Page 60 of Dance of Deception

I wasn’t paying much attention to the house when I was here a few days ago. I was too numb and nervous about the insanity I was about to pull. But now that I’m back, I can legit feel my jaw dropping as my eyes drink in the splendor of the mansion.

It'sstunning.

Vaulted ceilings with hand-painted frescoes, crystal chandeliers, gilded mirrors reflecting the golden light, making the space feel endless.

The hum of conversation and classical music surrounds us, while discreet waitstaff quietly weave through the crowd with trays of canapés and flutes of champagne.

This is power.

I feel its weight pressing in on me, wrapping around my throat like invisible hands. I don’t know where to stand, where to look. I'm sure everyone can tell I don’t belong here.

Vera, of course, wastes no time getting comfortable.

As soon as we step deeper into the party, she plucks a flute of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray with the ease of someone who’s spent her whole life coasting on other people’s wealth.

She takes a slow, meditative sip, her heavily painted lips curling around the rim of the glass as she sweeps her gaze over the room like she belongs here.

Like she was always meant for a place like this.

Her eyes flick to me, and she smirks. “You look like you’re waiting for security to throw you out.”

Before I can reply, a hand slides around my waist, pulling me against a firm, hard body.

“She’s just taking it all in.”

My gaze snaps to Carmine’s crystal blue eyes, carving right into mine.

A cold shiver ripples down my spine.

Some men are dangerous and look it. Carmine is the sort of man whodoesn’t, and that makes him even more deadly.

My father was the same. Everyone always said how handsome he was—classically good looking, charming, easily approachable. That’s exactly what made him such a villain. It’s how he was able to reel those girls in and trap them.

Destroy them.

Now, I’m looking up at the same sort of monster.

Objectively, Carmine isgorgeous. Sharp jaw, high cheekbones, piercing blue eyes that shine just a little too brightly.

It’s not just his looks, though.

It’s the way he wears them.

The easy smile, the effortless charm—the smooth, rich voice that settles into your bones before you even realize you’re listening. He’s built to disarm, to break down walls before you even know you’ve let him in.

That’s what makes him so fucking lethal.

The rest of them see a mafia prince. The Barone heir. A man to be feared, respected, obeyed.

They don’t see the venom flowing in his veins, the monster hiding behind those sharp smiles and custom suits.

But I have.

“Isn’t that right,fiancée,” he murmurs, his voice silkily dangerous. Before I can respond, his gaze slides back to my mother.

Instantly, I feel ice slip down my spine when his eyes grow a little colder.

“Mrs. Ostrova, that party silverware is yours to keep. But if I see you putting anything else from my home into your purse, it’s notsecurityI’ll be calling.”

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