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Still, something in my gut twisted. He could handle himself, yeah, but he was less impulsive than me. He wouldn’t want to attract attention to himself. Zhukovsky might walk around like a free man, but any police network would pick up who he was. His daughter was due to give birth soon. He would let shit slide just for her sake.

I sighed, tossed a few bills on the counter, and stood. “That should cover my bill.”

Dylan scribbled something on a napkin and slid it my way. “My number. In case you don’t score with the silver fox.”

I didn’t bother to repeat that I wasn’t looking to score with “the silver fox.” Pocketing the napkin, I grabbed my coat and shrugged it on as I pushed through the bar’s double doors.

The cool night air hit like a slap as I tugged the sides of my coat together to ward off the chill. I scanned the street. Empty, except for the hum of neon and the occasional passing car.

No sign of Stas.

Where the hell was he?

A dull, fleshy thud cracked through the quiet night, followed by a low, taunting voice. I was running before my feet were even aware they were moving.

“Wallet. Now.”

I followed the shuffling boots crunching over gravel, every muscle tightening as I rounded the corner of the bar where the light was dim. Stas stood there, calm as stone, crowded by the two men from his pool game. The redhead had his hand shoved into Stas’s chest, while the other lingered behind him.

“Don’t make me ask twice,” Red said.

Stas exhaled through his nose, slow and steady, then reached into his back pocket and handed over his wallet.

No hesitation. No argument. Just cool detachment.

“Take it,” he said. “And leave. I don’t want any trouble.”

I froze in the shadows, my jaw tightening. He was letting them rob him? Him? Had he lost his fucking mind? How could he let these two idiots believe they could have the upper hand?

My blood ran hot.

“That’s right. This is our turf, and you’d better remember that.” The lanky one laughed, a deep, ugly sound, and it was the spark I needed.

I stepped forward. “Hand over the wallet,” I said, voice low.

Both men spun, startled.

Red turned, a knife in his hand. He swept his gaze over me and laughed. “Look at this. Pretty boy to the rescue. What you gonna do? Suck our dicks and beg us to let your friend go?”

I fucking loved when my looks fooled them.

“You won’t have to find out if you give the wallet back. I’m channeling my Christmas spirit and giving you a chance to walk away with your heads still attached.”

“Yuriy, it’s fine,” Stas said.

“Listen to your boyfriend before we mark up that pretty face of yours.”

I flicked open my own blade, letting it catch the light. “Sorry, Stas, but they’ve made me a little bloodthirsty.”

“Yuriy, don’t!”

Lanky guy lunged first. I sidestepped and drove my knee into his gut, catching him off guard, then slammed my knife into his side. The wet sound of it tore through the night, followed by his choked scream. Most men in the mob preferred guns, but I loved the tension in my muscles from forcing a blade into somebody’s flesh. Especially when they deserved it.

I ripped the blade free, blood splattering my hand, and shoved him hard. He fell to the ground, writhing and clamping down on the wound.

Red cursed and swung at me. His fist cracked against my jaw, snapping my head sideways. Pain shot down my neck, sharp and electric.

Now we’re talking.