Dance of Ruin: Chapter 19

I’ve never been the best sleeper. I mean, I sleep, obviously, but straight through the night? Not the norm. It’s like I can’t shut my brain off long enough. Which means there are times—like right fucking now—where I go from asleep to wide awake and start thinking about the most random shit in the world.

Although tonight it’s not that random.

In the near total darkness of my bedroom, I turn to the side, a curious feeling washing over me as my eyes slide over her, lying beside me.

I’ve never done this before.

Not the sex. Or the domination.

I mean the sleeping.

I’ve never actually fallen asleep beside a woman. Ever. I’ve never let one get close enough to share the dark, quiet hours when my thoughts turn feral and the black thoughts bleed in.

But I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours in this bed with Naomi, and I haven’t wanted to leave it once.

We’ve been here ever since I fucked her on stage last night, losing myself entirely in her. After that, I took her back here, and that is where we’ve stayed.

Fucking like animals.

She had today off, which is good, because I’m pretty sure she can’t stand, let alone dance. I’m no better: “sore” is a fucking understatement. So are “chafed”, “bruised”, and “severely fucking dehydrated.”

My body feels like it’s been through war.

And Naomi?

I let my eyes slide over her skin in the dim light from the evening city gleaming behind the shades.

Jesus Christ.

She looks like she owed a Vegas gangster money and couldn’t pay.

Purple covers her wrists, hips, and thighs. There are maul-marks on her breasts, and more bruises on her throat. Not to mention the ones on her ass shaped like my palms.

Fuck me. I grin savagely just thinking about it. She brings out something in me I’ve never felt before. Not to this level, I mean, not by a fucking mile.

It’s an animalistic hunger.

An obsession.

She makes me insatiable. Consumed with mad need for her.

And it’s like she herself craves all the unhinged madness that she creates in me. Feeds off it. Whatever I give, she pushes for more.

Whatever boundary I think I’m pushing, she tells me to push it farther.

I’m not sure if she’s created a monster in me, or if it’s the other way around.

She’s asleep now—barely covered by the sheet, one thigh thrown over mine, staking her claim. Her lips are parted, lashes dark against her flushed cheeks. She looks ruined.

She looks perfect.

My phone vibrates on the nightstand. I reach for it without waking her, and my face tenses when I read the silent alert flashing across the screen.

Fuck.

Ever since Mario told me about the Obsidian Syndicate clashing with Leonard Kim for trying to break his contract with them, I’ve had a bad feeling building in my chest.

If they’re after Leonard, Naomi’s a target, too.

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 use the 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.

“That has to 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 suggest not slinking around in the shadows after—purposefully, I’m assuming—setting off someone’s alarm system.” I smile. “If you’re not a 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 have cannot leave a trail,” Kir says pointedly.

Oh, really.

I don’t necessarily trust Kir.

Nobody in the Black Court does.

Kir’s old-school. He believes in structure and hierarchy when it comes to underworld empires, and he’s not exactly silent about his thoughts on the Black Court and our…unique style of policing said underworld empires.

The Black Court offends his sense of order. In his mind, we’re just a bunch of vigilantes: rogue judges rewriting the rules to suit ourselves.

“I assumed the best way to get your attention without getting anyone else’s as well was through Naomi’s apartment. What with certain forces being at odds with her father, and him being virtually untouchable right now, she’d⁠—”

“It’s two-fucking-thirty in the morning, Kir,” I growl. “Why don’t you get to the point before the sun comes up.”

He dips his chin.

“One of my warehouses was hit yesterday.”

Well… That’s interesting. Shocking, to be honest.

This whole city knows who Kir is, what he’s capable of, and the kind of power and influence he wields. Nobody would be stupid or suicidal enough to knock over one of his warehouses. And if someone actually had the kind of strength to go toe to toe with him, they wouldn’t waste an opening shot on something piddling like stealing from him.

I roll my eyes. “In that case, I’d suggest calling the police. Look, you’re the one who called me here. If there’s something you want to tell me, just do it already so I can go back to bed.”

Kir’s brow arches, an amused look on his face. “Ahh, I see the problem here.”

“The fact that you weren’t thoughtful enough to have a coffee waiting for me?”

His smile fades. “No, you thinking I called you here because I needed your help with something.” He slowly shakes his head. “That’s not it at all, Nico. This is me doing you a favor.” He takes a slow breath. “The warehouse job was quiet, surgical, and precise. All inventory gone, surveillance tapes looped, entry logs deleted.” His jaw grinds. “Not exactly the mark of a bunch of idiots, and anyone I know in the city who could pull off something like that is either an ally or the type to come at me much harder than merely picking my pocket.”

I resist the urge to tell him I already connected these dots several minutes ago.

“I believe it was a targeted move,” he says. “But not a robbery. A warning.”

My brow furrows. “Why do I get the sense you already know who did it.”

“Because I do.” He levels a cold look at me. “Can I assume you’re aware of an organization going by the name The Obsidian Syndicate?”

I keep my face neutral. “It might…ring a bell.”

Kir smirks. “Yes, I’m sure it might,” he says drily. “I believe the hit on my warehouse was in retaliation for me watching them too closely. I’ve been monitoring their expansion into New York. It used to be that they were simply mercenaries; guns-for-hire, destabilizers…that sort of thing. But they’re shifting from service to sovereignty now. Territory, policy, politics. It’s no longer about working for clients, but about building their own empire.”

