“I can explain!” I duck as silverware rains down like shrapnel.
“Explain?!” she shrieks. “EXPLAIN?! I’m going to murder you!”
For one brief, terrifying moment, I actually believe that she might.
Especially when she vaults over the counter and grabs the knife block.
The first blade whistles past my head and buries itself in the cabinet behind me.
“It’s not what you think!” I yell over the chaos, half-horrified, half-impressed, while my brothers just sit there, drinking coffee and eating breakfast like this is prime-time entertainment.
“I’M NOT ENGAGED, STELLA—FUCK! THAT ONE WAS CLOSE!”
“STOP MOVING,” she shouts, hurling another knife, “AND NEXT TIME I WON’T MISS!”
And that’s when I start laughing.
Because if Stella truly wanted me dead, I’d already be bleeding out on this kitchen floor.
“God, I fucking love you,milaya,” I shout over another near-death experience. “I promise, no other woman will ever compare to you!”
“Not even your fiancée, asshole?!” she screams, hurling another knife.
This one misses my eye by a breath.
And still, I can’t stop laughing.
“There is no fiancée! Tell her, Kostya!”
“Nah,” he snickers. “Let’s see how this plays out.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I groan as a butcher knife sails over my head and sinks into the wall, close enough to Misha’s head that even I flinch.
Misha doesn’t.
He doesn’t even blink. Just stays exactly where he is, staring out the window at the grave like the chaos around him doesn’t exist.
That’s when the humor finally dies in my throat.
“Okay,” I say sharply, “that’s enough.”
Before Stella can grab another weapon, I charge her, vault the kitchen island, and pin her back against the counter. She fights me hard, feral and furious, but I hold her steady.
“I am not engaged,” I say quietly, dangerously calm. “I never have been. And I never will be…to anyone but you.”
She thrashes once more.
“I swear it to you, Stella Sofia Romano,” I continue, my voice unwavering. “You are the only woman for me. You are my soul. And now that I have you, nothing will keep me away. Nothing.”
The rage in her eyes wavers.
She searches my face, hunting for a lie and not finding a single one.
Her shoulders finally ease, even if just slightly.
Then, before I can stop her, she snags another knife and presses the tip beneath my chin.
“If I ever catch you lying to me again,” she says sweetly, “I will cut off your balls. Is that understood?”
