Mila either didn’t like the degrading nickname or her manners being criticized because her nails pressed into my hand, leaving little crescent moons behind, if not blood. Her hair was in my face, curly, untamed, and exuding a faint summery scent. While I would usually be annoyed with a resentful woman on my lap who smelled like innocence and sunshine, I wasn’t there yet.

“Do you remember what I said to your papa?” I asked her.

She shook her head, her eyes on Alexander. I couldn’t say I’d ever had my hand between a woman’s thighs while she stared at another man with devotion. The fact he was her cousin didn’t quell the frustration that flared to life.

Pressing my thumb against her clit, I rubbed it in a slow circle. She tried to ignore me as goose bumps rose to her bare skin. The subtle reaction, the feel of how soft and wet she was . . . fuck me. When I continued the motion, her breath slowed to little puffs of air, and a pink flush rose up her neck. She turned her face into my neck and whispered, “Please don’t.”

The soft words ghosted down my spine, melting the irritation to a liquid heat that coiled in my groin, but with her attention back on me, I pulled my hand away. Maybe because she forced “please” past those lips. Or maybe because I knew I could get her off in a room full of men and something in me didn’t like the idea.

“I told your papa if I found him in Moscow before I invited him, we’d need a lot of FedEx boxes to ship you home.” I ran a thumb across her jawline. “Ty pomnish eto?” Do you remember that?

Her eyes finally met mine, iridescently blue and wary, and she shook her head like it had slipped her mind. I wanted to smile because, fuck, she was kind of adorable. But the awkward fact I thought that about anyone other than my niece quelled the impulse.

“Considering it wasn’t your papa I found but two of his men, we need to discuss a different course of action.” I reached into my suit pocket and set a single golden bullet on the table. “Since you’re so fond of games, shall we play one the Russian way?”

She stared at the bullet for a long second before Alexander interrupted the thick silence.

“She has nothing to do with this,” he snarled.

Viktor got to his feet to cut out Alexander’s tongue for speaking, but I stilled him with a hand, and he sat back down.

It was when I met Albert’s severe gaze, I recognized everyone in the room believed Mila would be on the other end of the barrel with a chance of one out of six. Dry amusement filled me at the ridiculous realization.

I wasn’t going to shoot Mila.

I hadn’t even fucked her yet.

Albert seemed mollified by whatever he saw in my expression, but I was no longer amused. My gaze hardened, telling him I would do whatever I wished with Mila, and he wouldn’t intervene. As he held my stare, a dark, ruthless heat emerged at the idea he might actually be challenging me. I didn’t want to fight Albert, and it wasn’t because I thought he would win. He wouldn’t. In fact, beating him half to death in prison after he insulted my brother even though he had three inches and thirty pounds on me was one of the reasons I gained his loyalty. He was also . . . a friend. The word sounded a little melodramatic and sour, but it was the closest thing I had to describe the relationship.

When he pulled his gaze away and relented, a flare of resentment for Mila surged. She was fucking not only with my head but my men’s, so I kept up the façade she might not see tomorrow just to watch her reaction.

“Will you do the honors, kotyonok?”

“Wait,” Alexander growled. “We deserve the punishment, not her.”

“Shut up,” his friend hissed and, if I wasn’t mistaken, he kicked Alexander under the table.

Mila interrupted their quarrel. She grabbed the revolver and slipped the bullet into one of the cylinders, then stared at the gun in her hand like she was thinking about turning it on me. With a chuckle, I took it from her before she could follow through with that.

When I pointed the revolver at Alexander, two surprising things happened. Alexei’s nephew looked relieved, and Mila—well, she finally acted like she gave a shit about our little game.

“No!” She struggled to escape my lap, but I held her still, if only to keep her from flashing everyone in the room something that belonged to me. “I thought . . .”

I raised a brow. “You thought what?” She wouldn’t beg for her own life, but she would for two men she didn’t know. The stupid, selfless act was the most irritating thing I’d ever experienced.

“I thought you—”

“Hvatit.” Enough. I was unable to listen to another word from her mouth right now. Gripping her chin, I pulled her eyes to mine. “You and I, kotyonok . . .” I stroked a thumb across her cheek, my voice softening. “We’re far from finished.”

She didn’t look convinced, so I pulled her face closer and sealed the promise with a short kiss. She was as tense as a statue, but her lips were soft, pliable, warm, and somehow, she still tasted like strawberries.

The fleeting press of her mouth on mine swelled the ache in my cock to a raw throb, and an ounce of irony arose. I needed to get laid if a quick kiss got a stronger reaction from me than a woman’s tongue on my cock.

I pulled the trigger.

Click.

Before Mila could finish a relieved breath, she jumped when I fired at the next man. The bang ricocheted off the walls. Smoke rose from the barrel, and his lifeless body slumped to the table. Mila trembled against me, a hand over her mouth.

“Guess we get that funeral after all,” I said drily.

Blood spread across the table, and my gaze narrowed as it reached my plate of dessert.

“I’m going to . . .” Mila trailed off, her head lolled, and then she went limp in my arms, a comatose tangle of blonde hair and legs.

“What the fuck’s wrong with her?” Alexander demanded. His wary gaze took Mila in, and he didn’t even glance at the dead man beside him.

After adjusting Mila’s weight so her head rested on my shoulder, I picked up my cigar and puffed on it while viewing her unconscious form with feigned narrow-eyed concern. “Not sure. Do you think she needs to eat?” I blew out a breath of smoke and met Alexander’s gaze, mine sparking. “I thought Mikhailov women only needed to be fucked to survive.” For some reason, I didn’t want to tell him about her phobia. Those little details were mine.

“You son of a bitch,” he seethed. “She’s not her mother—”

“Save it,” I said, bored. “I’ve heard it before.”

“Let her go. You can take me instead.”

“Tempting, but you’re not my type.” I sent a look to Viktor to get him out of here. “Strip him,” I ordered. “He can crawl back to Alexei like a wounded dog.” Meeting Alexander’s eyes as Viktor hauled him to his feet, I said, “Make sure you tell Alexei how well his daughter fares.”

He glared. “Fuck you.”

Viktor punched him in the stomach before slamming his pretty face into the table. I sighed when blood splattered onto my piece of cake.

“Watch out for the wolves,” I added while he was being dragged out. “Although, I hope they have better taste.”

“Go to hell, D’yavol—”