Dance with the Devil

Chapter Two: Dance with the Devil

The ballroom seemed to fade away around them as the music swelled, wrapping Anastasia and Damien in a cocoon of danger and seduction.

Damien’s hand was firm on her waist, guiding her with a precision that was almost unsettling. He moved like a man who controlled everything around him — the room, the people in it, even the woman in his arms. His touch wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t rough either. It was commanding. Dominant. A silent warning that reminded Anastasia exactly who she was dealing with.

She had danced with dangerous men before. She had even killed a few mid-spin.

But none of them had ever made her pulse quicken quite like this.

Focus, Anastasia.

He’s a target. Nothing more.

She forced herself to maintain her mask of cool indifference, even as Damien leaned closer, his lips brushing just near her ear.

“You dance well,” he murmured, his warm breath ghosting against her skin. “Not like the others.”

“The others?” She arched a brow behind her mask, her voice dripping with feigned amusement.

“The ones who come here hoping to impress me,” he said casually, spinning her effortlessly before drawing her back against his chest. “But you… you’re different. Mysterious.”

Anastasia allowed a sly smile to curl her lips. “Maybe I just enjoy being a mystery.”

Damien chuckled, low and dark. “Mysteries are dangerous, bella. And I have a very bad habit of solving them.”

The song ended with a final flourish, but Damien didn’t release her hand. Instead, he led her through the crowd as if he owned not only the ballroom but her as well. People stepped aside immediately, their eyes avoiding his. Fear and respect followed him like a shadow.

Anastasia noted every detail — the armed guards stationed near the exits, the subtle hand signals exchanged between his men, the way everyone’s gaze lingered on Damien a second too long.

Every piece of information was another weapon she could use later.

He guided her to a balcony overlooking the glittering city of Venice. The night air was cool and smelled faintly of salt and roses. Anastasia’s heels clicked softly against the marble floor as she stepped outside, taking in the breathtaking view.

Damien leaned against the railing, his gaze fixed on her rather than the scenery.

“So, Anya Petrovna,” he said, savoring the fake name she had given him. “Tell me… what brings a woman like you to my world?”

Anastasia tilted her head, feigning curiosity. “Your world?”

He smirked, his blue eyes sharp and calculating. “Don’t play coy with me. You’ve been watching me all evening. The way you move, the way you speak… you didn’t come here by chance.”

For the briefest moment, her heart skipped a beat. Did he suspect her already?

Anastasia laughed softly, letting it roll off her tongue like silk. “Maybe I was simply curious. A man like you is… intriguing.”

Damien’s smirk deepened. “Intriguing. That’s a polite word for dangerous.”

“And you are dangerous, aren’t you?” she asked, stepping closer, her voice low and sultry. “The kind of man mothers warn their daughters about.”

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he reached out, taking a strand of her dark hair between his fingers, his touch intimate and possessive.

“Only if you give me a reason to be.”

Anastasia’s pulse pounded in her ears, though her face betrayed nothing. She met his gaze steadily, her expression unreadable.

“I like to live dangerously,” she said softly.

For a moment, silence hung between them — thick, electric, and charged with something neither of them wanted to name.

Then Damien released her hair and stepped back, his tone suddenly cool and businesslike.

“Tell me, Anya. What do you do?”

The question was harmless on the surface, but Anastasia knew it was a test. He was looking for cracks, for weaknesses, for truth.

She smiled, rehearsed and flawless. “I deal in luxury art pieces. Rare, priceless, and very discreet transactions.”

It was a perfect cover — elegant and impossible to trace.

Damien’s eyes searched hers for a moment, then he gave a slow nod. “Fitting. Beautiful things belong in the hands of those who can protect them.”

Or steal them, she thought darkly.

Just as she was about to respond, a tall man in a gray suit approached, his expression tense.

“Boss, there’s been… a complication.”

Damien’s jaw tightened. “Handle it.”

The man shook his head. “It’s urgent.”

Damien cursed under his breath, his sharp blue eyes snapping back to Anastasia. “Stay here. Don’t move.”

Before she could reply, he was gone, disappearing inside with his men.

Anastasia exhaled slowly, gripping the balcony rail.

This was her chance.

She slipped a small device from the slit in her dress — a sleek listening bug no bigger than a coin. In seconds, she had it attached beneath the balcony’s marble edge, perfectly hidden from view.

Her mission wasn’t just to seduce Damien. She needed intel.

Knowledge was power, and right now, Damien Ranoli held all of it.

When she straightened, her mask of elegance was firmly back in place. She had just tucked the device away when Damien returned, his expression unreadable.

“Apologies, bella,” he said smoothly, though his jaw was still tight. “Business never sleeps.”

“No need to apologize.” Anastasia offered him a warm, practiced smile. “I understand. Power has its demands.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, as though her choice of words intrigued him. Then, to her surprise, he extended his hand again.

“Come. The night isn’t over yet.”

As she placed her hand in his, a shiver ran down her spine.

Every move she made brought her closer to her goal — and closer to him.

And that terrified her more than any weapon ever could.

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