Page 152 of Dance of Deception

Kir doesn’t respond immediately. He just watches me, tapping one long finger against the stem of his glass. Finally he puffs out a breath, clearly considering whether or not to say what’s on the tip of his tongue.

I don’t like that look.

I peer at him. “What?”

Kir shrugs, inclining his head slightly. “It’s just, men like Arkadi have a way of…” His eyes shift side to side. “Lingering.”

A chill slowly ripples through me. “The fuck does that mean?”

Kir takes another sip, his eyes flicking to mine. “Some men cast long shadows,” he murmurs. “Even from the grave.”

Something dark slithers between us, snaking up my spine.

I watch him carefully, waiting for him to say more. Instead, he sits back in his chair, fingers tapping absently against his glass, letting the words sink in.

He’s not talking about ghosts.

He’s implying Arkadi Ostrovmight not be one.

I exhale, rubbing a hand over my jaw. “You sound like a fucking conspiracy nut.”

Kir smirks, lifting a brow. “The type to listen to Marcus Chen’s podcast?”

My head snaps up. Kir watches me, his smirk deepening.

I lean closer, voice lowering. “If you have something to say, Kir, I would suggestjust saying it.”

He takes his time finishing his wine, then sets the glass down, tapping one finger against the rim.

“We have our differences, Carmine,” he says, his voice even. “But I think we can find common ground in that we both want Lyra safe.”

No. Kir doesn’t get to want her safe.

That’smyfucking job.

I shift in my seat, resting my forearms on the table, but there’s nothing casual about my posture. The space between us crackles with unspoken violence.

I don’t like how he’s steering this conversation, leading me around like he holds all the fucking cards.

“If you think Arkadi is somehow not dead,” I say, voice dropping to a low, lethal snarl, “I would suggest expanding on that theory,now. Or we’ll see just how worthwhile it was for you to book out a whole restaurant for your guards.”

Kir’s smirk fades—just a fraction, but I catch it. Good.

“That isnotwhat I’m saying,” he fires back, his voice sharper now. His eyes glint coldly. “I’m saying I, of all people, understand that the past doesn’t always stay there.”

“If you have any information,” I snarl, “and you don’t share it with me right now, and if any harm whatsoever comes to Lyra because of that omission, you will never take another shower, lay your head on another pillow, or walk into a room without the lights already on without wondering if I’m lurking. Waiting for you.”

Kir’s eyes narrow. The tension between us pulls razor-thin, close to snapping.

He exhales slowly, setting his glass down carefully, deliberately. “Don’t threaten me at dinner, Carmine.”

“I don’t like how involved you were in her life.” My voice is low, lethal. “I don’t like that you’restillinvolved.”

Kir tilts his head slightly and smiles, dangerously amused.

“Well,Idon’t like that you put on animal masks and play vigilante court at night, buthere we are.”

The room goes pin-drop silent.

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