Without a word, he pushed off the SUV, slid into the driver’s seat, and disappeared down the street.
Like none of it mattered.
Like I didn’t matter.
Yuri swore under his breath and grabbed my elbow. “Come on. We need to go. Now.”
I let him pull me, but my head stayed turned toward the street. Toward the man who’d looked at me... and dismissed me.
His gaze lingered like a blade against my spine.
I slid into the car beside Yuri, the high of adrenaline crashing into a sick, heavy pit in my gut.
He didn’t speak as he drove, hands clenched tight on the wheel. I could practically feel his pride bruising faster than his jaw.
“You mad at me?” I asked, flipping down the visor to check the blood on my lip.
“Do you have a death wish?” he snapped. “They were Bratva soldiers. You don’t just walk away from that kind of insult.”
“If standing up to bullies is an insult, maybe the Bratva needs to toughen up.” I crossed my arms. “You should be thanking me. I dropped them like sacks of bricks.”
He shot me a look. “I had it under control.”
I snorted. “Sure. You were about to seduce them with that trembling lip.”
“Luna.”
I leaned back, exhaling slowly. “If you want a girlfriend who lets men slap you around, date someone else. I’m not built for that.”
He didn’t answer. Which told me enough.
Yuri hated that I didn’t need him. That I moved faster. Hit harder. Always knew where the exits were.
We pulled up to a quiet street just outside the city—his drop point. A decoy location he used to throw off cartel tails. He thought it was clever. I thought it was pathetic.
“I’ll call you later,” he muttered, already halfway out the door.
“Sure you will.”
He paused like he might say something real. But then the door slammed, and he vanished into the shadows—leaving me alone with blood on my knuckles, smoke in my lungs, and a knot in my chest that felt suspiciously like regret.
I slid into the driver’s seat.
It was my father’s car. Flashy, armored, and too damn recognizable. But I didn’t have time to trade it for something less obvious.
I lit a cigarette, fingers steady. Inhaled deep.
Let the smoke fill the silence where my thoughts should’ve been.
Those men I fought? They were Misha Petrov’s.
I’d heard enough rumors to give nightmares to devils.
They say once, a man lied about a shipment. Petrov had him flayed in front of his crew, just so no one else ever lied again.
Even Papa doesn’t speak his name unless it’s with a toast... or a bribe.
That’s how you know someone’s dangerous—when even the devil stays on their good side.
