The Godfather of Dance (Jade Riley Mysteries Book 1)

A Ballroom Murder. A Family Curse. A Journalist Caught in the Middle.

When rookie journalist Jade Riley moves to Houston, she expects stories—just not one this personal. Drawn into the glittering yet cutthroat world of ballroom dance, Jade meets Anton Valencio, a grief-stricken instructor with a dangerous past and a haunting question: who killed his fiancée?

As they dig into a cold case laced with betrayal, forbidden love, and the shadow of a notorious New Orleans crime family, Jade and Anton uncover secrets some would kill to protect. With tension rising and bodies falling, the truth could come at the ultimate cost.

Fast-paced, atmospheric, and emotionally charged, The Godfather of Dance is the gripping first installment in Andrea Barton’s Jade Riley Mysteries.

Start reading The Godfather of Dance today – and step into a mystery where every move could be your last.

Excerpt from the book

IAnton

Before the hail of bullets, Danica and I were at our New Orleans studio rehearsing a bold, brassy samba. The music pulsed as we shimmied and twirled, our hips in sync. Danica wore an old pair of leggings and a strappy bra top; her curves made me want to run my hands all over her body.

‘Come on, we need more bounce.’ Danica demonstrated, sassy as ever, bossy as ever. I could watch her all day. ‘Use your knees … the rhythm, catch the rhythm.’

Through the windows, headlights flashed onto her until the car turned. Our studio lay on a busy road at the top of a T-intersection, so at night, whenever a car approached, we had a roving spotlight. I could have pulled the blinds, but why reject free publicity? I loved commanding a stage. Looking back, I wish I’d closed those blinds, but you don’t get second chances in life. You can’t rewind the clock.

We’d revamped our routine to include a samba roll, one of my favourite moves because although it’s hard to perfect, it’s crazy hot, our bodies locked together.

‘You’re lagging. Stay on the beat.’ Man, she was tough. I’d never known anyone to work harder.

As we separated to work the floor with solo moves, I wiped sweat from my face. The air conditioner had lost the battle to the stinking summer heat, although it didn’t seem to bother Danica. Fit and vivacious, she glowed from exertion. Luscious dark hair framed her delicate features.

The day she agreed to be my dance partner, I couldn’t believe my luck. Soon after, we moved in together and opened a chain of dance studios – New Orleans, New York and Miami. Five years later, we got engaged. I don’t know why we waited so long. If only I’d proposed the minute I realised we were simpatico.

The only catch to our idyllic life was that my father backed our business. He had more money than seemed likely for a guy who ran a bunch of gyms – if you get my drift – but when he’d offered to sponsor our dream, I’d turned a blind eye to his dodgy clients and made him promise our studios would remain clean. As if. I should have turned him in as soon as I found out he was using our studios as a front for money laundering. But Valencios are loyal. Loyalty to family, no matter what. Dad had ingrained the family motto so deeply in me that while I threatened to call the police, I couldn’t do it. Stupid. But like I said, you can’t rewind the clock.

I was dancing back to my love when an engine growled outside. At first, I figured it was some dumbasses getting their kicks. The studio gleamed, awash in the headlights of a car driving right at us. Danica shone like an angel. Her necklace glistened, the silver Pisces I’d given her after we won our first professional Latin dance competition. It dangled around her neck, drawing my eyes to her chest.