Page 3 of Dance of Ruin

It’s a whole private garden oasis, walled off on both sides, and it looksincredible.

I lean out over the edge again, craning my neck to peek around the wall. There’s no lights or anything, and the only way I can see someone would get to it is through another plain, steel, windowless door like the one I just walked out of.

But it just lookssopeaceful and charming…

Something inside me rebels at the idea of having to slink my way back to that ridiculous party downstairs. I gulp as I eye the narrow ledge that wraps around the edge of the wall. Then I glance down at the city lights twinkling thirty stories below.

This is a supremely stupid idea.

But screw it.

I slip off my heels, my dress swirling around my legs as I step onto the ledge.

My heart instantly climbs up into my throat as I try not to look down. The wind tugs at my hair as I move carefully and deliberately, holding onto the flat edge of the wall, one foot in front of the other. The stone beneath me is cool and solid, but the drop below is endless. My heart pounds, but I keep going.

Finally, I’m on the other side of the divider, and I step down onto solid ground.

I exhale, a slow, steady, triumphant breath.

Made it.

The little garden is quiet, secluded, and seriouslystunning. Flowers tumble from planters, the air thick with the scent of jasmine. The little lanterns surrounding it are switched off, but a small pond filled with lily pads and flowering plants gurgles quietly as the little fountain in the middle sprinkles over the surface.

After suffering the last hour downstairs at that gala, it’s like pure, peaceful heaven up here. And for a moment, it’smine.

I move to the edge, looking out over the city, an endless sea of lights, movement and energy. I could honestly stay here all night, just disappear and let the party below continue without me.

But then I hear voices.

Low, rough, and coming from the other side of the ivy-covered wall opposite the one I just climbed around.

I freeze.

Something about their tones of voice—one sharp with fear, the other smooth but cutting—keeps me rooted to the spot.

I shift silently, slipping closer to the wall. The one I snuck around was solid metal. But this one looks to be older wrought iron, almost entirely choked by ivy. I lean closer, my pulse racing as I press my fingertips against the ironwork and peer through the foliage.

Holy shit.

Iknowthe man standing on the other side, a cigarette dangling from his lips, the orange ember casting dramatic shadows across his chiseled face.

Nico Barone, younger brother of Carmine, the new don of the Barone mafia family. But more to the point, Bianca’s—who dances in the Zakharova with me—older brother.

Who happens to bedevastatinglygorgeous in a downright dangerous, bad decision kind of way.

And who I will only privately—veryprivately—admit, blushingly, shamefully, that I’ve always had a tiny bit of a crush on.

I mean,come on. The man is danger and temptation incarnate. Dark hair, tousled just enough to look effortless. Striking, razor-sharp blue eyes, and tattoos that snake down his arms and creep sensually up his neck all the way to his chiseled jawline.

To top it all off, he carries himself with an easy, smug confidence, an almost lazy dominance that makes it impossible to look away.

I havezero freaking cluewhat he’s doing up on this roof. But I watch anyway as he and the other man…whom I don’t recognize…argue. Well, the other guy is arguing, his face scrunched up and angry. Nico is just casually watching him, taking slow drags on his cigarette.

A chill runs down my spine at the seemingly effortless way Nico seems to hold all the power in this exchange, all while looking completely relaxed.

The other man bares his teeth, his voice angry.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” he snarls.

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