I exhale, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck. “This is all fascinating, Kir,” I sigh. “But again, I do own a phone. I’ll give you some free advice: you’re one of the most powerful men in the city. Someone decides to step on your toes?” I shrug. “Cut off their fucking leg. Problem solved.”

Kir’s mouth curls slightly at the corners. “Thank you for that truly masterful lesson in tactics, Nico. But I’m not interested in destabilizing my entire empire over one warehouse and a bruised ego.” He frowns. “The Obsidian Syndicate doesn’t scare me. But going to war with them affects my distribution lines, my shipping ports, my contracts. It brings noise where I need quiet. That is why I’m here.”

I smirk. “Hate to say it, but this really sounds like you asking me for a favor.”

“Then you’re not paying attention,” he replies coldly. “Nico, you’re already at war with them whether you admit it or not. They bombed your father’s birthday party. They’re digging into your little…club.”

I bristle, forcing myself not to show emotion when he mentions the Black Court. But I see amusement in his eyes when it’s clear he’s touched a nerve.

“Yes, Nico, I know what you and your friends do in the shadows. Just as I know that the Obsidian Syndicate is more than a bit interested in who you all are, where you meet, and how you might be either exploited or destroyed,” he growls. “I also know that of all your animal mask friends, you are the only one trying to sound the alarm.” He shrugs. “I applaud your intuition.”

“I don’t need your compliments,” I mutter.

“No, but you might need this,” he says, reaching into his jacket. “It’s something you can use. Information that isn’t readily available.”

He pulls out a folded piece of paper, and flicks it onto the corner of Naomi’s bed. When I pluck it up, I frown at the name written on it in clear, neat penmanship: Cyprus Logistics, LLC.

“That,” Kir growls, “is a shell company that launders money and processes massive amounts of narcotics domestically for US distribution.” His eyes lock with mine. “It’s operated by the Obsidian Syndicate, and accounts for a third of their profits these days.”

I study the slip of paper before I glance back at him, frowning.

“As I said,” Kir continues. “Your family is already in conflict with the Obsidian Syndicate, due to the unfortunate events at Vito’s birthday party. If I hit them back, it’ll be an escalation of war, and every criminal element in this city will view it as such. If you retaliate, it’s personal. They hurt your family; you’re hurting them back. That’s the sort of mafia justice every player in the city would understand, sympathize with, and accept.”

I frown. “Yeah, this still really sounds like you’re asking me to⁠—”

“I’m not asking you to do a fucking thing, Nico,” Kir mutters. “Hit them back, send them flowers, I truly don’t care. The warehouse I lost means nothing to me. It’s sand kicked on my shoe.”

“And you seriously think I’m going to believe that you’re just giving me this information out of…what, some need to be a good Samaritan⁠—”

Fucking fuck. It suddenly hits me.

“You don’t want me to do your dirty work for you. You want me to owe you.”

His smile glints in the darkness. “Nothing in this world is free, Nico.”

“And if I refuse?”

He shrugs. “Then you refuse. Take the information and do something with it, or don’t. Use it and decide you don’t owe me. I don’t care, and I’m not going to bother hounding you for it. But…”

I frown. “But we’ll both know I owe you, whether you come to collect or not.”

Fucker’s good, I’ll give him that.

“Why me,” I grunt. “Why not go to Carmine with this.”

“I don’t like your brother,” he says bluntly. “I think he’s a sociopath with a permanent ax to grind.” He shrugs. “You, on the other hand, are more… methodical. Unencumbered by narcissistic traits.”

“You make it sound like Carmy’s a psychopath.”

“You and I both know that’s exactly what your brother is, Nico,” he says flatly.

Okay, fair.

I stare at the slip of paper for a beat longer.

“If I use this,” I murmur, holding it between my fingers. “It doesn’t make us allies.”

“Once again, Nico, your masterful insights are greatly appreciated,” he says drily.

I shrug. “Make all the jokes you like, dickhead. It doesn’t.”

“Nico, I could swallow your family whole,” Kir says calmly, his voice devoid of any threat or malice. “Believe me when I say I truly do not care if you and I become friends, or if our families are allies or not.”

“What I mean,” I snarl, “is that this doesn’t change anything when it comes to you digging into business you…shouldn’t be digging into.”

As in, the Black Court, and Kir’s not-so-subtle prodding into it.

“I’d be disappointed if it did,” he says with a smirk.

He nods at me, stepping past me to leave. Then he pauses in the doorway to Naomi’s bedroom, turning to glance around the room before letting his eyes settle on me again.

“I have no skin in the game when it comes to your personal relationships, Nico. Nor do I have any interest in the motivations for those relationships—if, say, you’re seeing someone because you care for her, or just want to stick a fork in her father’s eye.”

I bristle.

“That said, your current girlfriend, or victim, or whatever Ms. Kim is to you, also happens to be a very talented dancer at the ballet company that I fund. Not to mention, the star of a highly anticipated production of Swan Lake that said ballet company will be performing soon.”

“And?”

He eyes me. “And I would deem it a personal favor if you didn’t fuck that up.”

I smirk. Kir dips his chin.

“Be seeing you…Raven.”