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Not hinted

Not subtle.

Actual, calculated, territorial murderous intent filled his eyes.

“Yuriy?” Claudia squeezed my arm, gentle at first, then firmer when I didn’t answer.

But I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Stas. He looked like he’d limped all the way down the stairs solely to witness this exact moment and begin planning Claudia’s funeral.

Claudia followed my gaze. She turned her head slowly—too slowly—until she spotted him. Stas, stiff in the doorway, arms rigid at his sides, breath uneven, eyes black with so much fury they might as well have been two loaded guns trained on me.

Claudia blinked once. Twice. Then her lips parted in a startled, “Oh.” She let out a gasp. “Oh!”

I swallowed, jaw tightening. “Claudia⁠—”

“Oh, my god.” Realization dawned across her face like she’d just pieced together an unsolvable puzzle. “He’s the one. The one you—” She cut herself off before she said too much, eyes darting back to Stas.

Stas, who didn’t blink. Not once. He stared like a man who could—and would—end nations over a misplaced hand on his man.

The music swelled. Yelena laughed across the room. Zasha spun her in a slow circle, and Stas stood there like he was about to commit homicide. And all of it, the music, the lights, Claudia’s hold on me, Zasha whispering something into his wife’s ear, faded into static when Stas’s gaze locked on mine again.

Possessive.

Dangerous.

Deadly.

19

STAS

The second the door shut behind us, I had Yuriy pinned. Or I thought I did. He twisted like the damn snake he was, hooked my knee, and the next thing I knew, my back hit the mattress with a grunt. I rolled, using momentum, and flipped him under me. We crashed sideways, knocking a pillow to the floor. The lamp on the side table wobbled. Yuriy’s laugh—low, delighted—shot straight through my temper.

“If you keep this up, Yelena and Zasha will hear,” he hissed, breath hot against my cheek.

“So let them. They should know your word means nothing.”

“For fuck’s sake, Stas. Don’t you think you’re being a drama queen?” His chest rose and fell hard from the effort it took him to hold me off choking him out. “You’re getting worked up because of a dance.”

“What did you just call me?” I snarled, digging my knee into his hip.

He must have seen how murderous I was because instead of repeating, he grinned, the sick, twisted grin of a man who didn’t care that he was one second away from death by strangulation. Because of course he didn’t care. And that doubt was the reason I’d pretended to feel worse than I actually did to keep him at bay while I figured out if I really wanted to open up a can of worms by having Yuriy permanently in my bed.

The first pretty face he saw, and he was all over her. And not even an hour after promising me that he would keep his hands to himself.

Yuriy Orlov didn’t have a faithful bone in his body, and I hated that he’d fooled me into thinking he was different. His brother had confirmed earlier that he would fuck anything on two legs.

A wave of humiliation washed over me. It was different from when he teased me and toyed with my cock. The last person who’d tried to make a fool out of me had died a horrible death.

Frustrated from not being able to get the upper hand, I released Yuriy and grabbed the gun under my pillow. I flipped over to my back, my gun trained on him.

Another flash of metal.

His knife.

Cold and sharp at the side of my throat.

We froze—two idiots breathing like bulls, ready to destroy each other if one muscle twitched out of place.