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But then reality crashes back in as Avros continues. "That's why I have to win this case. Miron made a mistake, yes, but he doesn't deserve to rot in prison for it."
My fork clatters against my plate. "A mistake?" I repeat, unable to keep the disbelief from my voice. "Avros, it's all over the news that he killed someone. I saw it myself."
Avros's eyes harden, the warmth of moments ago replaced by icy determination. "It was self-defense. Josiah would have killed him if Miron hadn't struck first."
I shake my head, struggling to reconcile the man who spoke so lovingly of his brother with the one now justifying murder. "Even if that's true, tampering with the jury... it's wrong. It's?—"
"Necessary," Avros cuts me off, his tone brooking no argument. "You don't understand the world we live in,krasotka. The things we have to do to survive."
I want to argue, to make him see reason. But the steel in his gaze silences me. This is the Avros Petrov I first met. He’s dangerous and unyielding, a man who will stop at nothing to protect what's his.
And yet, as the night wears on, that hardness begins to soften again. We talk of lighter things, childhood memories, favorite books, and dreams for the future.
"So, little artist," Avros says, his voice teasing, "tell me about this gallery you dream of opening."
I feel a blush creep up my cheeks. "It's silly, really..."
"Nonsense," he interrupts, leaning forward. "I want to hear every detail."
As I describe my vision, Avros listens intently, asking thoughtful questions. I find myself laughing at his dry humor, leaning in to catch his whispered confessions.
"You know," he says at one point, "I always wanted to learn to paint. Perhaps you could teach me someday."
It feels dangerously like a date, and I have to keep reminding myself why I'm really here. That this isn't real, no matter how genuine Avros's smile seems or how my heart races when our eyes meet.
"Another glass?" Avros asks, reaching for the wine bottle.
"Please," I reply, my voice huskier than intended.
But when Avros's hand brushes mine as he pours, I can't ignore the spark that jumps between us. The air thickens, charged with possibility.
"Sydney," Avros murmurs, his voice husky. He leans in, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek. "I?—"
The shrill ring of a phone cuts through the moment like a knife. Avros jerks back, cursing under his breath in Russian. He pulls out a sleek black cell and answers with a curt, "Yes?"
As he speaks rapid-fire Russian, his expression growing darker by the second, I try to calm my racing heart. What just happened? What was he about to say?
More importantly, why am I disappointed that we were interrupted?
Avros ends the call abruptly, his jaw clenched tight. He takes a deep breath, visibly composing himself before turning back to me.
"My apologies," he says, his voice low and controlled. "Sometimes business intrudes at the most inopportune moments."
I nod, not trusting my voice. The tension in the air is palpable, and I keep feeling these prickles in my feet whenever his eyes dance over me. Even hearing him speaking in Russian made me feel some type of way, so it’s better to keep my mouth shut unless I know exactly what I’m about to say.
Avros reaches for the wine bottle, refilling both our glasses. "Now, where were we?" he asks, his intense gaze fixed on me.
As we sip our wine, falling back into easy conversation, I can't help but feel a flutter of excitement in my stomach. The way Avros looks at me, like I'm the only woman in the world. It's intoxicating just as much as it is dangerous.
What am I doing? How can I be developing feelings for a man like Avros Petrov? A man who thinks nothing of breaking the law, of defending a murderer, brother or not.
And yet, as the evening wears on and Avros's smile softens, his laugh becoming more genuine, I find myself drawn in deeper.His hand brushes mine as he reaches for the bread, and I feel a jolt of electricity at the contact.
I'm in way over my head. But as Avros's eyes meet mine over the rim of his wineglass, dark with promise, I realize I might not care.
Whatever game we're playing, whatever danger lies ahead... part of me can't wait to see where it leads.
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