Page 32 of Dance of Deception

Just as who we are.

Five men.

For a moment, no one speaks. Then, together, we raise our glasses. The words fall from our lips, a vow etched into our very souls.

“Potentia per umbras.”

Power through shadows.

The Black Court is now adjourned.

6

CARMINE

Some seatsof power were built.

My family’s wasclaimed.

I slide out of the driver's seat of the matte black Lamborghini Aventador, pausing to glance up at the towering 5th Avenue home.

The Barone mansion is a relic from a bygone era, standing up defiantly to time, wealth, and anyone who’s tried—and then failed—to take it. A hulking, French Renaissance fortress, its limestone façade glares over Central Park like it owns the whole goddamn city. Maybe, in some ways, it does.

New York has changed around it, steel and glass rising to stifle the past. But this house hasn’t moved, bent, or cracked since my great-grandfather, Giovanni Barone, won it in an honest-to-God card game during Prohibition.

Back then, New York was the wild fucking west. A city ripe for the picking for men with ambition and a willingness to do whatever it took.

Giovanni came from Tuscany, where his family had been winemakers for generations. When he stepped off the boat in New York, he saw immediately that this place wasn’t built for the dreamers. It was built for thetakers.

So… He took.

He started small—bootlegging, backroom deals, running numbers for the right people. Then he got bigger. Smarter. Bloodier.

Eventually, he was the one setting the rules.

And the house?

Some millionaire playboy with more money than brains sat across a card table from my great-grandfather one night and bet the mansion on a bad hand, probably after too much bootleg whiskey.

Giovanni ended up taking the deed home, and it’s been the seat of power for the Barone empire ever since.

It’s seen wars, power struggles, assassinations, love affairs, betrayals. It’s housed both the men who built this empire and those who bled to keep it. And someday, it’ll be mine.

I trydailynot to dwell too much on that.

I adjust my cufflinks as I approach the grand front entrance, shaking off the remnants of last night. I don’t bring the Court home with me—not to family.

Here, I’m just Carmy.

Roguishly charming. Sarcastic. Fun. Maybe sometimes a little too much of a playboy.

Honestly? It’s all just another mask. But it’s the one I wear best.

Leo and Sal, two of my father’s long-time guards, give me quick nod as I approach the front door. Before they can open it, though, a black town car pulling up to the curb pulls my attention back around.

Bianca cracks the door open before the car can even come to a stop, still wearing ballet tights and a cropped sweatshirt, an enormous bag slung over one shoulder, her hair still twisted into a tight bun.

“Wait wait wait!” she blurts, shutting the car door before any of Pop’s guys can even try to do it. “I can't be the last one in!”

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