A figure, stepping out of the shadows. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Wearing darkness like a second skin.
Oh, God.
It feels like a blade teasing over my every vertebra as Carmine materializes out of the gloom. His suit is black, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his sleeves rolled up like he came straight from committing violence.
He moves like he owns the world, owns this theater, owns me as he oozes down the middle aisle and comes to a stop in front of the stage.
And somehow, even thoughI’mlooking down athimfrom an elevated position, it’s still painfully obvious that the power lies entirely with him.
His gaze pins me in place, his blue eyes burning, staring me down like a predator sizing up his prey.
My throat works as I slowly climb to my feet, my arms wrapped around myself.
“How… How did you find me?” I ask quietly.
Carmine doesn’t blink.
“You’re hardly in witness protection, little dancer,” he murmurs. His brow furrows. “What was that?”
“What was what?”
“The dance you were just doing.”
I wet my lips. “It's part of thepas de trois. FromSwan?—”
“Lake, I know,” he finishes. “My sister dances.”
His jaw ticks.
“Do it again,” he says.
My stomach tightens. “Excuse me?”
Carmine tilts his head slightly, his expression sharp but otherwise unreadable. “Again. Dance for me.”
The words are rough—an order, not a request.
I should tell him to fuck off. Should walk away.Runaway.
But there’s a darkness in the way he’s watching me that terrifies and captivates me equally.
His voice drops even lower, to a lethal rasp. “I said,dance for me.”
Fuck.
This is a bad idea. Dancing has always been mine. The only thing no one could touch, not even Arkadi. And now Carmine is standing here, demanding it from me like I owe it to him.
Maybe I do.
Maybe this is the way we settle whatever score I fucked with by even showing up the other day, let alone threatening him.
If so, yeah, I can dance for this controlling psycho.
The music is only in my head, but that's okay.
I close my eyes.
And I dance.