Page 67 of Dance of Madness

“I’m curious: this proposed marriage. Which other families are you talking to?”

Leo laughs lightly. “Nero, you know I can’t?—”

He gasps as I grab him sharply by the collar, turning him so that I’ve got him pinned, slightly bent back over the table we were all just sitting at.

“What thefuck!” he blurts.

“You told my sister toblow youwhen she was, what, eighteen?”

He swallows against my hand.

“Nero, I wasn’t in a good place then. I was using alcohol to?—”

“I don’t give a fuck about that,” I growl. “But if I wereyou, I would give a huge number of fucks that I have put assholes in thegroundfor far less than insulting my sister like that.”

I glare at him and then release his collar, letting him stand and straighten his shirt and jacket.

“Who elseare you talking to.”

He takes a deep breath. “The Kalishnik Bratva.”

I go utterly still.

“I’ve been talking with Marko about possibly marrying his daughter, Milena.”

There’s a war inside my head. I don’t even fully understand why I’m suddenly fighting it. But it’s there, screaming and roaring and exploding in my psyche. It clashes with the daydreams I’ve been having this whole meeting of Milena—of putting my hands on her, of feeling her come undone last night.

Of how I feel when I watch her sleep.

My eyes drag venomously to Leo’s. Somehow, I summon the mental strength to pull myself back from the brink of tearing him limb from limb.

“Interesting,” I say expressionlessly.

He spreads his arms. “Truth be told, I’d much rather align with your family than Marko’s. We might both be Russian, but you’re the better match, between your influence and reach.”

I get it: he’s metaphorically sucking my dick to pump me up to his idea. I’m sure he pulled the same shit with Marko. But I’m no longer listening.

All I’m thinking about isher, and how she’s mine.

No one else’s.

No one.

14

MILENA

“Brooklyn, you’re up.”

Beside me, my friend blinks as we walk through the West Village.

“Remind me what we’re playing again?”

Laz chuckles, shaking his head. “You’ve literally been walking with us for the last twenty minutes.”

Brooklyn frowns. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

That's putting it mildly. About three blocks ago I asked her what she thought about a cute dress I saw in a shop window, and she answered with “both”.

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