Page 47 of Dance of Deception

He looks almost like a fighter. Dark brown hair, just tousled enough to make it clear he doesn’t give a shit, a boldly Italian look, and the same bright green eyes as his younger sister, assessing everyone in the room as either useful or worthless. Which just seems like such an unnecessary trait for someone with his chiseled bone structure and ridiculously good looks.

Tattoos peek from beneath the collar of his black dress shirt, curling over his forearms.

The room goes silent as he steps in, two big guys in suits right behind him. Everything about him radiates control, confidence, and an unsettling sort of violent energy.

His gaze finally lands on Gabriella and his jaw sets.

Milena, still watching wide-eyed, lets out a low whistle.

“Damn,” she murmurs. “Shit’s about to getinteresting.”

The tension in the room increases the second Nero starts moving toward Gabriella. He doesn’t rush. He walks like someone who’snever had to force people out of his way because they move the second they see him coming.

Gabriella, however, does not budge.

She unhurriedly pulls an elegant silver cigarette case from her designer purse, opens it, and deftly slips a cigarette between her soft lips. Her green eyes lift as her brother storms over, raising her chin just slightly.

I don’t know a thing about their family dynamic, but I know a power struggle when I see one.

Nero stops in front of her, his gaze razor-sharp. “Time to leave, Gabby," he says curtly, his voice rough.

Gabriella blinks, then lets out a soft huff of amusement. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Nero murmurs, low and deliberate. “Whatever game you’re playing, it ends now. Let’sgo. You don’t belong here.”

She tilts her head slightly. “Funny. I was about to say the same to you. I’m confident you rank pretty low on Carmine Barone’s list of wife material.”

A few of the girls shift awkwardly in their seats, pretending not to have heard. Milena, on the other hand, looks like she’sdyingfor some popcorn, extra butter and damn the calories.

Nero doesn’t react, doesn’t blink. Just stares, his posture relaxed but tense underneath.

“You’re making a mistake,” he says.

Gabriella puts the unlit cigarette away, then taps a manicured finger to her lips, mock-pensive. “Wouldn’t be my first.Probablywon’t be my last.”

“You’re twenty-four years old, Gabby. You shouldn’t need a babysitter to keep you out of trouble.”

“Nor do I want a keeper, and yet, here we are.”

His jaw grinds. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Wow,” Gabriella deadpans. “Suchan original argument. Get that trademarked.”

A muscle flexes in Nero’s forearm. “I’m done playing games, Gabriella. We’re leaving. Now.”

She leans in slightly, her voice soft, mocking. “Or you’ll—what? Ground me? Take my phone? Cancel my credit cards?”

Nero lets out a slow breath. “Rossi. Bianchi.”

The two men who entered with him immediately drift forward.

Gabriella takes a step back, her amusement flickering—just briefly—before hardening into something else.

“Youwouldn’t,” she mutters.

Nero smiles. It’s not friendly. Not even close.

“Wouldn’t I?”

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