Page 69 of Dance with the Devil

Nope. Like Savannah and Vin, Cross ismybackup.

“Damien Libellula.” I perch my hands on my hips, glaring up at my older brother. Like always, his hair is perfectly styled, highlighting that silver streak of his. He’s wearing another of his expensively tailored suits, like this is just another business meet for the head Dragonfly, instead of a worried brother coming after his sister. But that’s the thing…howdid he find me? “You swore that you wouldn’t put one of those stupid trackers in me.”

Unless Savannah snitched. I glance over at her, knowing that my voice carried enough that, through the open window, she could hear me. She gives me an answering shrug and rolls her eyes at Damien’s back.

I stifle a chuckle. Hey. She’s the one who chose to marry him.

Clearing his throat, Damien pulls my attention back to him. He gives me a pointed look. “You swore that I wouldn’t have to worry about my sister sneaking out anymore.”

I jut my chin at him. “I didn’t sneak anywhere. If you were checking our previous cameras, Dame, you would’ve seen me strolling on out to meet Christopher at the gate.”

Damien raises one eyebrow. “Would that be the same Christopher who hung onto his job by the skin of his teeth after he came to me and admitted that you went missing the first time? Or the Christopher who called me up when he discovered you slipped out of the Devil’s Playground tonight?”

Oh. That’s how he found me.

I can’t even get pissed at Christopher. It’s bad enough he had to take the fall for years of my risky behavior, but after Damien gave him a second chance, I should’ve known that he’d go running to my brother the second he couldn’t find me.

Whoops. I guess I was too busy getting banged by Cross to remember that Christopher was my ride tonight. When I disappeared right after I waved him off after Cross found me dancing with another man, it wouldn’t take a genius to realize I left with him.

Where else would we go? Since Cross owns the tattoo parlor and lives above it, it was a pretty safe bet we’d have gone here.

Does that mean Damien had to head across the city to confront us?

He takes in my mussed hair, wrinkled shirt, and crooked shorts. His gaze travels over Cross’s unbuttoned jeans and shirtless chest.

My brother isforty. I remember telling him after I accidentally walked in on him and Savannah that first time, I never expected him to be a virgin at his big age. Thanks to Winter being a voyeuristic freak with a mean streak, Damien knows I’m not a virgin anymore, either. Even if he tried to pretend that that first time didn’t count—since, look at him, the thought of his baby sister getting laid is turning his tanned complexion a little bit green—the scent of sex clinging to us, coupled with our obvious states of undress and… yeah.

We were fucking like bunnies earlier tonight, and Damien knows it.

Hell. If he hadn’t interrupted us, we might’ve been well on our way to round two.

All the more reason to send him on his merry way.

“Well, you found me. I’m perfectly safe. Look.” I gesture at myself. “Managed not to get kidnapped by one of your enemies and tossed in a cell, left to rot unless I fucked my cellmate.” Okay. Maybe I’m still really pissed that Damien turned Cross against my ‘for my own good’. “Aren’t you proud?”

Damien winces. He doesn’t even pull the old ‘pinch the bridge of his nose’ move and sigh like usual. The distinguished mafia leaderwinces, and I just don’t care.

I dare him to answer. Again, he clears his throat, and then his icy blue gaze lands on Cross.

“Butterfly,” Damien says thoughtfully. He nods at Cross’s chest. “Looks fresh compared to the others.”

“Fresh enough,” Cross agrees. “But it was a long time coming.”

“Mm.” He turns to me again. “Sorellina.”

Little sister.

Yeah. I know. That’s what I’ve always been to Damien.

“Fratello,” I retort.

Brother. It’s about all the Italian I know, and mainly because of how often Damien called me ‘sorellina’ when I was younger. But that’s the key word there: younger. I will always be fifteen years his junior. That doesn’t mean I didn’t grow up.

I did—and whether he likes it or not, it’s time he realizes that.

Damien can see something shift in my expression. He gives his head a royal shake, then gestures toward the car. “Come. We’re going home.”

The hell we are.

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