Page 10

This time, Katya flashes him a smile, her expression softening just slightly. I know her tells, she can’t lie to me. “Just an evening doing a deep dive into Amanda Chase’s new album,” she says casually.

“What, no man to fuck you at home?” Mikhail’s crude laughter makes the rest of the table uncomfortable. Like when my father farts and the rest of us pretend it didn’t happen.

Uri inhales sharply, so excited he’s vibrating in his seat, as Katya places a drink in front of me without looking at Mikhail, her movements precise.

“You don’t need to answer him,” I say quietly, my tone firm.

“It was never my intention,” she replies, flashing me an icy smile before turning her attention back to her task.

Mikhail’s hand slithers to her hip like the snake he is, his fingers curling possessively. Katya says nothing, her composure unshaken as she hands Uri his drink. Fuck. I’m going to end up killing Mikhail with my bare hands and Katya will have to burn the bar to hide the evidence. Uri’s grin widens as though he’s watching the first act of a play.

“We take what we want,” Mikhail says, his hand sliding lower, boldly gripping her ass. “We are the Bratva. Our power means we take whatever—and whoever—we want.”

I feel the heat rise in my chest, my hand instinctively moving toward my gun. Mikhail’s power won’t protect him from the shot I’m ready to take.

“Ooooh,” Uri whispers, biting into his popcorn, eyes alight with anticipation.

Katya turns her attention to Mikhail, her voice calm, her words deliberate. “And because you’re so powerful, you’re entitled to everything you see?”

Mikhail’s voice drops to a silky, predatory tone. “Yes.”

What happens next is too fast to process in real time.

Katya slams Mikhail’s drink on the table, shattering the glass into jagged shards. Before he can react, she grabs the hand still gripping her and presses it hard against the broken rim. Blood wells immediately as the glass cuts into his skin.

“Men who believe they are entitled to things do not treat those possessions with the same respect as those they’ve had to work for,” she hisses, her voice cold and sharp as ice daggers.

Mikhail howls in pain, jerking forward to retaliate. But Katya is faster. In one fluid motion, she twists the embedded glass, yanking it free from his bleeding hand, and presses the jagged edge to his throat.

“Do you know what happens to men who take without earning?” she whispers.

Mikhail freezes, his breath caught in his throat, blood trickling down his hand to pool on the table.

Uri lets out a low whistle, still crunching on his popcorn. “Damn. Best show in town.”

The whole table freezes, except for the blood dripping steadily off Mikhail's hand. Katya stands over him, tilting her head like she’s studying a painting. “What did you learn?”

“That you’re a fucking crazy bitch?” he snaps, his voice sharp with pain.

She clicks her tongue, the sound crisp and condescending. “Nope,” she says lightly. Her grip tightens on his wrist, and with a sudden thrust, she slams his hand hard onto the jagged glass shards still on the table.

Uri wriggles in his seat, shimmying and shaking with glee between bites of popcorn. My father and brother remain unphased, their expressions unreadable.

Mikhail screams again as she lifts his hand. Blood drips freely, and several shards of glass remain embedded in his raw, mangled palm.

My gut twists. He may be an entitled asshole, but he’s also our driver. He needs his hands to do his job.

Damien furrows his eyebrows. “Why didn’t you do that to Viktor last night?”

“Viktor might’ve tried to kill me, but at least he didn’t grab my ass.” Katya’s tone cuts through the tension. “I’m waiting.”

Mikhail exhales sharply, his breaths ragged. “Don’t touch you,” he mutters through gritted teeth.

She pauses, her lips quirking upward as her eyes drift toward the ceiling. “I guess that’s good enough for now.” Her eyes flick to his hand, and her expression hardens. “But look at this mess,” she says, motioning to the blood pooling on the table, minglingwith the crystal shards scattered across it. “I should help you clean up.” She steps aside, gesturing toward the exit with a lazy wave. “Let’s go,” she commands, snapping her fingers.

Mikhail growls under his breath. “I’m not going anywhere with you, bitch.”

Katya lifts her brow, her voice dripping with mock disappointment. “Well, now someone’s not getting ice cream.”