Page 70 of Dance of Deception

“BabySpartans,” Bianca corrects. “Dimitra has this whole fixation on their family being directly descended from the warrior guys with the abs from300. So the baby Spartans are Kratos' and my little nephew and niece, Achilles and Bella.”

She turns back to me. “Love ya. Try to have fun tonight.”

I give her a hug. “Thanks for coming out. Really.”

After she leaves, Milena raises her glass. “To our dear friend Lyra, who is about to lose her life?—”

“Herfreedom,” Naomi interjects.

“And most importantly,” Brooklyn adds, “her ability to have anything other than one dick for the rest of her life.”

My face explodes with heat as the rest of them hoot with laughter.

“You guys are such assholes,” I groan.

“Yes, but we’reyourassholes,” Milena says, bumping my shoulder affectionately.

The air outsideis cool and crisp, refreshing after the humid heat of the club. The city is alive, neon signs flickering, streets still packed with late-night crowds drifting between bars and clubs, their laughter and conversation blending with the distant wail of a siren.

The six of us stand near the curb, buzzing from alcohol and adrenaline, debating our next move.

“Food?” Naomi suggests, her eyes slightly glassy from tequila.

“More drinks?” Brooklyn counters, grinning.

“Somewherewilder,” Milena smirks.

“I second that,” Evelina chimes in, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. “Let’s go somewhere we won’t get side-eyed for dancing on the tables.”

We laugh, but before we can settle on a place, the energy on the street shifts.

It happens in an instant—a subtle change in the atmosphere, a hush that spreads down the block. People slow. A few heads turn.

Then I see why.

Two black SUVs pull up outside another club just down the street. The doors open, and one by one, they emerge.

Carmine steps out first, clad in dark jeans, black leather jacket, and a plain white t-shirt that fits tight across his powerful chest. Then Nico Barone, smirking, his easy confidence sharp as a blade.

Nero De Luca follows, his bright green eyes gleaming under the dim streetlights as he exudes that same lethality Milena and I caught when he dragged his sister Gabriella from Carmine’s auditions the other day.

I recognize Roman Nikitin, obviously, since he’s Evelina’s brother. But I don’t know the three guys who step out of the second car with him. They look Russian as well, though.

“Shit,” Evelina groans. “What the hell is Roman doing here?”

Milena frowns. “Looks like Carmine’s having a bachelor party of some kind?”

“Well, let’s get outta here before?—”

“Isn’t it past your bedtime, baby sis!?”

Evelina cringes as Roman roars from across the street and halfway down the block, startling easily fifty people on the sidewalk.

He barely even checks for traffic as he jogs across the street, dressed similarly to Carmine in dark jeans and a hoodie with a leather jacket over it.

There’s a savage, untamed electricity to him, a restless, dangerous energy that makes you feel he was born to fight, or at least look for trouble wherever he can find it. I’ve met him a few times, just through being friends with Evie, and he always makes me think of some wild animal that's put on human clothes in an effort to fool everyone around him.

Evelina folds her arms as he stops in front of her, smirking like an older brother wholivesto be a menace. He looks her over before raising a brow. “That’s averyshort dress, Evie. Does Dad know you went out like this?”

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