Page 94 of Dance of Ruin

I mean, fuck, it’s one of the reasons I made her move in with me in the first place.

So I had silent alarms set up at her old apartment—and now someone’s there, looking for her.

And I’ll be fucking dead before I let them find her.

* * *

I usethe back door to slip into Naomi’s old building, then silently take the stairs two at a time. At the top floor, I move quietly down the hall, unscrewing every bulb from its fixture, bathing the place in shadows until I get to her door.

It’s locked, but that doesn’t mean shit.

I use the key that I made, pulling my gun from my belt and listening intently as the door swings open. Darkness swallows me whole as I step inside. I move room to room like a wraith, gun at the ready, every nerve in my body wired tight.

Living room. Clear.

Kitchen. Clear.

Bedroom—

“Fourteen minutes from SoHo to Harlem,” a voice purrs from the shadows. “That’s a hundred and ten blocks.”

I whip around and see Kir Nikolayev leaning against the edge of Naomi’s vanity in the corner of the dark bedroom.

“Thathasto be some sort of record,” he murmurs. “Even at this hour.”

The enigmatic head of the Nikolayev Bratva—one of the most powerful Bratva families in the world, with a permanent seat at the Iron Table—steps out of the shadows and cocks a brow as his gaze drops to my gun.

“I’m not generally a fan of having a gun pointed at me. Especially when I’m just looking to have a conversation, Nico.”

Kir’s the type of leader who wields power like a surgeon holds a scalpel—with precise elegance. He doesn’t throw his weight around or starts shit, isn’t loud, and never walks around thumping his chest.

Sitting in the shadows waiting for a trap he’s set himself to be sprung, however, is completely on brand.

Strangely, he and Carmine don’t get along.At all.

Tall, lean, and muscular, Kir’s in his early forties—at least, I think so. Dark hair with a slight dusting of silver at the temples, ice-blue eyes. Tailored suit.

“In that case,” I mutter, tucking away my gun, “I would suggestnotslinking around in the shadows after—purposefully, I’m assuming—setting off someone’s alarm system.” I smile. “If you'renota fan of having guns pointed at you, I mean.”

Kir smirks, nodding quietly before he turns and strolls casually to Naomi’s bedroom window. He peers out, glancing side to side before he points at a building across the alley.

“Fifteen feet away. High enough for a view without being seen. No surveillance or security. Good cover. Clean escape routes.” He’s smiling venomously as he turns back to me. “Can I assume if I were to swab the rooftop across from Ms. Kim’s bedroom window, I’d find samples of your DNA, Mr. Barone?”

Maybe.

Probably.

Fuck you, prick.

“What do you want, Kir,” I mutter, scowling.

He folds his arms over his chest as he leans against the wall behind him, legs crossed at the ankles.

“I told you: a conversation.”

“I have a phone.”

“The sort of conversation I’d like to havecannot leave a trail,” Kir says pointedly.

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