Chapter 172

The Prey

I never imagined it.

The violin sang its mournful tune, and I swayed to it—not of my own accord, mind you, but because Judas Romanovski, the devil in a three-piece suit, was steering me across the candlelit floor like some twisted waltz master. His palms rested on my waist—shamefully large—and my cheek pressed against his chest. Solid. Warm. Infuriating. I must’ve been hallucinating. Or drunk. Definitely drunk.

“This feels illegal,” I muttered. The words tumbled out, and I didn’t even care. Liquid courage for the win. “You’re like… evil or something, and here you are, waltzing like some romantic hero in a bad mafia romance novel.”

He chuckled. “Evil? Is that what you think of me, Ptichka?”

“Oh, don’t act innocent. You probably have some villain checklist. What is it? Mysterious past? Check. A suit that screams ‘don’t trust me’? Double check. Unfairly good cologne? Triple check. And that jawline?” I raised a finger and