Page 62 of Dance of Madness

Me and the ghosts, that is.

I walk in through the underground garage entrance, peeling off my jacket. Dom is waiting near the stairs like a silent watchdog, an unlit cigarette between his lips.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just lifts a brow when he sees me, a slightly amused expression on his face.

“You’re up early,” I mutter.

“You’re uplate,” he fires back. Then his lips curl. “What’s her name?”

“Noneya.”

He frowns as he follows me through the house toward the kitchen.

“What the fuck isthat?” He shoves his fingers through his thick dark hair and tucks the cigarette behind his ear. He runs a hand over his stubbled jawline, puzzled. “Greek? What’s her last name?”

“Business.”

I grin at him.

“Noneya Business,” he grunts. “Hilarious.”

“You asked.”

“I’msupposedto ask where you were when you get home at four in the fucking morning. It’s literally my job,” Dom scowls as I snag a glass and fill it with water.

“Pretty sure your job is to advise me,” I shrug, gulping the water down like I’ve spent ten years in the desert.

Apparently, watching Milena while she sleeps, running my hands over her body, and bringing her to orgasm before splashing her skin with my cum is dehydrating work. Who knew.

“Okay, then I’madvising you,” he mutters, “to keep me informed when you’re going to be out late under mysterious and non-communicative circumstances.”

I arch a brow. “What?”

“Non-communicative. Your fucking phone was off.”

I pull it out of my pocket and shrug. “Look at that. So it was.”

Wouldn’t exactly want my phone to start blowing up while I was rubbing Milena’s clit as she slept.

I glance back at Dom. “Still, I’m out late pretty frequently.”

“More than usual, recently.”

I stare at him. “I’m sorry, are you myconsigliereor my babysitter?”

Dom grins. “Nero, I think we both know there’s awildlyblurred line between those. And I’m both, for the record.”

I snicker, rolling my eyes and refilling my glass.

Dom’s been a friend ever since we were kids. He’s only a few years older than me, but I swear it sometimes feels like a decade.

And yes, he frequently does act like my babysitter.

…Honestly, he frequentlyneeds to.

Sharp jaw, slicked-back hair, tattoos, permanently suspicious blue eyes. If I’m the wolf, Dom’s the knife hidden in my sheepskin jacket.

“Well, to playconsiglierefor a sec,” he grunts, “Leo Debolsky wants a meeting.”

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