Page 67 of Ruthless Vow

“A bone to pick with me?” Leo repeats. “And what might that be?”

“Your addition to my guest list,” she says.

“Which one?”

“The one that you assured me wouldn’t accept. He accepted last minute. And he’s here.”

Leo’s brow rises. “Where?”

She gestures with her chin toward the nearby bar. “Drinking all the vodka, one would assume. I despise him, Leo. Please kick him out for me?”

I glance over toward the object of her disaffection.

Nikolai Ivanov. The thirty-year-old son of Mikhail Ivanov. Tousled dark hair, ice blue eyes framed in dark, curly lashes. The contrast is startling and stunning. He’s tall and his posture screams self-confidence, even cockiness. He looks more like a GQ model than the son of a Russian-born crime boss.

He’s watching us. Actually, no. He’s watching Sabina.

Instead of the aforementioned vodka, he has a glass of whiskey in his hand, and he raises it, a toast, in Leo’s direction.

“It’s good that he’s here,” Leo says.

“I disagree,” Sabina snaps.

“I understand why you feel that way.”

“His father murdered Papa.” Her voice breaks.

Leo’s expression softens a fraction. “It is important that those who claim to be allies to both the Russos and the Ivanovs see him here. Besides, Nikolai is not Mikhail. He has proven to have some use.”

She scoffs. “What are you, best friends now?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Fuck,” Sabina whispers. “He’s heading this way. Kill him for me, Leo. Pull out his heart through his ribcage. If he even has a heart.”

“Calm yourself,” Leo tells her. “This is business. That’s all.”

“Business, my ass.”

I watch tensely as Nikolai approaches. Got to say, I side with Sabina on this. I understand that inviting the head of an allied organization is necessary, and with Mikhail out of town, Nikolai Ivanov is the acting head, but it would be nice for Sabina to be able to celebrate her engagement with only people she actually likes.

Which would definitely not include me.

“Leonardo,” Nikolai says, a smile baring white, straight teeth.

“Nikolai,” Leo says.

There’s something in the exchange that makes me feel like it’s familiar to them, almost friendly, even though their voices sound anything but friendly.

“Sabina, you look lovely tonight,” Nikolai says. “Congratulations on your engagement.” The words are correct for the occasion, but his tone is off. He sounds… oddly annoyed. And more than a little sarcastic.

“Fuck you,” Sabina replies, two spots of color staining her cheeks. “Leave immediately.”

He chuckles. “You invited me.”

She glares at him. “Only because I didn’t think you’d accept.”

“And yet, I accepted.” His gaze never leaves her face.

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