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It was… charming.

Inside, the space was small. Eight tables, candles flickering in jars, a low fire crackling in a stone hearth. A Christmas tree leaned slightly to the left in the corner like it had lost an argument with gravity, its branches dripping with cheap, mismatched ornaments that somehow made it look homey instead of sad.

But none of that mattered. Yuriy stepped inside before me, and he stole every ounce of air from the place.

After he’d washed up, I’d taken him back to his hotel to grab his clothes. Now he wore a fashionable dark blue sweater that fit too well, and his hair was still damp from his shower. A bruise shadowed his cheekbone, but the heaviness in his eyes had lightened, just enough to reveal the man underneath again.

Beautiful.

My fingers twitched with the urge to touch him, but I had to be careful. In light of our recent unpleasant encounters with the Italians, I wasn’t taking any chances anymore. The presence of my men might seem absent, but I knew no less than four of them had the entrance and exit of the restaurant covered just in case. Tonight one of my men picked us up from the hotel as a means of extra protection. Yuriy already knew they were around, so I didn’t need to keep up the pretense.

Daniil, our driver, had taken one look at Yuriy, and the hardness in his eyes reminded me that the people on both our sides would not react well when they found out we hadn’t just called a truce because my daughter was married to his brother. But that we were swapping spit and licking each other’s balls. I knew for a fact my men would feel better about the whole situation if they thought Yuriy was the one bending over for me, but I had no desire to lie about what happened in our bedroom.

It was nobody else’s business that I liked Yuriy playing with my ass. There was something so sensual about the way he would stroke me there just for the hell of it. Like when we were back in the shower. Sometimes he didn’t even seem aware he was doing it.

“Stop staring at me,” he murmured.

“I’m not staring.”

I was. And I needed to stop, or my men would discover my true feelings for this man I was falling head over heels for.

“You are.”

“All right, I’m staring, but I’m not the only one. You’re too pretty for your own good, and I’d never get away with blinding everyone here.”

He flushed—just barely—but enough for satisfaction to curl low in my chest. “Oh, but I’d get a hard-on from watching you try.”

“Psycho.”

I leaned in to kiss his cheek but caught myself just in time.

We were led to a corner table near the fireplace. The heat painted his skin gold, softening edges that were usually honed like weapons. He didn’t look like the man who fell apart in my arms this morning. Or the man who’d tried to kill me no fewer than a dozen times.

He looked… relaxed and inviting.

“What do you think of the place?” I turned the pages of the menu. Everything smelled incredible. We were so close to the kitchen that each time the swinging doors opened, a fresh wave of spices and butter drifted through, making my stomach growl like I hadn’t eaten in days.

Yuriy didn’t look impressed. Not even a little. He lifted his gaze from the menu and fixed me with the flattest, most unreadable stare I’d ever seen.

“Hardly a five-star restaurant,” he said, voice as dry as winter air. “Stanislav Zhukovsky, is this how you treat me? You’re worth millions, and you bring me to the cheapest place in town?”

My heart actually stopped. “I—this isn’t—Yelena recommended—if you don’t like it, we can leave⁠—”

His straight face held for a whole, brutal second. Then he broke. A slow grin spread across his mouth, wicked and warm and absolutely merciless.

“I’m kidding, Stas.” He nudged my foot under the table. “Relax. I love places like this but don’t find them too often. When we go back to Chicago, I’ll take you to a restaurant called Borscht. The food there is incredible.”

I let out a long breath. I couldn’t get mad at him. Not when he was grinning at me again. Plus, he was already making plans for us in Chicago, so he didn’t intend to let go of us.

He leaned in, dropping his voice. “When I want white tablecloths and overpriced food, you’ll know. This is perfect.”

He ordered soup and a plate of vareniki. I ordered whatever the hell the waiter suggested. I hadn’t been paying attention. Yuriy had distracted me by hooking his foot through mine under the table.

For a moment, neither of us spoke, just listened to the chatter around us and the quiet Christmas carols in the background. Our dishes arrived promptly and were just as good as Yelena had described.

Yuriy swirled his spoon in his soup. “Did you ever find out that your cousin bribed me to poison you?”

I blinked, mentally skipping through faces. Unlike Yuriy’s smaller family, mine was huge, and almost everyone was in some way associated with the family business. “Which cousin?”