Page 9 of Captivated

Damian grinned a little. “Ghost.”

“Hmm.”

“And you?” Dante asked, glancing up at Joe. “What do they call you?”

He didn’t want to answer.

He was going to have to take this job, anyway. His father asked, and something inside told him it was the right thing to do even if he didn’t have all the details.

“Well?” Lucian pressed when Dante didn’t.

“Shadow,” Joe said.

“Pardon?”

“When the Outfit wants someone gone,” Joe clarified, “they send the Shadow.”

Because he moved quietly, as though he wasn’t there at all. Because he blended in with the crowd, and was never really seen. Because in darkness, and in the shadows, he was the most dangerous.

There, he felt the most normal, too.

Strange how that worked.

“Five million for both,” Dante said, “and they both have to be successful hits. We’re not particularly working on a tight deadline, either. We’ve been briefed that you can take a while to make sure … everything is good and clean.”

“Half in my account by tonight,” Joe returned.

Dante nodded, and waved a hand toward the door. “Done … now, you should probably acquaint yourself with the mansion, as this is where you’ll be coming to brief or get orders. Have a look around, and if you see my mother, say hello. She enjoys guests.”

Great.

TWO

“JUST COME OUT this weekend,” Cella said. “What’s one weekend going to hurt?”

Liliana’s younger sister always liked to dangle that rope to her as though she seriously thought it was going to work. It never did.

“Gordo would kill me,” Liliana replied. “If he knew the shit I was about to shove into my mouth, he would have a fit. Imagine him finding out I was drinking and partying all weekend when I am supposed to be resting in prep for next week.”

Cella and her two friends—mutual with Liliana, too, really—piled out of the SUV. “You’re no fun anymore, Liliana. All you care about is dance, and that company.”

“That’s not true, but I worked hard to even get my spot in that company. I have the chance to be the lead dancer again for the upcoming production, and I don’t want to piss off my—”

“Whatever.”

Catherine, their cousin, rolled her eyes in the front seat when the door slammed. “She’s dramatic today.”

Liliana would tend to agree. “I think she misses me being available all the time.”

“Maybe.”

Fact was, even before Liliana had gotten her spot in the Wylder Ballet Company three years ago—a couple of years later than most of the dancers in the company, as some of the people there liked to point out—she still hadn’t been able to spend every waking moment with her sister. From the age of ten, her focus on ballet had been a huge part of her life. She didn’t want to do anything her parents tried to put her in for extracurricular activities.

Then, ballet was on the table.

God, she hated it at first. Despised it, really. But she watched all the ballerinas come into the studio to work, and something about them was amazing. They were beautiful, graceful, and strong. Sylph-like in their pointe shoes, and moving across the floor as though they were completely weightless. Like fairies with their hair tied up in perfect buns, and their soft pink or flat black leotards.

Liliana had been young enough—and dumb enough—to think she should be able to do ballet just like them, and that was where the frustration came in. And then she nailed her first en pointe and she got it. She finally understood why doing the work, learning the craft, and earning the praise, was a far better reward than anything else.