She’s in a strapless black leather dress that makes my blood pressure spike and my fists clench. Her hair’s down, loose and wild, and every thought narrows to fisting my hands in those blonde strands while I fuck her from behind until she screams my name.
One of Elio’s soldiers, Marco, a cocky fuck I’ve met before, crowds into her space. His mouth hovers at her ear as he whispers something. Evelina’s shoulders lock up, tension radiating down her spine.
I’m seconds from reaching for the gun at my waistband when she turns her head and our stares collide. For a breath, her face lights up, happy to see me.
That look hits me square in the chest—proof she's been thinking about me too.
And then her gaze drops to Rada’s hand on my chest. The way she’s pressed against my side, all but draping herself over me.
Just like that, the light goes out of her eyes. Her expression shutters, hurt flashing across her features before she turns away from me. Like the sun disappearing behind storm clouds.
Fuck. I should’ve pushed Rada off the second she touched me. Now Evelina thinks I wanted this. Wanted Rada to touch me.
“Enough.” I grab Rada’s wrist and step back, putting distance between us. She stumbles in her heels and shoots me an offended glare.
“What the hell, Kirill!” Her pitch rises with indignation.
“I made it clear I’m not interested. Find another made man to hang off of. The place is full of them.”
“I would’ve if I knew what an asshole you are.”
She stalks away, but I don’t watch her go. I’m already searching the crowd for the only woman who’s ever mattered enough for me to chase.
But she’s no longer here.
And neither is Marco.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
DINARA
I pushpast Marco without a word, abandoning the polite smile I’ve maintained all night. Right now, all I want is space. Space from this asshole and his wandering hands, and more than anything, space from Kirill and Rada, wrapped around each other on the dance floor.
I shove through the crowd toward the ladies’ room. When I swing open the bathroom door, two women are touching up their makeup and chatting away. They barely spare me a glance before going back to their conversation.
I duck into the nearest stall and lock it behind me, leaning against the cool metal door.
My head is spinning. The private party Matvey invited us to turned out to be Elio Valenti’s birthday celebration, packed with his friends and family.
I know how to handle mafia men, but in the Syndicate, I’m respected. Here, I’m just another chick in the crowd, fair game for Elio’s men to hit on.
Marco zeroed in on me the second we arrived. What started as harmless banter at the bar escalated quickly to his handbrushing over my ass while he leaned in to whisper how good he’d make me feel if I went home with him.
As if.
The only fantasy I entertained about him involved my knife and his femoral artery. I moved to excuse myself and rejoin my friends when I spotted Kirill in the crowd.
For one perfect moment, everything else disappeared, and there was only that magnetic pull between us.
Then, like a villain in a bad movie, Rada came into view. She was pressed against him, hands splayed across his chest, her body moving against his to the music. And he let her.
Seeing her hands on him felt like someone reaching into my chest and twisting something vital loose, leaving me hollow.
The bathroom door opens and closes, the voices of the two women fading as they leave. Silence wraps around me like a blanket. I press my fingers against my eyes, angry with myself for being so weak. For caring when I shouldn’t.
Kirill Baronov is nothing to me, and tonight’s a good reminder of that.
