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A small smirk tugs at my lips as I pass her, adding a little victory strut to my step. I can feel Sveti’s glare in the back of my skull. Mean girl, petty bitch glare. The kind of girl who would leave passive aggressive comments on all your selfies like, “Oh it's brave of you to wear that!” And I don’t have a single fuck to give about her.

We return to his father’s office, and once again, eyes widen and jaws drop when they see me.

His father claps his hands together. “Katya, well done.” He turns to his nephew, his tone shifting to something almost jovial. “Uri, take this woman home and show her a good time.”

Wait. What?

“Umm…” Uri’s eyes dart nervously between Dimitri, his uncle, and me.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Dimitri interjects, his voice tight. He clears his throat, his gaze flicking to me. “Look what she did to Mikhail.”

His father waves him off dismissively. “Yes, but Mikhail is disgusting. Uri is a prize. It’s been a while since Uri’s taken a woman home, and Katya is beautiful—it would be a waste.”

What is happening right now? I force a polite smile. “Um, thank you, but that really isn’t necessary.”

“Is he not good enough for you?” the patriarch asks, his sharp gaze pinning me in place.

“No, Uri’s great,” I wave my hands and get all flustered. Did the temperature spike ten billion degrees? Dammit. I'm a spy. I've been trained to think fast on my feet. “It’s just... I’m not looking for anything right now.” Nailed it.

Uri's reply is dry and flat. “And I don’t think Dimitri would like that.”

His uncle snorts, leaning back in his chair. “Why would Dimitri care who’s fucking his bartender?” He pauses, narrowing his eyes at me. “Oh, unless you already have a boyfriend?”

I exhale a long breath. “No.”

He claps his hands together as if solving a problem. “It’s settled. Uri, take her back to your place.”

The air in the room turns heavy, loaded with awkward tension, the kind everyone feels but no one acknowledges. Words, logic—none of it will sway him. Uri dips his head in resignation, letting out a long sigh. “Let’s go.”

Great. I’m spending way too much time following grumpy men today.

Chapter

Eight

Katya

Uri leads me to his sports car, a sleek but impractical choice for Russian winters. Maybe he’s trying to squeeze in as much use as possible during the brief Russian summer. Without a word, he unlocks the door for me and walks briskly to the driver’s side.

With the car on, the radio hums softly with a Lena Goodlove song—not one of her radio hits, but a deep cut from her second album. I blink, momentarily distracted. Yes, I’m a Lena Goodlove fan too. But my heart and soul? They belong to Amanda Chase.

“We don’t need to do this, you know,” I say, breaking the silence.

Uri’s eyes stay on the road as he shifts gears. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re going back to my place, we’ll fuck, and I’ll spend the rest of my life dealing with a very bitchy Dimitri.”

Well, that’s a lot to unpack. “Oh, I just didn’t think that would be something you were into.”

He slows the car as we approach the road. His jaw tightens, and his gaze flicks toward me. “Why would you say that?”

I shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Because you’re gay.”

The second the words leave my mouth, I realize I’ve made a colossal mistake. Uri slams on the brakes, the car lurching forward. He whips around, fury blazing in his eyes. “What the fuck?”

“Sorry,” I whisper, my voice small from a mixture of embarrassment and fear.

“Well, now I’m definitely not fucking you,” he spits, his voice dripping with venom.

My stomach twists. I didn’t merely overstep. I took a long running leap off a cliff. It’s obvious he’s not out. And in this world, it’s not just a matter of personal privacy. It’s survival.