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“What did you do?”

“Nothing violent. Just a promise.”

“A promise?”

“That if they touched you again, I would put every one of their family members in the ground by New Year’s.”

Yuriy stared at me and grinned. “Oh, I like where this is going. And send the boss their heads as a gift basket.”

“Of course. With a bow.”

I shrugged. “Nothing says Christmas like a bow. Should we use red or green?” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, we don’t have to choose. There should be enough heads so that we can mix it up a little.”

“You’re insane,” I said with a smile.

A surprised laugh broke from him. Real laughter. Warm. Breathless. My breath hitched, then left me slowly. Ten years ago I would have been horrified at the thought of making an effort to see Yuriy Orlov happy.

“Ah, you love me the way I am,” he teased, then stopped walking and stared at me as if he regretted the words.

“Yeah, I do,” I said quietly.

Yuriy swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He looked away, though a smile lingered at the corner of his mouth, and reached into the bag for the other bun. “You’re not getting any of this one.”

“That’s fine.”

He could have the whole damn world if he wanted it.

I placed a hand on his back and steered him in the direction of a small park ahead, the field blanketed in untouched snow. By the time we got there, Yuriy had demolished the bun, shamelessly waving the last piece in front of my face before stuffing it between his teeth. I would make him pay for that later, but I was having too much fun to whack him in the back until he spat out my share.

Yuriy stopped at the edge of the field, looking over at the snow. Although we seemed like the only people in the world, I knew my men weren’t far behind, keeping a safe distance from which they could keep me and, by extension, Yuriy safe.

“Do you know I used to love making snow angels when I was a kid?” Yuriy asked.

“Wow. I would never have guessed. I would have pictured you as the one messing up everybody’s snow angel.”

“Asshole.” He stuck out his cherry-coated tongue at me, and I barely resisted the urge to take said tongue between my teeth. “I would have you know I was a well-behaved child for most of my life.” He stepped into the snow, boots crunching. “But alas, the world changed me, and now you’re stuck with the mischievous Yuriy.”

“Mischievous?” Filled with amusement, I folded my arms across my chest. “That’s what you call torturing people by decapitating them?”

“I don’t do that as often as you think. Maybe just a dozen times or so. It’s fascinating to see how much they bleed.” He was practically rubbing his hands with glee.

“Just a dozen?”

“Or two, but not as much since our truce.” He shrugged. “Come on. Make a snow angel with me.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I have a reputation.”

“What good is a reputation if you can’t have fun?”

He rolled his eyes and dropped backward into the snow before I could stop him. His arms flailed out, sweeping wide strokes, giggling—an actual giggle—escaping him.

I stared, stunned, not at the ridiculousness of it, but at the light in his face, the color returning to him, and the joy that hadn’t been there this morning.

“Fuck, that’s cold.” He sat up, breathless. “Your turn.”