Page 121 of Dance of Madness

I nod, dazed, forcing an awkward smile at Dominic as he and Nero shepherd me into the back seat. Then I turn, and frown when I see Nero isn't coming too.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

He steps close, reaching to cup my face.

“To fix something.”

Then he leans in, and before I know it, he’s kissing me.

Not the vicious, feral kisses we usually engage in.

This one is…normal.

Soft.

Comforting.

It leaves me tingling as he pulls away. He turns to Dominic and nods quickly.

“Take her to the house. Keep her safe. I’ll be home soon.”

.

Have you ever had a dream so vivid you woke up convinced it was real?

Because last night, I dreamed someone was chasing me. Through a dark house, maybe. But then I think it turned into a forest? It’s fuzzy now. But I remember the way it felt, like something between terror and pure adrenaline.

And when I got caught, I knew it was you. Like, I just knew it was.

I know that probably sounds deranged, but you’re the one who asked what makes me feel alive. So… there you go.

What makes me feel alive is that sensation somewhere between fear and thrill. Between feeling scared and feeling immortal.

You know, like the feeling you get when you tell your pen pal that you had a chase-kink dream about them, lol.

-Me

24

MILENA

So this isNero’s house.

His actual one, not the one where we play. It's a stunning, modern-meets-mid-century-meets gothic townhouse on Central Park West, not far up from Papa’s place. It’s right next to the infamous Dakota building and just across the street from both the John Lennon and Iggy Watts memorials in the park.

“Would you like a drink?”

I shake my head, hugging myself as I lean against the kitchen counter behind me. Across the kitchen Dominic, the guy who drove me here in silence from the bar in midtown, nods wordlessly. He turns and opens the fridge, grabs a bottle of water, then shuts the fridge again and leans against it.

He takes a sip, neither of us saying a word as a slightly awkward silence descends over the dimly lit kitchen.

“So…” I clear my throat. “You’re Nero’s driver?”

“Consigliere.”

“Oh.”

“And you’re what’s got him twisted up these days, I assume.”

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