Page 34 of Dance of Deception

Bianca's brows lift slightly. “What?”

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

She doesn’t push. Never does. Bianca, more than most people, understands that there's much more to me than the charming, cocky exterior I present to the world. She been quite blunt in the past about the…darkerangels of my nature.

Probably because even though she was being a sarcasticbrata second ago, she’s not wrong. She's “the princess” in our family. And at times I’ve let my dark, inner monster out to protect and shield her.

Like the time when she was in 8th grade, and some little fuck at school lifted her skirt and snapped pictures of her ass.

Needless to say, the shit-stain learned two very important life-long lessons. One, don’t be a creep. And more importantly, two, do not, under any circumstances,everfuck with a Barone.

And all it cost him was a broken nose and jaw. I would say that’s getting off more than easy.

Have I ever felt badly about that? Considering Bianca is ten years younger than me, which means I was like twenty-four when I was breaking a junior high school kid's face?

Nope.

Am I supposed to?

Bianca shifts her bag on her shoulder as we climb the steps to the front door. Sal and Leo bow stiffly again, the latter offering to help her as they open the door for us. Bianca politely declines with a smile, asking them both how they and their families are.

Considering the not-so-hidden darker tendencies that Nico, Dante, and I all harbor, it feels like proof of cosmic balance that Bianca ended up sogood.

I glance at her. “Where’s your husband, by the way?”

She smirks. “Already here, helping Dad with dinner.”

I cross myself dramatically, offering up a prayer of gratitude. Bianca cracks up as we step inside.

“Come on!” she laughs. “Dad’s gottenwaybetter!”

“Yeah, thanks to Kratos, Sunday dinners with Pop have stopped being a near-death experience,” I grunt. “Do you remember that turkey dinner he tried to whip up himself before your husband started pitching in?”

Bianca makes a face, holding her stomach like she’s going to be sick. “Yeah. That one was especially egregious.”

“Fuckin’ thing was so rare it might as well have still been gobbling.”

My sister bursts out laughing again, and for a second we just stand there: me with my jovial mask on, Bianca carefree.

It’s moments like this that make me forget that I wear a different face for almost every room I walk into.

Forget that my hands were on a woman’s throat just last night. That I hunted her through the dark, that I made her break and then reveled in it.

Forget that someday soon, I’ll be taking my father’s place as head of the family.

I let out a slow breath. Then I sling an arm around Bianca’s shoulders.

“Come on, ballerina. Let’s eat before Pop starts pulling a Gordon Ramsay.”

She laughs and we step inside the house together.

The rich smell of slow-cooked garlic and tomatoes hits me the second we enter, and my stomach growls viciously. Yeah, that’s the smell of Sunday dinner at the Barone house.

We bump into Kratos first, almost literally, as we step into the dining room. This isn’t difficult to do, given that the guy is almost seven feet tall and about two hundred and seventy pounds of solid muscle.

He turns, a large grin instantly spreading across his face as his eyes drop to my sister.

“I believethisbelongs to me,” he murmurs, deftly plucking her out from where my arm is over her shoulder, pulling her into him.

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