Page 168 of Dance of Deception

My mind flickers with the pictures of Vera.

Of Bianca.

A cold sensation drags its claws up my spine as I keep hunting. My pulse thumps steadily against my ribs, and I try not to focus on the gnawing guilt sitting heavy as an elephant on my chest.

I skim through a folder marked “Confidential Projects”, hoping that’s supremely cheesy code for the obvious. But it’s not: just a bunch of financial records, spreadsheets, and tax information on a commercial property it looks like the Barone family is purchasing.

Fuck.

My fingers drum against the desk, frustration curling tight in my chest before I start clicking away again.

Then, my breath catches: a folder within a folder labeled "Court Meetings."

I click on it, my fingers trembling as I open the most recent document. It’s a set of meeting notes, precise, clinical.

I scan the first few bulleted lines, my pulse hammering.

·What did Arkadi have on the Court?

·Who is or was his buyer?

My lungs tighten as I keep reading, my stomach sinking lower with every line. There are other things that suggest Arkadi may have worked for the Court. Or had been part of one of their trials. Had he attended one?

The ugly implications twist inside me as I keep reading.

And then everything shatters away, turning to dust, leaving me with parched, cracked lips and the sensation that a hole has just been punched straight through my chest.

·Get close with Arkadi’s daughter. Find out if she can be an asset.

·Can she help us get whatever Arkadi had?

Everything inside me goes numb. The warmth I felt earlier this morning turns to icy poison in my veins as my heart tints black.

I read the words again.

And again.

And again.

The lines punch through me, jagged, cruel. My throat tightens. My hands shake.

Then I smell it: tangerine and rosewood, masculine. My whole body stiffens and jerks upright, a cold sensation slicing into my gut.

“Whatthe fuckare you doing?”

I whirl, my heart slamming into my ribs.

Carmine is standing in the doorway, his eyes nothing but fire and wrath.

For a second, he doesn’t say anything. He just stares pure malice at me. The air crackles, the tension so thick I think I might choke on it.

Suddenly, he storms toward me. I shove back from the desk, scrambling out of the chair, but he’s faster.

Carmine grabs me and spins me into the bookshelves, slamming my body so hard the shelves rattle and a few books topple to the floor. I barely have time to take a breath before he’s on me, boxing me in, his chest pressed to mine, his hands braced on either side of my head.

“I asked you afuckingquestion,” he snarls.

His voice feels like the edge of a blade, pressed to my throat.

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