Page 35 of Dance of Deception

Bianca blushes and rolls her eyes, halfheartedly trying to push him away.

“Stop, I’m gross. I was running late and haven’t showered yet.”

“Good,” Kratos grins, trapping her against his body and lifting her chin and gaze to his with one massive hand. “I love the smell of sweat on you.” His brow cocks. “And the taste.”

“Dude, I’m standingright fucking here,” I grunt, making a face and glaring at my brother-in-law.

Bianca laughs. Kratos shrugs unapologetically. “That sounds like a you problem, Carmy.”

“Let’s keep it PG during family dinner at least?” I mutter.

“Hey, I’m a perfect gentleman,” Kratos snorts in a deep, baritone chuckle.

“No you’re not.” Bianca giggles quietly as she stands up on her tiptoes. Shestillhas to pull him down to kiss him.

Anyother man—and I mean that literally—getting this cozy with Bianca in our own house, I’d already have him splayed out on thetable like a medical dissection, using steak knives to remove his organs.

But when you save my sister’s life you earn my respect, so Kratos gets a pass from the hungry monster lurking under my skin. Besides, he makes her happier than I’ve ever seen her, constantly.

So I leave the two of them to paw each other like love-sick puppies as I turn to the rest of my family.

Dante is watching his wife with all the wariness of a man who knows he’s already lost the battle.

Dante runs Club Venom, the most exclusive, underground kink club in the city where the dark, dangerous and deviant indulge in their blackest vices. Tempest, his wife, is his opposite in every way. She’s loud and brassy with a gothy aesthetic and has zero respect for Dante’s need for order. She also loves making him miserable.

I like her.

“Tempest,” he says slowly, dire warning in every syllable.

She doesn’t even look up, just keeps fussing with the food on the antipasto platter, rearranging the olives, stacking cheese cubes like little Lego towers.

“What?” she asks, batting her eyes and popping an olive into her mouth.

“You don’t have totoucheverything.”

She giggles, turning to grin impishly at him. “See, that’s your problem. You own a literal sex club, but you’re allergic to fun.”

I snort, dropping into my usual chair. Tempest is still grinning as she turns to me. “Hey Carm.”

“Tempest,” I grin, watching as she tosses another olive in the air as if to catch it in her mouth. She misses, and it bounces off her chin and rolls down Dante’s white dress shirt into his lap as his wife cracks up.

He sighs heavily.

“Hey,youmarriedme,” Tempest smirks, turning to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“I seem to remember being tricked into that.”

Tempest grins. “And yet, here you still are.”

“Every single day, I reevaluate that particular life choice,” Dante says.

“Admit it,” she sing-songs, nudging his wine glass out of place just to watch him fix it again. “You’d die without me.”

Dante exhales slowly, like he’s gathering patience from the deepest recesses of his soul.

“Little hurricane, you areincapableof sitting still.”

Tempest pops a piece of Provolone in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “That’s not true. I sit still when I’m asleep,” she finally offers.

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