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“—prevent you from cockblocking the Russian Mafia boss? It’s too early, Nico. Come back in two hours after we’ve showered and are properly dressed. We’re not taking visitors right now.”

I leaned farther into the doorway, casual as hell, owning it.

“You can’t keep him away from me.”

“Read my lips, Nico. Stanislav Zhukovsky isn’t available for anyone else but me at this time of the morning.” I made a shooing gesture with my hand. “Come again at noon when he no longer smells of me.”

The look on his face warped.

“You little bastard,” he hissed. “I don’t know what you did to him, but you’re going to regret⁠—”

“Oh, you don’t know?” I gasped, clutching my chest like he’d wounded me. “I’m crushed. Devastated. Surely it doesn’t take that much imagination to figure out what two healthy men do in a hotel room with the doors closed when no one else is watching. Or…do you want to watch? Is that it?”

I didn’t know why I was goading him, except that I remembered him being one of the men who were always with Stas, and for some reason, I wanted to get under his skin. But he had no reason to fear, really. I’d never had a problem with voyeurism, but what I did to Stas behind closed doors was too intimate…too special for other eyes to see. I couldn’t bear the thought of another man looking at his gorgeous body, hearing his moans, and seeing the look of pleasure on his face when he was close.

“I’m gonna kill you, you fucker!” Nico lashed out a fist toward me.

Before I could move, a hand wrapped around my waist from behind. Solid. Unyielding. Nico’s punch sailed past my face as if it had changed its mind about me halfway through. He stumbled forward instead, boots skidding on carpet as he reeled into the room.

I hit Stanislav’s chest with an oof and didn’t bother pretending I didn’t melt there. My hands curled into the fabric of his shirt like they belonged, and I pouted. He’d gotten dressed.

“Fashionably late,” I muttered breathlessly. “Or maybe right on time to prevent me from maiming your favorite man.”

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

I shook my head. He tightened his arms anyway, and the room went quiet enough to hear my pulse. Behind us, Nico straightened, seething. I stayed where I was.

Let him see it.

Let him choke on it.

Let him report back to the others how their pakhan was protective of me.

“Nico,” Stas said, his voice still rough with sleep. “Why are you here? I told you to call if there was any word.”

Nico dipped his head. “Petrov has been trying to reach you all night, sir. When he couldn’t get through, he assumed something had gone wrong.” His eyes flicked to me, hard and ugly.

I smiled.

“Oh?” I said sweetly, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was late in the morning. “So your reaction to your boss being possibly dead is… coffee first, then panic?”

Nico bristled.

Stas sighed, rubbing at his temple. “Yuriy⁠—”

I tsked softly. “No, babe, really. If my man, namely you, were in danger, I’d be halfway through a city and three crimes before sunrise.”

His jaw twitched.

Stas’s hand landed at my waist, grounding and warning in equal measure. “Why don’t you take a shower while I sort this out? We’ll go grab breakfast after.”

“A shower by myself?” I sighed, exaggerated and tragic. “How cruel, especially after last night.”

I turned into Stas instead of away from him, slow and deliberate, like Nico wasn’t still watching us and waiting to talk to his pakhan. I slid my arms around Stas’s neck and pressed my body against his as I went up on my toes and brushed my mouth along his jaw.

“When you’re done,” I murmured, loud enough to be overheard, “come join me. I’ll wash your back. Slowly.” I dragged my fingers down his chest. “And then… I’ll wash everything else.”

Stas inhaled sharply.