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She pulls away and massages her wrist. When she walks away, I see her brows furrowed, her eyes distant.

I’m suddenly angry, on alert. I watch as he intercepts a different server, his hand sliding to the small of her back before she can step away.

Yelena, the floor manager, is occupied with a group of customers at the other end, and Faddey still hasn't returned. The server in his grip shoots me a subtle look. She needs backup.

I move before I can second-guess myself, plastering on a smile. “Is everything to your satisfaction, Sir?” I ask, positioning myself between him and the server, who takes the opportunity to slip away.

He looks me up and down, his gaze lingering on my curves. I feel my blood boil. “Well, well. They grow them fuller here than back home.”

I have to try very hard not to punch him.

His accent is Eastern European, but I can’t place where from, exactly. He’s not Russian, for sure.

“You're new.” He gives me a lecherous smile.

“I am,” I confirm without smiling back, calculating how quickly security could reach us if needed. “And you are...?”

“Thirsty,” he says, draining his glass and holding it out expectantly. “For more than just drinks.”

I eye the glass, but don’t take it.

“Come on, bombshell. Bring me something sweet like you. And then you scurry back here, okay? I’m lonely and…” His eyes travel up and down my body again, “…you can help.”

I freeze, anxiety coursing through me. I know I should reach out for help, perhaps motion to someone for aid, but at the same time, I think of what Agafon would do.

“I’m afraid you’re not getting that drink,” I say, staring him right in the eye with cold arrogance.

“What the hell do you mean by that, bitch?” He rises and sputters in my face.

I feel something cold settle over me, like frost. I maintain the blank expression I've seen on Agafon's face when dealing with problems. “You’re harassing my staff,” I say, my voice dropping several degrees. “And you’re drunk.”

He reaches over and grips my hand. “Don't be like that. I'm a good customer. I spend a lot of money here.”

I pull my arm back firmly, but he doesn't release me. “Let go. Now.”

His face darkens. “You should be nicer to me. Do you know who I am?”

“Someone who's about to spend his night in prison if you push me any further,” I say, channeling every ounce of Agafon's frosty authority. “Last chance.”

Embarrassment flushes his face as he realizes other patrons are starting to notice our exchange. His grip loosens, but as I start to pull away, his other hand shoots out to grab the front of my blouse.

“Listen, you bit—”

His words cut off abruptly as a large hand clamps down on his wrist with such force that his fingers release me instantly. I don't need to look up to know who it is.

“I believe my wife asked you to let go,” Agafon says, his voice terrifyingly soft. It's the first time he's referred to me as his wife with such certainty, and despite the circumstances, something warm flutters in my chest.

The man's face pales as he looks up at Agafon, whose expression could freeze hellfire. “I didn't—she was—”

“Being polite,” Agafon finishes for him.

“Which is more than you deserve.” He's still holding the man's wrist, and I notice with satisfaction that his fingers are pressing into pressure points that make the man wince.

“Do you know what happens to people who disrespect my family in my establishments?”

The man swallows audibly. “Look, man, I didn't know she was your—”

“That shouldn't matter,” Agafon cuts him off. His grip tightens further, and I hear a small pop that makes the man gasp. “She is mine. This bar is mine. This neighborhood is mine. And you are no longer welcome in any of them.”

He releases the man's wrist with a dismissive flick. “Don't come back. And don't visit any of my other locations either—they'll be expecting you.”

Agafon motions at the security that’s been alerted and stands beside us now, who grab the drunk by his cuffs and carry him out.

Agafon turns to me. “Are you hurt?” he asks, eyes scanning me for damage.

“No,” I say, trying not to tremble from the anxiety that’s back with a vengeance, angry at having been put in a box. The things that man said, the way he held me, it scares me still. Anything could have happened. “Just annoyed you came in with your alpha game.”

He chuckles. “My alpha game?”

“Yeah. You stole my thunder,” I shrug, trying to joke around so I could stop feeling this unnerved.

“In your defense, you were handling it quite well. Especially when you threatened him with prison. He might have cried,” Agafon compliments me, but I see a furrow between his eyes, as though he can see I’m shaken up.

“Right?” I squeal playfully. “If you’d only given me a few more minutes, I could have shown him hell.”

He studies me for a moment, and I resist the urge to fidget under his scrutiny. “Maybe next time,” he finally says.

“Hopefully, there isn’t a next time,” I shudder.

He stills and smiles. “Hopefully, there isn’t. You did well tonight.”

“Thank you.” My voice drops to a murmur as his dark eyes flicker between mine.

“Have dinner with me?” he says, out of the blue. It’s not a command, but not a question. More of a statement, an assumption. A month ago, I would have bristled at it. Today, not so much.

Coming from Agafon, that might as well be a declaration of fascination. I feel my cheeks warm under his continued gaze.

“I’d love that,” I say, with a nod, surprising myself with how much I mean it.

“Tomorrow, then.” He tilts his head in my direction.

“Tomorrow,” I say with a curt nod, and then he turns with a smile, strutting off to look over whatever else needs his attention.