Page 97 of Bound By Revenge

I sigh, rolling my eyes, knowing exactly where this is heading.

Dmitri’s stare is laser-focused on her now, his curiosity cranked to eleven. “Where’d you even learn that word?” he asks, his voice rising with excitement.

“Irina, obviously,” Kat replies breezily. “Nik wouldn’t tell me whatkiskameant—kept calling me that nonstop—so I asked her. She wouldn’t spill either, but she laughed so hard she cried and told me to call himkotyonokinstead.”

Dmitri freezes, his mouth slightly agape before he bursts into laughter. He slaps the dashboard, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “Oh, man,” he chokes out between gasps. “This is priceless. Thank you, Kat. You just made my week. No—my year. The great Nikolai Stefanovich lets you call himkotyonokbecause he calls youkiska. I’ll never recover.”

“Dmitri,” I warn, my tone sharp enough to cut. But there’s no heat behind it, and he knows it.

He waves a hand at me dismissively, still laughing. “This isgold. No one will believe me. Fuck,Iwouldn’t believe this if I hadn’t just witnessed it.”

Dmitri shakes his head, still laughing so hard he can barely get the words out. “I’ll tell you what it means—but first, I need you to spill everything about him calling youkiska. Don’t hold back.”

Kat’s eyes gleam, clearly delighted. “Oh, he calls me that all the time. It’s sweet, really. But for some reason, he refuses to tell me what it means. I’ve been meaning to Google it, but, you know, life gets busy.” She pauses for dramatic effect, then adds, “He mostly calls me that when we’re in the middle of?—”

“Enough,” I snap, cutting her off before she can finish. “This conversation is over.

Naturally, they both ignore me completely.

“Well?” Kat turns to Dmitri, practically bouncing in her seat. “What does it mean?”

Dmitri’s grin widens, his eyes glinting with barely contained glee. “Kiska, my dear Kat, means kitten,” he says, drawing out the word for maximum effect. Then, with a knowing smirk, he glances at me and mutters something in Russian under his breath.

“Hey!” Kat protests, pointing at him accusingly. “Not fair. English, please.”

I grit my teeth, silently grateful she doesn’t know enough Russian to understand his comment:You’ve got it bad, my friend.

Bad doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Her gaze sharpens, and before I can react, she scoots closer, leaning into my space until her face is inches from mine. “Kitten, huh?” she says, her voice dripping with teasing amusement. Her smirk is pure mischief, and I can feel my carefully constructed cool slipping.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” I reply, my tone flat as I try to play it cool. But even I can hear the edge in my voice. The truth is, if she ever figures out just how far she’s got me wrapped around her finger, I’m ruined.

She rolls her eyes, clearly unimpressed with my attempt at indifference, and turns back to Dmitri. “You know, Dmitri, he’s trying to act all tough right now, but earlier, he was so mad at Vladmir for daring to touch me that he straight-up smashed the poor guy’s hand.”

Dmitri’s head snaps back and forth between us, his jaw dropping in disbelief. “No way,” he breathes, his voice tinged with awe. Then, with a loud gasp, he exclaims, “Holy fuckingshit. She’s not joking. Youdid!” He’s practically doubled over, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

I glare at Kat, shaking my head in exasperation.

“What?” she says, all wide-eyed innocence. “Youdid.”

“You’re making me sound like some simpering idiot,” I grumble, though my heart’s not really in it.

With an exaggerated pout, she shrugs, her lips twitching with barely concealed amusement. “Well, if the shoe fits,kotyonok... No shame in it.” She winks at me, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to my cheek.

And just like that, simpering idiot that I am, she has me as sweet as a kitten, my reputation be damned.

Dmitri, however, isn’t as easily distracted. He’s still laughing, shaking his head as he navigates us back home. The sound of his chuckles fills the car, and somehow, it carries all the way into the garage.

The moment the elevator doors open, he breaks into another laughing fit, clutching his sides.

“Enough,” I bark, pinning him with a glare. “We have work to do. If you can manage to stop giggling like an idiot, I might actually find a way for you to make yourself useful.”

“Yes, sir,” he says, attempting to stifle his laughter but failing miserably.

“And you—” I turn to Kat, who’s already watching me with a mischievous grin. “I’ll deal with you later. Until then, stay out of trouble. If that’s even possible.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” she replies with a mock salute, spinning on her heel and sauntering toward the kitchen like she owns the place.

---