Page 6 of Dance of Ruin

His sharp blue eyes flick over my face, peering at me. Like I’m a puzzle he hadn’t expected to stumble upon tonight that he's now trying to unravel. A slow smirk curls the corners of his mouth, as if he finds this entire situation mildly amusing.

My stomach clenches, ice slithering up my spine as I drink in the slightly impassive way he looks at me.

Just as I’m about to open my mouth and beg, his arms flex, and I gasp as he yanks me up in one swift, effortless motion.

The rooftop slams beneath my palms as I collapse forward, gasping. My knees scrape on the cold stone and my dress catches on the rough surface.

I blink, shaking as I drag my gaze up, realizing that I’m back on the part of the roof that I first walked out onto.

“Technically, sneaking onto private terraces is breaking and entering, you know.”

His voice is low. Almost sensual. And yet, it’s not flirtatious. It’s more like a warning, etched into skin.

I shiver, clambering to my feet and turning to him. Nico stands on the ledge with the city behind him, casually leaning with one shoulder against the wall, ankles crossed and arms folded over his broad chest.

He’s in dark jeans, black t-shirt, and a leather jacket—the sleeves tugged up a little to display the ink swirling down his forearms. Another swath of it creeps up his neck all the way to his chiseled jawline.

His dark hair is short on the sides and slicked to the side and slightly back on top, and I find myself swallowing nervously as those piercing eyes bore into me.

“Andthat’sa crime,” he murmurs, an almost amused lilt to his tone.

My throat bobs. “Last time I checked, so is?—”

What. The.HELL. Self!?

I clamp my mouth shut before the truly insane shit I was about to say—out loud, tothisman, of all people—comes tumbling out.

So is murder.

I’m not fast enough. The air turns a little chillier as his brow cocks. A low hum tingles over my skin when he unfolds his arms and slowly steps down off the ledge, a jungle cat slinking out of a tree in the darkness. A jaguar sniffing out his prey.

“You were saying…?”

The words fall from his lips in that same near-sensual tone. And yet there’s nothing sexy or charming about the look on his face, or the dark gleam in his eye.

“Nothing.” My throat works as I shrug and take a step back from him.

“I—I wasn’t saying any?—”

Nico takes one more step toward me.

“Mmm, itreallysounded like you were about to say something.”

I suck my lips in on themselves, teeth pressing over the soft flesh as my pulse pounds.

“I—I was at the party, downstairs. My father?—”

“I know who you are, Naomi,” he growls quietly.

He takes another step toward me.

He knows who I am.

For a second, there’s this truly insane, cringey schoolgirl feeling inside me. It’s not like we’ve ever hung out—not really. But we’ve seen each other in passing since I'm close friends with his younger sister, Bianca.

But the Nico I’m face to face with now is not “Bianca’s older brother”. He’s not even “one of Vito Barone’s sons, second only to Carmine in the entire Barone mafia family.”

Right now, between the dark, sharp shadows of his face backlit by the neon of the city, the cold glint in his unblinking eyes, and the way his jaw tightens as he prowls menacingly toward me, he’s not anythingcloseto something or someone I know.

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