Page 2

I swirl the scotch in my glass and attempt a nonchalant look around the room for the woman from earlier.

I spot her walking out of the restroom, tossing her hair over her shoulder with undeniable sass.

I want to watch her longer, but that feels borderline creepy, so I quickly look away.

What the hell am I still doing here, lingering around this bar when I should have left ten minutes ago?

The truth is that woman—Quinn—won’t leave my thoughts.

It’s not just her face, her voice, or the way she looked at me as if I were something she’d scrape off her shoe that keeps running through my mind.

It’s not only that she’s hands down one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever laid eyes on, with her long legs and that power suit that screams don’t mess with me.

It’s the little things that prevent me from forgetting her.

Take, for example, her strawberry-blonde hair and the way it caught the light when she snapped at me earlier.

It reminded me of fire.

That’s what she is. And I can’t stop thinking about it.

Her striking beauty lingers in my mind—those piercing green eyes and curves that her no-nonsense suit can't hide. But more than how unbelievably gorgeous she is, it’s the spark in her that I can't shake.

I take a sip, the burn doing nothing to calm the itch under my skin.

My eyes scan the room again, almost against my will.

It’s a habit I can’t shake now, this need to see if she’s still here, still glaring at someone, still—

Then I spot her across the room.

My pulse quickens.

But she's not alone.

My grip tightens on the glass. She’s across the bar, leaning slightly against the counter—but her posture is stiff. She’s uncomfortable. Of course she is, given how standing next to her—just a bit too close—is none other than Charlie fucking Letvin.

Irritation rises to the forefront of all my churning emotions, and memories of our long-standing rivalry resurface. Charlie and I go way back to our school days. He’s got that same smug grin plastered on his face, the one he’s been wearing since we were teenagers trying to outdo each other on our Russian school grounds. Back then, he would do anything to prove he was better. In class, he always put in extra hours to get a higher grade, though hardly ever managed. In sports, he played dirty to become Captain, and when it came to girls, he tried to one-up me every time, even though it was never a competition for me. Now? He’s doing the same in business, power, and whatever else he can steal from under my nose. And still, I can’t help but smirk; he’s still not getting the outcomes he desires.

“How can he, when he’s such a fucking loser?” I mutter sarcastically under my breath, setting the glass down harder than I mean to. The bartender glances at me, but I wave him off.

Although our families weren't enemies at the time, everything changed when he took over his business.

He initially tried to earn my trust, claiming we were part of the old school network and that our rivalry was just boys being boys, but when I learned he was trying to buy out my men to usurp our position in the Bratva underground, that was it.

From that moment on, I realized that the sneaky prick would screw me over in a heartbeat if given the chance.

God knows he’s been trying.

He’s like a fly constantly buzzing around wherever I go, always causing some kind of trouble.

While he’s not our biggest threat or problem, his presence is enough for me to be alert because it never comes without trouble.

I watch as Charlie says something to Quinn, his hand gesturing wildly as if he’s recounting some grand tale.

Quinn’s lips press into a thin line, her arms crossed over her chest. She’s not buying it, which is good.

However, I notice the tension in her shoulders and the way she shifts her weight as if she’s ready to bolt.

Charlie leans in closer, his hand brushing against her arm.

“Keep your hands to yourself, Letvin,” I growl, clenching my fists to keep the anger at bay.

I don’t know why I’m angry.

Perhaps it’s protectiveness or just plain irritation, but it’s there, and I’m finding it hard to set it aside.

I should stay out of it.

I should . But the thought of Charlie putting his greasy paws anywhere near her makes my skin crawl.

I order another scotch, sipping it faster than I should.

I need this drink to distract me, but my fingers tap a restless rhythm on the bar as my eyes keep flicking back to Quinn and Charlie over and over again.

Seeing him with Quinn puts me on edge.

What the hell is she even doing here with him?

Can’t she see he can’t be a serious client?

She doesn’t seem like the type to buy into the stories of slimy bastards like Letvin.

Then again, maybe she doesn’t realize what he’s capable of.

“Stay out of it,” I mutter to myself while taking another sip of the watered-down dregs in my glass.

“Not your problem, Zolotov.”

Except it is.

Every time Charlie leans in closer, his hand brushing against her arm as if he owns her, my jaw tightens.

I can only imagine what he’s thinking.

He has always had a way of making everything—and everyone—his personal playground.

As I continue watching them, that uneasy feeling twists around my gut.

