Page 104 of Deck the Halls with Bratva Brawls

“Both.” She winked. “You share, da?”

His eyes flicked to mine with a challenge that traveled all the way in my chest. “Depends. He’s terrible at sharing.”

“I am not,” I said.

The owner laughed, patted my arm, and disappeared back into the kitchen.

Outside, snow dusted down in lazy spirals, catching in Yuriy’s hair and dissolving against his cheeks. Even though there were two, Yuriy tore one bun in half and held out a piece toward me, the filling glowing pale gold in the streetlight.

“Here,” he said quietly.

I took it from him, letting our fingers brush a little too long. The vatrushka was sweet, but not half as sweet as the way he looked at me while I ate it.

“It’s snowing,” I said.

He glanced up, then sideways at me. “I can see that.”

“Walk with me.”

“You sure that’s wise?” He sucked a finger into his mouth. “The last time we were together like this, we left dead bodies for the city to clean up. Though now I know why it wasn’t bigger news. Your men had something to do with dealing with that mess, didn’t they?”

“Hmm.” I stepped closer, neither confirming or denying it. “It’s fine. We can walk.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” I tipped my chin to the building across the street.

Two shadows lingered on a rooftop. One leaned over a railing. The other pretended to be looking at the skyline.

“My men are here,” I said. “Two teams. One close. One wide. You’re safe. We can talk about what I discovered while we walk.”

Yuriy let out a long breath. “Okay, then. If you’re sure.”

We walked silently down a quiet street lined with holiday lights. Snow muffled our steps, softened the world until it felt like there was no one else in it.

After a few minutes, he said, “Well, are you going to spill and tell me what you know?”

“Have you heard of Victor Mancini?”