"Another one."
I pushed the empty glass across the bar, and the bartender immediately understood, pouring another whiskey.
"Man," Dmitri grabbed my wrist, "you've already had five tonight."
"So?" I shook off his hand and picked up the glass.
"So you have that important meeting tomorrow," he leaned against the bar, "the Romanovs aren't exactly pushovers. You can't walk into negotiations hungover."
"I know what I'm doing."
The amber liquid slid down my throat with a burn. I needed this—needed something that could make my brain shut the hell up for a while.
Dmitri sighed and ordered a soda water. He was one of the few people I could still call a "friend"—if our line of work even allowed for friends. Our families went way back; we grew up together in New York, witnessed each other at our worst.
"Seriously, Alexander," he turned around, back against the bar, "what's been eating at you lately? You're wound tighter than a piano wire about to snap."
"I'm fine."
"Bullshit," Dmitri snorted, "I've known you for twenty years. You're about as far from 'fine' as it gets."
I didn't respond, just stared at the liquid swirling in my glass.
A blonde in a barely-there dress sauntered over, her cleavage deep as a canyon. She leaned against the bar next to me, deliberately pressing closer.
"Hey, handsome, want to—"
"No." I didn't even look up.
She froze, glancing awkwardly at Dmitri.
Dmitri shrugged, giving her a "don't take it personally" gesture. The blonde pouted and walked away.
"Could you be a little nicer?" Dmitri shook his head. "She wasn't bothering anyone."
"She wanted something I can't give."
"It was just a drink, not a marriage proposal."
I finally turned to look at him. "She didn't want a drink. She wanted my wallet. I've seen her type before."
Dmitri went quiet for a few seconds, then studied me thoughtfully. "You and Tatyana broke up almost four years ago."
At that name, my fingers tightened around the glass.
"So?"
"So," Dmitri chose his words carefully, "maybe it's time you started looking forward. Really looking forward, instead of keeping everyone at arm's length."
I let out a bitter laugh. "I don't lack for women when I need them."
"That's not what I mean," he shook his head, "and you know it. Someone who could actually let you relax. Someone you don't have to be on guard with 24/7."
"In our world," my voice stayed level, "staying on guard is what keeps you alive."
"But you weren't always like this," Dmitri said suddenly.
I looked at him.
