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I shut the door firmly. She didn’t need to know Yuriy had overheard her. “Fine. Is that a shared bathroom?”

“Oh, right. I forgot to say. You’ll be sharing the bathroom with Yuriy. There’s another at the end of the hall if you’d rather have your privacy.”

I smiled at her, forcing warmth into my voice. “It’s fine, printsessa. I’m just… happy to be here. With you.”

Because some things were worth more than grudges. And having my daughter back in my life was one of them.

4

YURIY

Steam curled around me, fogging the mirror and rolling down the tiled walls in thick rivulets. I stood there longer than necessary, palms braced against the shower wall, hot water pounding onto my shoulders until my skin burned. It was easier to let it scald me than to think about how I’d been received downstairs, like a stray mutt that Yelena had dragged in out of pity.

The second my boots crossed their threshold, I regretted coming. Zhukovsky had looked at me like I was a stain he couldn’t scrub out, and the house, for all its garlands, wasn’t meant for me. I might have my own Christmas stocking, but the little things that mattered most were missing. No photograph on the wall with the rest of the family. My brother hadn’t even seen fit to be present when I arrived, yet left me with the woman I’d kidnapped to keep him alive and the man I hated most in the world.

I killed the shower, stepped out, grabbed a towel, and scrubbed myself dry. Back in the bedroom, I pulled on a pair of gray sweats and a sweater. I hadn’t brought a blow dryer with me and didn’t want to bother Yelena, so I dried my hair as best as possible with a towel, then shoved the damp mess into a bun.

A knock sounded on the door, and my shoulders stiffened. Yelena left me feeling uncomfortable. I didn’t know her at all, and we’d only met on that one occasion she’d barreled into my club to let me know her father was about to kill my brother because he’d found out about their relationship. Although I’d appreciated her letting me know, I had no choice but to hold her hostage as a bargaining chip.

Zasha stood outside the bedroom door. My gaze immediately dropped to his right arm, though I’d broken it five years ago, and it would have already healed. My stomach clenched anyway, as it always did when I remembered how I’d threatened to break both his legs if he didn’t stop fooling around with his then-girlfriend.

“Yuriy, you came,” he said softly.

“You say that like you didn’t really want me to.” I crossed my arms, willing my face to appear neutral so he wouldn’t realize the grudge I still carried. Zhukovsky and his daughter had seemed so in tune with each other as if they hadn’t spent five years apart. Why was it so difficult between Zasha and me? “It seems like you didn’t want me to come at all.”

He had the grace to look away. Bright red spots colored his cheeks. “Don’t be like that, Yuriy. You don’t get along with Yelena’s dad. In fact, you’ve been trying to off each other for almost a decade. This is difficult for all of us.”

“Listen, I don’t blame you. You loved her, and I stood in the way.”

“I know why you did it. If either of you had caught us, it would have been bad, but that’s all water under the bridge now, right? You’ve called a truce. How’s that going?”

I shrugged. “He doesn’t bother me, and I don’t bother him, so just about as well as anyone could expect.”

I didn’t elaborate that within our agreement, the truce didn’t extend to certain circumstances, such as what happened to men who crossed turf lines. Was it true peace when they returned fit for burial?

“This means a lot to me, Yuriy. We’ve had an amazing life the past five years, but I know Yel misses her dad. You gotta make this work.”

And he hadn’t missed me at all?

I bit my tongue, swallowing my pride. I hadn’t raised Zasha with a whole lot of affection. I’d been more concerned with ensuring he was protected in our family, that he was fed, and came home alive each day.

“Don’t worry. I won’t stab him in the throat with a fork at the dinner table.”

Zasha scowled. “Don’t even joke about that, man.”

“Relax. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“Well, Mr. Zhukovsky wouldn’t find it funny, so please don’t make jokes like that.”

I rolled my eyes. “All right, you’ve told me off. Anything else you need to say to me?”

“Nah. Yel and her dad are in the kitchen finishing up dinner. Apparently, he makes a mean sauerkraut, and I remember it was your favorite. Why don’t you help me string some lights on the roof?”

I never celebrated Christmas. At least not this way. Maybe I went partying more than usual, drank more than usual, had sex more than usual, but that was the extent of my activities during the holidays.

“All right, but brother or not, I’ll sue your ass if I fall off the roof.”

He grinned, dared me with a brother’s insolence, and led me downstairs. With Zasha next to me, I didn’t feel quite like the impostor anymore. God, I’d missed this kid.