A waiter approaches with a tray of drinks. I intercept him three feet from Colletta, scanning the glasses for signs of tampering. Clear liquid. Likely vodka-based. No visible particulates.
"Sir?" the waiter says nervously.
I choose two glasses, and handed one to Colletta. "Perimeter secure."
The waiter flees.
"You just terrorized the cocktail service," Colletta mutters, but she takes the drink and downs half of it immediately. "Okay. New plan. We're going to circulate. Smile. Be normal. Can you smile?"
I pull my lips back from my teeth in what I've observed humans do during non-threatening social encounters.
"Not like that," Colletta hisses, her grip tightening on my arm until her nails are probably leaving crescents through the fabric. Her eyes have gone wide with barely suppressed panic. "Oh god, not like that. You look like you're about to eat someone. Like you're genuinely considering which part of them would taste best."
I relax my facial muscles back to a neutral resting position. "Affirmative. Threat display is successful." The reaction from the other wedding guests in our immediate vicinity confirms the effectiveness of the intimidation tactic.
"Kruk—" She's using the tone that suggests I've miscalculated the appropriate response for the situation.
But before she can complete whatever recalibration she's planning to issue, a female voice cuts through the ambient noise of the reception.
"Collie!"
We both turn. The blonde woman is approaching, the target trailing behind her. Up close, his smugness is even more apparent. Groomed facial hair. Expensive watch. The male who thinks possessions equal dominance.
"Madison." Colletta's voice goes tight. "Hi. And Derek."
"We saw you come in and justhadto say hello." Madison's smile is sharp. Predatory in a different way than anything I'm trained for. "And this must be the famous neurosurgeon Monica told us about."
"Kruk," I say, positioning myself slightly in front of Colletta. Standard protective positioning. "Colletta's partner."
Derek's gaze travels up my body slowly, lingering on the strained seams of my jacket, the obvious bulk of muscle beneath. His smile doesn't reach his eyes.
"Partner. Right. We met briefly." He extends his hand. "Derek. Old friend of Collie's."
I take his hand and apply precisely enough pressure to communicate capability without causing permanent damage. His expression flickers. He tries to squeeze back. Fails.
When I release him, he flexes his fingers subtly, attempting to restore circulation.
"So, big guy," Derek says, voice carrying an edge now. "What do you actually do for a living? Monica mentioned neurosurgery, but you seem more..." He gestures vaguely at my frame. "Physical."
Colletta makes a small choking sound and presses closer to my side.
The fabric across my shoulders protests the position, but I don't move. She fits there. Small and warm and chaotic, radiating anxiety and strawberry scent and that laugh I know is building behind her clenched teeth.
"I specialize in removing problems," I tell Derek, holding his gaze. "Permanently."
CHAPTER 5
COLLETTA
Iam about to vomit.
Not metaphorically. Not in the cute way people say when they're nervous. My stomach is actively staging a rebellion, churning champagne and anxiety and whatever those little cream puff things were that I stress-ate at the cocktail hour.
"Waste management," Kruk says. He hasn't blinked. Hasn't moved. Just stands there like a monument to violence wearing a suit that's threatening structural failure with every breath. "I handle the disposal of unwanted materials."
The pause stretches out between us like a rubber band pulled to its breaking point, tension humming in the air. I can feel the exact moment when the implications of Kruk's words sink into Derek's champagne-soaked brain, watching his expression shift from polite interest to dawning horror.
Derek's smile freezes on his face, transforming into something plastic and unnatural, like a mannequin's expression caught mid-meltdown. His grip on Madison's waist tightens visibly, knuckles going white against the blush-colored fabric of her dress.
