Page 23

I gritted my teeth, grinding them until they hurt. Infuriating piece of⁠—

“Mr. Zhukovsky, are you up for a game of pool?” Zasha slid neatly between his brother and me. “I see a table available. I’ve seen Yuriy pick up enough men to last me a lifetime, and I’d rather not watch that scene again tonight.”

“Sounds good.”

Anything to get me away from Yuriy. I wasn’t usually violent without a cause, but even though I had no reason, I wanted to smash my glass over Yuriy’s head.

I rose to my feet, taking my drink with me. Zasha led the way from the bar, and I followed closely at his heel.

“I’m gonna come so hard wrecking that ass in my dreams tonight,” Yuriy whispered as I walked past him.

Don’t react. That’s exactly what he wants.

But I tightened my grip around the glass. Heat shot straight through me, sharp and unwanted, pooling low before I could shove it down. I kept walking, jaw locked, pulse thudding behind my teeth. The air felt too thick, my collar too tight.

I didn’t look back. Couldn’t. Because if I did, he’d see it—the hitch in my breath, the betrayal of my body.

So I clenched my teeth, swallowed the heat, and pretended it was anger. Because what in the ever loving fuck?

At the pool table, Zasha racked the balls and handed me a cue. “I’ll have a talk with Yuriy later about being inappropriate. He’s not usually this bad, I promise.”

“It’s fine. I can handle him. What kind of pakhan would I be if I let a mere fuckboy get under my skin?”

Zasha fell silent as he stepped back, frowning. “You’re up first.”

I bent, lined up the shot, and sent the cue ball cracking against the triangle. The break wasn’t my best, but it was clean, one solid ball dropped, and that was enough to keep my pride intact.

Zasha gave a low whistle. “Wow, not bad.”

“Not the best, but it’ll do.”

We played in silence for a while, letting the hum of chatter from the people nearby and the low music fill the space around us. The rhythm came back easily: the measured steps around the table, the click of balls colliding, the soft thud as they sank into pockets. My hands steadied. My head cleared. It was the first calm I’d felt since I walked out of the airport and found myself in a car with the most infuriating man I’d ever met.

I lined up another shot, sharp and clean, and it dropped without so much as kissing the rim. Zasha raised his brows. “You’re really good at this. Now I see where Yel gets her skills. She always beats me.”

I chuckled. “She’s been playing since she was ten.”

My focus strayed to the far side of the room, to Yuriy leaning against the counter, his body angled toward the bartender. The two of them laughed about something, and the sight made my chest tighten like I’d swallowed glass. I sank the next ball too hard, the cue striking with a crack that drew a look from a nearby table.

The music shifted to something slower, and the pub lights dimmed a touch. I caught the bartender touching Yuriy’s arm like he was admiring the tattoos there. Yuriy’s answering smile was lazy and intimate, the kind that made people think they were the only ones in the room.

I missed the shot altogether.

“Fuck.”

Zasha’s phone rang, saving me from pretending I still cared about the game.

“It’s Yelena.” He took a step back and turned slightly as he took the call. “Hey, baby,” he said, voice softening instantly. He listened for a moment. “Yeah, I can grab it for you. I’m on my way now.”

My spine went rigid. “Is she all right?” I asked when he hung up.

“Yes, but I’ve got to head back to the house. Yelena’s craving strawberries, and she ate the last of them this morning.”

“You’re leaving to get her strawberries?”

His grin was sheepish. “Of course. She’s carrying my baby. It’s the least I can do. I’ll get her whatever she wants.”

The tension eased from my shoulders. He was different from his brother. He had more depth. At least my daughter had fallen for the better of the two Orlovs.