Page 1 of Dance with the Devil

ONE

THE PLAYGROUND

GENEVIEVE

If my brother knew I was here, he would kill me.

Well, no. Not me. He loves me, and would forgive me almost anything.

But Christopher? He doesn’t have a prayer.

My best friend is nibbling on his thumb nail as he stands on the edge of the dance floor. Slender, if a little lanky, the low-cut silky blouse he has on is so different from the suit he normally wears, but it’s perfect for a night out at the club. Though, if the slight furrows in his brow are any sign, he’s wishing that he’d managed to talk me into going to an establishment on the East End of Springfield rather than the West Side.

Silly Christopher. The East End is Dragonfly territory. What would the fun be in that? The Libellula Family owns the drug trade in this city, plus the counterfeiting ring, and there are plenty of nightclubs where I’d be welcomed in on sight despite the fact that I don’t have the trademark dragonfly inked on my arm. After all, as Genevieve Libellula, my name is all it takes.

But that’s the East End. On the West Side, no one knows who I am. That’s how Damien prefers it, and my overprotective olderbrother has gone to great trouble over the years to keep me away from his rival’s territory. From giving orders that I can’t leave the three-floor manor where I live with him, his new wife, and our cousin, Vin, to insisting that I only agree to dance on stages far from this part of Springfield, I’ve been coddled and shielded from the brutality of his criminal empire since he became my guardian when I was only ten.

Damien is fifteen years my senior. Sometimes, he seems to forget that I’m not ten anymore. You’d think that after we hosted his fortieth birthday dinner a month ago, he’d realize that I’m firmly in my mid-twenties, but that’s never going to happen. If I leave it up to him, I’ll be seventy-five instead of twenty-five, and that man will still think I’m too delicate and innocent to know the truth about what it’s like to run a Family in a crime-filled hotspot like Springfield.

Not only am I nowhere near as innocent as Dame thinks—except in one way, and that’s part of the reason why I’m here tonight—but I’mfascinatedby the darker side of my brother’s career. I always have been. I know better than to think he’ll ever let me help him run the Family, but if I can prove to him that I’m not the little girl he’s convinced I am…

Step one: realize that there is life beyond ballet and doing what Damien tells me.

Ignoring my brother’s stubborn insistence that I be a mafia princess instead of a co-runner of the Family is easy. When there’s never been any repercussions to defying him, I got into the habit of blowing Dame off when I was a rebellious teen. Scaling back on ballet was harder, but as I got older, I had to admit that I wouldn’t be able to dance forever, even if I wanted to. My body doesn’t bounce back like it used to, and my marathon training sessions while I’m preparing for an upcoming performance suck way more now than when I was younger.

I still stretch and dance and perform as much as ever. Only I also sneak out of my bedroom a handful of times a month so that, for a night at a time at least, I can just be ‘Gen’ instead of Genevieve Libellula.

Of course, whenever I try, all it takes is one look at Christopher’s guarded body language to know that I can never forget for a moment what my last name is—or the identity of my brother.

Christopher is my best friend. He’s also Damien’s admin, which is a fancy way of saying that he runs my brother’s calendar, keeping track of all of the meetings he has—both legitimate and not—as well as doing all kinds of odds and ends for the head Dragonfly. I got him the job when we were eighteen, and he’s spent the last seven years making himself indispensable to Damien.

But despite my blonde hair, I’m not a ditzy idiot. Christopher is my best friend, but Damien is his boss. When I sneak out, I’m pretty sure my brother has no clue what I’m doing—in order for him to, he’d have to have figured out there’s a blind spot for his cameras near my room, and that the tree growing outside my window makes it possible for me to shimmy down and slip away sight unseen—but I have no illusions about why Christopher offers to join me on my adventures.

He’s not just my wingman. He’s my chaperone.

Tonight, his leather pants are so tight, they’re basically plastered to his ass. That shirt leaves little to the imagination. Knowing him as well as I do, I’d put money down that he has at least one weapon tucked out of sightsomewhere, and if anyone threatens me, he’ll handle it since God knows Dame would definitely kill him if he doesn’t.

Christopher has come a long way from the shy eight-year-old boy who was teased for taking ballet lessons before I punched Lindsay Chant in the lip to get her to leave him alone. We’vebeen fast friends since the day I protected him, and if he has this silly idea that I needhimto protectme, I’m happy to let him… so long as he lets me have my fun, too.

I don’t like to think of it as blackmail. It’s such a dirty word for the agreement between Christopher and me. But we’ve been sneaking out to be wild teens since before Damien hired him on, so as far as I’m concerned his loyalty is to me first. Will he ever admit to Damien that he follows me all over Springfield—including Sinners Syndicate turf? If he had to, I’m sure he would. But since this is a case of ‘what Damien doesn’t know, won’t hurt him’...

I’m staring out at the dance floor, working up the nerve to go out there and shuck my training, letting the music move me, when someone near the bar catches my eye.

I grab Christopher’s arm. “Hey. Is that her?”

He cocks his head, raising his voice over the noise as he asks, “Where?”

I don’t want to point, so I tug on him, guiding him until he’s staring in the same direction as me. “There. The Playground uniform. Waitress… she’s got a serving tray in front of her.”

“You mean the redhead that I’ve been dying to fuck? Yeah, that’s her. That’s Jessie.”

My gaze goes from the blonde waitress I was staring at to the other one. Ah. So that’s whoChristopher’s been watching.

As a Dragonfly, he’ll run his gaze over the crowd, searching out any threats.

As a man, he has his eyes set on his next target.

I let go of him. “That’s not who I meant, but— hang on, Jessie’s a chick?”

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