I pull back, take both of his hands in mine, and move my feet to the steps, shaking my backside to the rhythm. The Amulet of Amun gently thumps against my spine, reminding me of its constant presence.
At first, Bes merely stares at me. A tiny seed of doubt plants itself inside my stomach, but I refuse to nurture it.If he doesn’t want to dance with me, that’s his loss. Although Iamdisappointed: despite my best efforts, he remains a stoic constant in a sea of roiling ecstasy.
I lean in again, closer this time, and his grip tightens around me once more. Unexpected warmth pools in my core.
“We’re supposed to be blending in, remember?” I murmur, our lips mere inches apart. I pull back, keeping my eyes on him and raising a brow as I continue dancing.
After a few more agonizing seconds, he gives me a crooked half-smile. I nearly stop breathing from the sight. Tightening hisgrasp on my hands, he moves his own feet in the same rhythm as mine. Relief and elation war inside me.
I know I’m forgetting some of the steps, but Bes and I move so well together; we could be making up an entirely new dance and no one would be the wiser.
He grips my hands tighter and tugs, spinning me into him. The world whirls around me until my back becomes flush against him. He wraps one of my own hands around my waist and the other across my chest. I gasp at the contact, at his lips near my ear when he dips his head. We swing back and forth with the rhythm for a few heated seconds.
His warmth presses against me.God, this feels so right.I swear I might burst if I don’t turn around to face him—when he spins me out again. Some part of me is disappointed, but I quickly get over it.
The band has now slid into a loose interpretation of the song. Nearly everyone in the club is on the dance floor or clapping to the beat from their tables, hollering.
Bes draws me in close and speaks into my ear. “Why did you stop dancing before? When you were with that other man?”
I smile lazily, murmuring, “Jealous?”
He doesn’t react beyond the slight tick of his jaw. “You looked as if you’d seen an apparition.”
The fire in my veins cools at the memory. “I swore I saw Ingrid, but I must’ve been mistaken.”
Bes glances around—
A glass bottle shatters loudly over by the bar, prompting shouts of confusion. I swivel in the direction of the sound.
When a gun fires into the crowd.
The sound explodes inside the club. I duck instinctively as Bes throws his arms around me, his bad arm wrapped around my waist, the other hand cupped over my head. The music comes toa stuttered halt. Puzzled murmurs twist into screams of terror, barely cutting through the awful, sharp ringing in my ears.
I glance over at Cec—finding The Maestro slumped across the table. Crimson pools around her locks, spilling across the table; her brown eyes and full-lipped mouth hang open in astonishment.
Oh God, Cec.Her blood is spattered across his face in red freckles, staining his tuxedo as if he spilled red wine on it. Shock scores his features, clearly rendering him immobile.
Without another moment’s pause, Bes and I rush over to him. Bes hands his cousin’s cane to me and then grabs his arm from the other side, dragging him out of the booth. I pick my switchblade from his pocket.I never want to be parted from you again.He doesn’t so much as flinch at the intrusion.
Taking in the chaos ensuing around us, Bes runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck. I thought we had more time.”
More time?Goddammit.
“You knew this was going to happen.” It’s not a question.
“I considered it a possibility. But we’ll have to schedule the scolding for later.” Bes maintains his hold on Cec’s arm as a couple runs right past our booth. “We need to get to the other exit, now.”
My heart leaps for a moment.Iknewthere was another way out of here.
I glance around the club. The patrons who were dancing mere seconds ago are now clamoring for the exit, crowding the narrow corridor in violent panic. Screams fill the large room as what I now recognize to be Blackshirts cut through the crowd. They’re barking orders in Italian, though few obey. Those closest to the Blackshirts meet the sharp ends of the knives and switchblades gripped in their hands, spilling blood onto the floor. Almost as if they’re not trying to formally arrest anyone…
Every scream echoes afresh in my ears. Breathing hard, I force myself to look away from where the slick blood of harmless party-goers coats the blue-and-yellow checkered floor. Moments ago, they were safe, tucked away in the one place they could escape Mussolini’s tyranny.
Yet, it came for them anyway.
Bes places himself in my line of sight so all I can see is him. Not the needless carnage unfolding before me, or the evil men creating it. Only Bes.
“Miss Hawkins, we need to go. Now.”
