Angelo and Santo head toward the door, I follow. We’re almost out when Ayla speaks.
“Wait.”
I stop.
So does everybody else. I turn first. Santo’s head does too, right after mine.
Ayla steps forward one pace, chin high, eyes dark and unreadable in that way that usually means she’s about to say something I won’t enjoy.
I move in front of her on instinct.
“What?”
She looks past me.
AtSanto.
My body goes tight. I don’t like that shit.
“I don’t want to stay here,” she says.
I huff a laugh, meaner than I intend it. “Don’t be difficult, Beda.”
I catch her arm. Not hard, but hard enough.
She jerks against my grip immediately, and irritation spikes hot through me. We did this already in the car. We did this at the townhouse. She’snotleaving. I don’t have time for another fucking fight while Angelo’s shipment is getting torn apart and the Armenians are stirring up trouble.
Then Adriana says my name.
Just my name, but in that cool little voice women like her use when they think they’re about to teach somebody manners.
“Maksim.”
I turn my head.
She’s watching my hand on Ayla’s arm like I pulled a knife in her fucking living room.
I don’t let go. Not yet.
“Let go of her,” she says.
My jaw ticks.
Seriously?
These men don’t keep their women on a leash.
I look back at Ayla. The way she’s gone even quieter under everybody’s attention, like she’d rather fold into the floor than stand in the middle of it.
I hate that.
I hate more that her eyes are still on Santo.
“Adriana—”I start.
She cuts me off with a raised hand. “Don’t Adriana me. I don’t care what this dynamic is. You don’t handle a woman like that. Not in front of me. Not ever.”
My mouth goes hard.
