. She was too selfish to give anyone a part of herself. It seemed ironic, somehow, that the only man with whom she wanted to share a part of her existence did not want her.

And for that, the woman would pay.

And through the woman, Giovanni would pay.

But not too soon, she thought, shielding her presence from Gianni.

Not too soon...