Rossi, whose face had been a study in detached, professional severity, had listened to the entire, ugly exchange. His eyes, as sharp and piercing as a hawk’s, shifted from the furious, wealthy mother to the frightened, ragged child. He had heard Chloe’s performance—a technically competent, but cold, soulless rendition of a demanding and passionate aria. And he, too, had heard the flat note. And now, he had heard the critique, whispered from the lips of a child who looked as though she had never seen the inside of a music hall before.
“Cessate!” Rossi roared, slamming his ebony baton down on the music stand. The sound cracked like a whip through the auditorium, a sonic thunderclap that demanded and received absolute, immediate silence. “Silence! The entire orchestra stops. Not another sound from anyone!”
He turned slowly, his full, terrifying, undivided focus settling on Lila. He completely ignored Brenda’s sputtering attempts to intervene, dismissing her as one might a buzzing fly.
“Tu, bambina. Vieni qui,” he commanded in flawless, authoritative Italian, then switched to English for clarity, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “Child. Come here. Now.”
Lila, paralyzed by fear and the sheer, overwhelming intensity of his gaze, took a hesitant step, then another, slowly approaching the stage. She clutched the wilting roses to her chest as if they were a shield.
“Sing it,” Rossi demanded, his voice devoid of all kindness, a surgeon demanding a scalpel. He pointed with his baton to the specific note on the conductor’s score. “Sing that note for me. The C-sharp. Sing it as it was written.”
Lila, her voice barely a thread, lifted her head. She opened her mouth, and from the depths of her small, undernourished frame, she sang the corrected phrase. The note she produced was perfectly pitched, pure, crystalline, and utterly effortless—a raw, untaught, God-given talent that hung in the air like spun gold, shimmering in the sudden, profound silence of the hall.
4. The Audition
Rossi’s face, a moment before a thundercloud of irritation, transformed. The severity vanished, replaced by an expression of pure, unadulterated shock, then a profound, almost spiritual ecstasy. He had spent his entire life searching for this sound, this purity. He had witnessed a miracle.
He ignored the stunned, disbelieving silence of the room. “Now, the aria,” he ordered, his voice suddenly almost frantic, a man who had just discovered a vein of pure gold and was desperate to see how deep it went. “Sing the full section. From the beginning. A cappella. Now!”
Lila, fueled by the Maestro’s impossible, terrifying command, forgot the room, the angry woman, the hunger gnawing at her stomach. There was only the music. She sang. Her voice, completely untrained but powerful, intuitive, and filled with a longing and a sadness that no tutor could ever teach, soared through the magnificent hall. It was a voice that belonged to no social class, no pedigree; it belonged only to music, to the composer, to God.
Brenda and Chloe stood frozen, as if turned to stone, in a state of utter, public humiliation. Chloe’s months of expensive, grueling vocal lessons and professional coaching were suddenly, brutally revealed as the brittle, hollow, manufactured achievement they were, crushed and rendered meaningless by the raw, undeniable, elemental force of Lila’s natural talent.
Rossi, tears streaming unashamedly down his face, dropped his baton. It clattered unheard to the floor. He walked to the very edge of the stage, oblivious to the fact that he was presiding over the greatest, most astonishing display of natural talent the hall had heard in decades. He looked straight at Brenda, who was trying to regain her voice, to protest this insanity.
“Basta!” he thundered, his voice a powerful baritone that needed no microphone. “Silence! Your daughter sings like a machine, with incorrect notes. This child, this child from the street, she knows. She feels. You think you can buy everything with your money, Madam? You think you can purchase a soul for the music? You cannot buy this ear! You cannot buy this heart!”
5. The New Prodigy
See more on the next page
Advertisement
See more on the next page
Advertisement
