“You should. I was the one holding my boy’s jaw in place after you broke it.”
Yuri stiffened beside me.
“This is neutral ground,” I said.
“Nothing’s neutral when it comes to Petrov,” he replied, voice dropping. “You think you’re untouchable because of your daddy? Petrov doesn’t forget.”
“Maybe he should get over it.”
That earned me a dangerous smile.
“We don’t get over things, muñeca. We settle them.”
He leaned in, close enough that I could smell blood and vodka.
And then, just like that...
He was yanked backward by the collar and slammed into the mirrored column behind our booth.
The club music didn’t even pause.
But the Bratva soldier did.
Because the man who dragged him off me wasn’t a bouncer.
It was Misha.
“Enough,” he said, voice like sharpened ice. “She’s not your concern.”
The soldier stammered. “Boss, I was just...”
“I don’t care what you were just.” His eyes didn’t move from mine. “Out. Now.”
The man nodded, shaken, and disappeared into the crowd like smoke.
Misha turned to me, finally.
His expression unreadable. Cold. Gorgeous. Dangerous.
“Stay out of my business, Luna,” he said. “Before you become part of it.”
I should’ve been furious. Or afraid. But all I could feel was heat—the kind that settles in your bones and makes you wonder if danger is the only thing that’s ever really seen you.
I swallowed.
Hearing my name from his mouth affected me in a way it shouldn’t.
Yuri’s fingers twitched on his glass. I could see the fight in his jaw. But he didn’t move. Not when Misha was there. Not when survival was still on the table.
Misha didn’t even glance at him.
Then he turned and left, just like that.
Leaving silence in his wake.
Yuri exhaled slowly, tension falling from his shoulders.
But I wasn’t looking at him.
