Page 71 of Dance of Deception

Evelina rolls her eyes so hard she nearly tips over. “Oh myGod,you arenotgoing to pull the protective big brother card.”

Roman tips his head. “I mean, Icouldjust call Dad and ask him.”

Evelina glares. “Go for it. While you’re at it, remind him that the last time you were at the estate, you got so drunk you passed out in the pool.”

Milena sputters. “Wait, what?”

Roman scowls. “Thatneverhappened.”

Evelina grins wickedly. “You were face-down in the water when we found you,Rome. Lucky you didn't freaking drown.”

Brooklyn snorts. “Shit,that’san embarrassing cry for help.”

Roman makes a face as he rolls his neck, tattoo ink peeking out from the neck of his hoodie. “Not as embarrassing as Evie’s curfew,” he fires back. “What is it these days, baby sis? Eleven? Ten-thirty?”

Evelina’s smirk fades. “I donothave a curfew, dick.”

Roman laughs, ruffling her hair like she’s five. “Not my fault Dad still treats you like a kid,solnishka.”

Evelina shoves his hand away, scowling. “Don’t you have people to kill or something?” she sighs. “Seriously, what are youdoinghere?”

“Could ask you the same thing,” he counters.

Evelina gestures at me with her brows. “Uh, duh?”

“Oh—right.” Roman turns to eye me. “Yeah, so…congratulations, Lyra?”

“Thanks,” I mutter.

Roman turns back to his sister. “Well, if you guys are looking to crank up the volume on your night a little?—”

“And we are,” Milena interjects.

Roman grins. “Why don’t you join us, then? We’ve got a VIP booth over there at Doomsday.”

He turns and points a finger to where Carmine and all the others are lounging outside a club across the street. I watch as Nico slips a cigarette between his lips and lights it, his face illuminating with the glow of it as he shoves his fingers through his dark hair and glances across the street at us.

A shiver ripples down my spine at the way his eyes seem to narrow—analyzing, assessing.

Ripping apart.

And here I thoughtCarminewas the family psycho…

Doomsday actually rings a bell. I’ve heard it’s a hotspot for Bratva types, and nights there have a reputation for going off the rails.

“ToDoomsday?” Evelina squeaks the word.

Her brother grins darkly at her. “I mean, unless you’d rather go home and have a pajama party. You could watch cartoons, make hot chocolate and popcorn?—”

“Fuck you. We’re in.”

I sigh, slipping my arm through Naomi’s as the five of us start following Roman across the street.

“I mean,Icould go for pajamas and hot chocolate,” I giggle.

“Facts,” Naomi sighs. “But this’ll be fun.” Eagerness peeks through the cracks in her good girl persona. “I’ve heard this club getsinsane.”

“It does.”

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