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I nearly choke.

“Petrov will never come near you again.” This the translation of Ilya’s growled response.

I take Sin’s hand and lead her past the concierge desk to a door with a punch code entry. Once I enter the code and gain access, we pass through to a well maintained hallway with more doors along the far wall. Stopping outside of Door 3, I swing it open.

There, seated in a plush chair beside a small, round table with a matching chair on the other side, is Giovanni.

Our special guest at Bert’s last night.

Our special guest for Sin today, but in a completely different way.

The sight of him brings me back to the New Year’s party, when we had Petrov tied up in the freezer.

“Tell us what you’re planning, Mikhail. It’s that simple.”

He spits blood on the metal floor, along with what I think is a piece of molar. “Y-you’ll get n-nothing.” His stutter from the cold is even more pronounced over time.

“You sure about that?” I prod. “Everyone saw you here today. And Giovanni in particular seems pretty pissed.”

The mention of Giovanni causes something dark to flash across Mikhail’s face, and I know for certain his plans have something to do with our family friend and business partner.

I look at my brothers. “I’ll be right back.”

Outside the freezer, my assistant, Killian, hands me my phone, like we’re on the same wavelength. And we usually are.

I tap Giovanni’s contact.

“Late night, Cade?”

“Something like that.” I peer at the freezer door. “We have something on ice in the kitchens we think you might want to sample.”

He’s silent for a beat, then, “I’ll be right there.”

I wait for his arrival, and when he strides into the kitchen, Killian gives a respectful bow, and Giovanni pats his shoulder before looking at me. “Lead the way.”

I do just that, and when we join my brothers and Mikhail, Giovanni’s demeanor grows a bit theatrical. His movements dramatic, voice booming.

“Mikhail, my boy!”

I step back, let him work.

Mikhail looks even more pale than he already was.

“G-Giov-vanni—”

“Oh, no, don’t get up.” He rounds the chair before squatting down in front of the man. “Tell me, Mikhail. Do you believe me an imbecile?”

“N-no—”

“Then why would you treat me as such? Why would you come into my city and spit in my face?”

“I-I d-didn-n’t me—”

“Oh, no, of course you didn’t.” Giovanni rises to his full height again, takes a pair of leather gloves out of his pants pocket and slides them on his hands as he continues. “One chance. You have one chance to tell me what you expected to happen tonight with the stunt you pulled.”

“I-I d-don’t—”

The strike comes so fast, I nearly miss it, and I hadn’t taken my eyes off Giovanni. His whole body moves with his right hook to Mikhail’s face, and Garen hoots with laughter.