Page 115 of Dance of Ruin

Something hot and violent surges up my throat.

Not shame.

Not guilt.

Rage.

She belongs tome. Not the tabloids, not a bunch of fucking strangers to gawk at and talk about or eventhinkabout.

“Nico.”

Roman’s voice is still edged but devoid of anger as he grabs my arm and gently prys it away from his throat. I allow it, taking a step back, my shoulders tight.

“I wasn’t trying to?—”

“It’s fine,” I growl.

“So are you…” He frowns. “Like, seeing her? Naomi, I mean.”

I don’t answer.

Saying it out loud might make it too real.

Nero catches his phone as I toss it to him, then I drop my hedge trimmers on the card table.

“Clean up your own mess,” I say. “I need to go deal with something. And are we good?” I grunt, turning to Roman. He nods back at me.

“You know we’re good, man.”

Nero, meanwhile, makes a face. “You’re seriously leaving?”

“I think you can manage four fucking bodies without me.”

“But you’re gonna miss the bonfire!”

He grins, holding up his Zippo and nodding eagerly at the puddle of paint thinner.

“Just save me a fucking s’more,” I growl as I turn and march out the door.

24

NICO

By the timeI get back to the penthouse, I’ve almost convinced myself I’m calm.

Spoiler: I’m not.

Naomi’s in our dressing room when I walk in, her back to me, buttoning up a soft gray blouse over a knee-length black pencil skirt. She looks like she’s about to go take the Bar Exam or apply to Harvard.

“I’m going to see my father.”

Her eyes meet mine in the mirror for a second before she drops her gaze and smooths the fabric over her hips.

She doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t have to. It’s clear from the stiffness in her body and the tightness in her face that she’s seen the tabloid article.

And now she’s on her way to go meet the man who orchestrated the attack that nearly killed my sister?

I don’t say anything. I honestly don’t know what the fucktosay right now.

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