Page 31 of Dance of Devils

Iamgoing to do that. But I’m also going to be taking as much of this home to Pearl as I think will fit in the cooler in her trunk.

I mean, free food is free food.

I’ve got everything boxed up for the food bank, along with a crazy amount of chicken parm and cannoli for myself, when a sudden noise has me jerking around, pulse racing as I peer into the darkness outside the practice studio.

“H-hello?” I blurt.

Dove steps out of the shadows, dance bag slung over her shoulder, her wet pinkish-silver hair pulled up in a loose ponytail.

Dove is, for lack of a better word,cool, in that effortlessly chic, rock n’ roll way. She’s gorgeous, firstly, with silvery-pink hair, tattoos, and serious mystery vibes constantly swirling around her. You’d never guess that she’s the daughter of Cesare Marchetti, head of the Marchetti Italian mafia family.

“Aloof” isn’t really the word you’d use to describe her, though she can be. She’s only been with the Zakharova for a couple of months, and while she’s friendly enough when she feels like it, she mostly keeps to herself. I always think the secret sauce to her “cool” factor is thatno one knowswhere she was before this.

It certainly wasn’t New York, but other than that, the rumors range from an arranged marriage in Italy, to a reform school in France, to a high-end drug rehab in Switzerland.

I highly doubt it’s any of those, but wherever she was, the girl got some serious dance training in. She’sinsanelytalented, and her dancing appears effortless. Which, honestly, is intimidating as fuck.

“Shit, sorry. I didn’t realize anyone was still here,” she says as she walks over to where I’ve got the sandwich boxes stacked. “I decided to get some running in on the treadmill downstairs and then grabbed a shower.” She glances at the tower of Italian subs and drops her bag to the ground. “Want a hand with those?”

“Actually…yeah,” I smile at her. “If you don’t mind, I was just going to bring them to the First Congregational food bank down on 54th.”

“You were going to carry two hundred pounds of chicken parm there by yourself?”

I grin. “Vitoreallywent overboard with that, didn’t he?”

She groans and holds her stomach. “God, why do you think I hit the treadmill?”

We end up splitting the stack of to-go boxes and making small talk as we walk the few blocks to the church food bank.

“Hey…” Dove scrunches her face up, her lips twisting as she glances at me. “This is weird, but…” She shakes her head. “Nah, don’t worry about it. See you tomorrow.”

I arch a brow. “Well, now I’m intrigued…”

Dove makes a face. “I was just wondering, if you aren’t busy right now… Do you think you could give me a hand moving something?” She clears her throat. “Like…discreetly?”

Umm…

She laughs, sensing the alarm bells in my head. “Not a body, I swear.”

My shift at The Mirage doesn’t start until later tonight, so I grin. “I’m in.”

And just like that, I’m hanging out with Dove for the first time.

“I live with my dad,” she suddenly says in the dim back seat of the Uber as we cross the bridge into Brooklyn Heights.

“That must be…nice?”

She glances at me, a wry look on her face. “You do know who my dad is, right?”

I smile at her. “I might have heard.”

She shrugs and turns to stare out the window. “I’m trying to get my own place but…” Her brow furrows slightly. “It’s complicated.”

“From what I hear, family always is,” I offer.

“Trust me,” she sighs. “You’re not missing out. Feel free to borrow mineanytime.”

I don’t really know much about the Marchetti family. I know Dove’s got a sister, Chiara, who’s apparently a mafia princess straight out of a movie. I’ve also heard that Cesare, Dove’s father, is a real asshole.