Quinn's expression is polite, but I can tell she’s uncomfortable from the way she leans back slightly as Charlie invades her space.

Charlie places his hand on the counter beside her, stepping forward until he’s just a few inches away. I notice how she stiffens and turns her head, her green eyes narrowing as she takes a deliberate step to her right. Her lips move, sharp and quick, but I can’t hear the words over the low hum of the bar. Whatever she’s saying isn’t enough to make Charlie back off. If anything, he leans in closer, that smug grin fixed on his face as if he’s already won.

“Typical,” I snort under my breath. Charlie’s always been an overconfident prick, but this —this is next-level arrogance. He stands too close, his body angled as if he’s trying to box her in. Quinn crosses her arms over her chest to create a clear barrier, but he doesn’t take the hint. Instead, he laughs loudly and obnoxiously, probably at his own joke, and proceeds to put his hand on her waist, nearly gripping it.

Her shoulders tense, and she looks annoyed when she steps aside to evade his grip. He still doesn’t get the hint, angling his body to face her and continuing to say whatever it is he’s saying.

She’s holding it together—barely—but there’s no mistaking the way her fingers tighten around her glass. If she were anyone else, I’d say she’s about two seconds away from throwing that drink in his face. But Quinn’s smarter than that. She’s calculating and weighing her options since this is probably the client she was supposed to meet. Still, the fire in her eyes is unmistakable. It’s the same fire that caught my attention earlier, and now it’s burning brighter with every second she’s stuck with Charlie.

“What’s your play here, Letvin?” I murmur, narrowing my gaze. He’s up to something—he always is. And Quinn? She’s either in way over her head or playing a game I don’t understand yet. Either way, it’s pissing me off.

I know I should walk away. I should . But the thought of leaving her alone with him doesn’t sit well with me. She’s too smart to fall for his act, but that doesn’t mean he won’t try something, and when he does, she might find herself in trouble. And if there’s one thing I know about Charlie, it’s that he doesn’t take no for an answer.

An idea forms in my head. Perhaps I should step in? “Damn it,” I mutter and look up at the ceiling, letting out a long groan. This is a bad idea. A terrible idea. But I can’t just sit here and watch this play out when I know how wrong things could go for Quinn.

Charlie says something, his voice carrying just enough over the sounds of the bar for me to catch the condescending tone. Quinn’s jaw tightens as she takes another step back, her heel hitting the edge of the barstool behind her. She’s cornered, and Charlie knows it. The bastard’s enjoying this.

“That’s it,” I say under my breath, pushing off the bar.

I don’t have a plan, but I know one thing for sure: Charlie Letvin will not take up any more of her time.

I weave through the crowd, my eyes locked on Charlie. He's too focused on Quinn to notice me approaching, that overconfident smirk plastered on his face.

It makes me want to punch him.

Charlie leans in closer, the back of his hand brushing against Quinn’s like he’s testing the waters.

She stiffens, her green eyes flashing with enough anger for even me to see that Charlie’s advances are not fucking welcome.

When I come closer, Quinn's gaze flickers to me, flashing with recognition and then surprise. I come to a stop beside her, my hand settling on the small of her back as I flash Charlie a tight smile.

“Hello, sweetheart.” I coo at her, gently leaning down to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. She looks stunned.

I kick the barstool behind her out of the way and gently pull her toward me, creating more distance between her and Charlie.

“Um…hi?” It feels more like a question than a greeting, and I can see her mind racing, attempting to decipher what I’m up to.

Quinn furrows her brows while Charlie’s smug expression falters and his gaze shifts nervously between Quinn and me. It's almost comical how quickly his confidence falls.

“You’re interrupting our meeting,” Charlie protests.

My gaze shifts to Quinn, who watches me with confusion and wariness.

I give her a small, almost unnoticeable nod, which I’m certain only she notices, before I turn back to Charlie.

“My apologies. It’s not every night I have dinner and drinks planned with my fiancée, and I’m afraid you’re occupying her time. We have a date to get to.”

The words slip out smoothly, a spontaneous lie that hangs in the air between us.

I watch as Quinn arches her eyebrows, her eyes widening slightly, clearly struggling to believe what she’s hearing.

But to her credit, it’s a brief moment of surprise, and the next thing I know, she plays along like a pro, leaning into my touch with a wide smile.

Well, well, well, looks like Quinn Desmond is far more trouble than I thought.