Page 44 of Marked By the Mob

That does it. Her chin lifts in that stubborn way I’ve come to recognize, and she crosses the room to stand in front of me. I take her hand and pull her toward the open space in the middle of the lounge.

“The steps are simple,” I explain, demonstrating the basic footwork. “Step, step, kick. Then turn and repeat. The rhythm is fast, so you have to keep up.”

I show her the movements, exaggerating them slightly so she can follow. Emma watches with that sharp focus she brings to everything, her eyes tracking my feet.

“Like this?” She tries to copy the steps and immediately stumbles.

I catch her before she can fall, my hands on her waist. “Close. But you’re thinking too much. Just feel the music.”

“I don’t know how to feel music,” she mutters, but she tries again.

This time, she gets the first two steps right before her foot catches on the third. Rurik laughs from his chair, the sound warm and genuine. Eduard stands and moves to join us.

“Here,” Eduard says, taking Emma’s other hand. “We’ll go slow first.”

Between the two of us, we guide her through the steps. Eduard corrects her footing while I keep the rhythm, counting out loud until she starts to pick it up. What begins as awkwardand clumsy slowly transforms into something closer to actual dancing.

Emma’s face flushes with concentration and maybe a little embarrassment, but she doesn’t give up. She keeps trying, her body gradually finding the rhythm. When she finally completes a full sequence without stumbling, she laughs. The sound is bright and unguarded, so different from her usual controlled demeanor.

“I did it!” She sounds genuinely surprised.

“You did,” I agree, spinning her under my arm. “Now let’s see if you can keep up when we go faster.”

Eduard increases the tempo, and suddenly we’re all moving together. Emma between Eduard and me, Rurik watching from his chair with an expression I can’t quite read. The music fills the room, lively and infectious, and for a few minutes, nothing else matters except the dance.

Emma’s dark hair comes loose from its braid, falling in waves around her face. Her cheeks are pink from exertion, her eyes bright. When she laughs again, breathless and happy, something tightens in my chest.

This is what I wanted when we bought her. Not just a woman to warm our bed, but someone who could be part of this. Part of us. Someone who could laugh in our home and dance to our music and belong here in a way that goes deeper than ownership.

The song ends, and Emma collapses onto the couch, breathing hard. “That was insane.”

“That was tradition,” I correct, dropping down beside her. “And you were good.”

“I was terrible.”

“You were better than terrible.” Eduard hands her a glass of water. “You picked it up faster than most people do.”

She drinks deeply, her throat working as she swallows. I watch the movement, my gaze dropping to the curve of her breasts rising and falling with each breath. The fitted sweater she’s wearing clings to her body, and I can see the outline of her nipples through the fabric.

Fuck, I want her.

Rurik stands and moves closer, his pale eyes locked on Emma’s flushed face. “Again,” he says quietly.

Emma looks up at him. “What?”

“Dance with me.”

It’s not a request. Rurik doesn’t make requests. But there’s something in his voice that makes it feel less like a command and more like an invitation.

Emma sets down her water and stands. Rurik takes her hand and pulls her close, one arm sliding around her waist. The music has shifted to something slower now, a traditional waltz that requires bodies pressed together.

I watch them move across the floor, Rurik’s hand splayed across the small of Emma’s back, her fingers resting on his shoulder. They fit together perfectly, her smaller frame tucked against his larger one. When Rurik spins her, her hair fans out, and I catch a glimpse of her face. Her eyes are half-closed, her lips parted slightly.

Eduard moves to stand beside me, his gaze also fixed on the pair. “She’s beautiful like this,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” I agree. “She is.”

The song ends, but Rurik doesn’t release her immediately. They stand there for a moment, bodies still pressed together, and I see the exact second the energy in the room shifts. It’s subtle but unmistakable. The air grows heavier, charged with something that has nothing to do with dancing.