But Kristen's still looking at me with that curious expression. The one that means she's about to say something I won't like.
"What?" I demand.
"Tell me about Dmitri."
My jaw tightens so hard my teeth ache. "Why the hell are you asking about another man?"
The words come out rougher than I intend. Possessive. Jealous, even though I know better. Even though Kristen chose me, lives with me, loves me.
She smirks.
Smirks.
"Are you jealous right now?" Her voice drips with amusement, and I want to kiss that smug look right off her face. "Nico Sartori, jealous because I asked a question?"
"I don't share." The growl in my voice should warn her, but Kristen's never been good at heeding warnings. It's one of the things I love about her. And hate.
"I'm not interested in Dmitri Baganov." She steps closer, tilting her head back to meet my eyes. "But I am curious about him."
"Curious." I crowd her against the bar, one hand bracing beside her hip. "About a Bratva heir."
"About the way he looked at your sister."
I freeze.
Kristen's eyes hold mine, steady and knowing. "He looked at Vittoria the way you looked at me. That first night we met, at the gala when I saved your mother."
The words slam into me. I remember that night. And I fucking remember how I looked at her.
And now Kristen's telling me Dmitri Baganov looked at my baby sister the same way.
Fuck.
"You're sure?" My voice comes out hoarse.
"I've been on the receiving end of that look." She touches my jaw, her thumb brushing over the stubble I didn't bother shaving. "I know what it means."
I close my eyes. Process.
"This is a problem," I mutter.
"Is it?" Kristen's fingers trail down my neck. "Vittoria's an adult. And from what I saw, she can handle herself."
"She's my sister."
Kristen's lips curve. "I think she can manage one Russian with a staring problem."
I want to argue. Want to storm across this ballroom and find Dmitri Baganov and make it very clear what happens to men who look at my sister like that.
But Kristen's hand fists in my lapel, pulling me down to her level.
"Stop thinking about murder for five seconds," she murmurs against my lips. "Dance with me instead."
"I don't dance."
"You do tonight."
She leads me toward the floor, and I follow because I'm a goddamn fool for this woman. Because she asked, and I've never been able to deny her anything.
