Page 52 of Dance of Deception

“Now run away, and pray to whatever god you believe in that I don’t feel like chasing you this time.”

9

LYRA

The theater is empty.

Dark.

Silent and familiar, which is what I need right now.

The only sound is my own gasping breath as I collapse onto the stage, body slick with sweat, limbs shaking from exhaustion.

I had no reason to be here tonight. There was no rehearsal. No company meeting. But I needed to move.

Madame Kuzmina trusts her dancers enough that most of us know the access code for the side door to the theater, so we can come and do exactly this if we want. I’m not quite sure our sadist of a director had “therapy” in mind with that decision. But tomayto, tomahto.

Tonight, I needed my muscles to ache and my lungs to burn. I needed to feel grounded. Because all day, I’ve been running from my own thoughts.

From the interview. From Carmine. From the notion that I wasinsaneenough to try and blackmail a man like him.

I feel like that needs to be stressed more than once: I—little old me—tried to blackmail the new don of one of the most powerful Italian mafia families in the country.

I mean what the fuckity-fuck, self?

I haven’t spoken to Milena or Bianca since I ran out of the Barone mansion without stopping or looking back. Didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t try to cover my exit with a joke. I’ve been ignoring their texts, too.

Because what thehelldo I even say? Especially to Bianca?

And also? I don’t know what’s worse: what I did already, or waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“You should have stayed Miss Nobody who heard and saw nothing, little dancer. Because the one fucking thing you don’t want to be with me is someone who saw far,fartoo much. Now run away, and pray to whatever god you believe in that I don’t feel like chasing you this time.”

Even replaying the words is enough to send a violent shiver up my spine. I flinch, glancing over my shoulder. I’ve been doing that since I ran yesterday.

But so far, there’ve been no men dragging me into an alley.

No retaliation.

Nothing.

…Notyet.

I exhale slowly, pressing my palms against the stage and lowering my forehead to the floor in a deep, satisfying stretch.

The theater is dark except for the faint blue footlights and a single work light illuminating the floor immediately around me.

It’s comforting, in a way. Like I can pause time and everything elseout thereand just exist in my own little bubble here in a comfortingly familiar world—feet encased in slippers, sweat on my skin, and a sprung dance floor grounding me, like it’s done my whole life.

Except right then is when the air changes. Grows colder. Turnsblack.

I freeze as a prickle of awareness crawls down my spine.

I’m being watched…

My pulse ramps into high gear as I cautiously lift my head, my breath stuttering. Beyond the light, in the deep black of the empty house, something moves.

Someone.

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