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I dropped my hand to my thigh, turning the gun away from him.

“Fuck, you look hot when you’re tamed,” Yuriy teased. “Zhukovsky, who knew your surrender would give me a boner?”

I gritted my teeth. That was another thing about Orlov I hated. He knew how much I disliked his attention, so of course he did his damndest to get under my skin. His latest attempts to rattle me were a lot more sexual.

“I made a promise to Yelena,” I said. “A promise I will not break. Make no mistake, Orlov. One day you will die by my hand, but not today.”

“Promises, promises.” He heaved a sigh. “And here I thought you were finally falling for my charms.”

“In your dreams,” I spat.

He chuckled, cocking his head to one side as he pressed the blade of the knife harder against my skin. “Oh, the things I do to you in my dreams, old timer. Don’t worry. We’ll have two weeks under the same roof for me to share them with you. Or better yet, to act them out.”

I knocked his hand away, the knife scraping against my skin. A hot welt rose where the steel had kissed me. The sting was small, but the insult was big. Another time. Another place. A promise not made to my daughter, and he would have been missing a part of his face.

“Look what you did.” He moved the knife to the light and turned it. A thin line of my blood beaded along the edge like rubies.

He inspected it with the same casual interest he used on men. The same way he’d study a neck before he slashed it. For a stupid half second, I saw him as he was: curious, bored, and entirely too comfortable with other people’s suffering. There was a difference between getting things done and reveling in it.

Yuriy reveled in blood.

He lifted his eyes, and their turbulent blue depths bored into mine. Without breaking the contact, he raised the knife to his lips and licked the blood clean off the blade. The metal scraped against the piercing in his tongue.

My stomach roiled. It wasn’t fear. I’d never give him that. But the sight of his mouth on the blade, savoring the metallic taste of my blood like it was a sacrament, made my insides coil so tight I thought I might choke.

“Tastier than I’d thought.” He winked, that cocky grin back in place. “Anyone looking at you would have thought you were sour grapes.”

“Sick bastard,” I hissed. “For all you know, my blood is tainted.”

He leaned forward, eating up the space between us until mere inches were left. “Aww, is that concern for my well-being?” He ran the blunt end of the knife across my cheek. “No need to worry. I make it my business to know everything about you.” The pointy end of the knife shot down to graze the zipper of my trousers. “In whose pussy you get your dick wet. Your entire health record, Zhukovsky. Which means, you’re perfectly safe for me to taste.”

The door to the driver’s seat opened, and the chauffeur my daughter had sent for me slid inside. Arty shifted in his seat, head inclined in our direction. His gaze dropped to the knife Orlov still held pointed at my crotch, and he sighed.

“Pardon me, Mr. Orlov⁠—”

“Call me Yuriy.”

“Very well, Yuriy, I appreciate your fascination with Mr. Zhukovsky’s…umm…jewels, but not in the car, please. Miss Yelena has given strict instructions that if you cannot get along, to escort you right back to the airport. Lucky for me, we’re still here.”

“Fuck.” Orlov withdrew the knife, understanding the implication as well as I did. Since he’d raised his brother after their parents’ death, he probably felt half of what I did about seeing my little girl again.

No, she was no longer a little girl. Yelena was married with a baby on the way. If I wanted to be in my grandchild’s life, I had to play nice with Yuriy. It’d been her condition if we wanted to see them again. Our first time since they’d eloped.

“I trust we have an understanding?” Arty asked.

“I’m gonna need a minute to think about it.” Orlov opened the door and stepped out of the car. A blast of cold air rushed in, sharp as a knife. From somewhere across the terminal, a tinny speaker carried the strains of a Christmas carol, cheerful voices crooning about peace on earth and joy to the world.

The irony wasn’t lost on me.

The music and winter chill lasted all of three seconds before Yuriy slammed the door hard enough to rattle the frame, cutting it off. Silence pressed in again, heavy and close. I inhaled deeply, held it until my chest burned, then let it out slowly and reached for my phone.

The line rang three times before the call cut off. I frowned. If Yelena knew Yuriy and I were already fighting, she might change her mind, and I couldn’t afford for that to happen. I still had no idea where she lived, even though her location was now narrowed down to Kansas City.

For the past four months, I’d been looking forward to this visit, even under the strict conditions. No bodyguards allowed, and I had to get along with Orlov, since he was also invited.

“Mr. Zhukovsky.” The chauffeur extended his phone toward me. “Miss Yelena is on the line for you.”

I took the chauffeur’s phone like a man taking a grenade. My own was a brick: old, untraceable, reliable in its uselessness. I didn’t do video calls. I did not send pictures of my face to anyone.