Page 133 of Dance of Madness

It’s5 a.m. the next day when Dominic gives me a ride back to my house. I slip in through the front door after a quick hello to the guards on duty. I’m halfway up the stairs when I hear throat being cleared behind me.

“You’re home early,” Papa says.

I tense, wincing.

“Or late,” he chuckles.

My face is burning as I slowly turn to face him.

“Morning, Papa.”

He smiles at me. “Come,” he beckons. “Have coffee with me.”

I smile weakly, nodding as I follow him through the house into the kitchen. He pours me a cup, tipping in a splash of milk, no sugar, just how I like it.

He hands it to me and sits at the breakfast nook by the window, patting the table invitingly. I sit across from him and we sip our coffees, steam curling around our noses.

“Sorry I didn't come home last night. It got late, so I crashed at Evelina’s house.”

A slight smirk dances across Papa’s handsome face.

“Milena… I was born, but it wasn’t yesterday.” He nods his chin at me. “Who’s the boy?”

My pulse skips.

“Papa—”

“You’re not in trouble,” he chuckles. “You’re a grown woman, and your personal life is your own business. I’m asking because I’m your father and I care about you. I want to make sure you’re not hurt.” He clears his throat. “Also, I worry when you’re out all night.”

“Sorry,” I mumble.

He shakes his head. “That’s all right,solnyshka.” He looks at me pointedly, still smirking slightly. “So… Who is he?”

I drop my eyes to my coffee mug. “You won’t like it,” I mutter.

He makes a face. “Christ, it wasn’tLeo, was it?”

My nose wrinkles. “Uh,no. Definitely not.”

“How did that go, by the way?” he frowns. “Your sit-down with him.”

Visions of blood tsunamis and sticky red fingers wrapped around my throat slam into me. My insides coil, replaying the all-consuming madness of piercing green eyes pinning me to the dirty table as a thick cock split me open.

“Justlovely,” I say flatly. “Leo got drunk and tried to put his hands on me.”

Papa’s face turns dark. Viciousness flickers in his eyes as his strong jaw clenches and his tattooed fingers tighten around the coffee mug in front of him.

“Did he, now,” he hisses quietly. “Then he’s a dead man, Milena.”

I smile wryly.

“It’s fine, Papa. I mean, itwasn’t, but I shoved him away and ran out of the bar.”

He dips his chin, smiling softly. “That’s my girl.”

We sip our coffee in silence for a moment before Papa clears his throat again.

“Yes, Papa?”

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