Page 18 of Shatter Me

“Made of volcanic rock,” I point out, surprising myself by joining in. “Not exactly stable landing ground.”

Dmitri’s eyes gleam with approval. “Finally, someone with sense.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Alexi groans. “He’s insufferable enough already.”

“I think that ship sailed long ago,” I say dryly, earning a rare genuine smile from Dmitri that catches my breath.

Erik silently passes me a plate of pelmeni, and I notice how he’s positioned himself to keep an eye on the door and his brothers. I wonder why he would be so concerned, considering the mansion is well-guarded.

“You should have seen him when we were kids,” Alexi tells me. “Total hall monitor energy. ‘Alexi, don’t hack the school system.’ ‘Alexi, stop ordering tanks online.’”

“You tried to order tanks?” I ask, laughing despite myself.

"Only small ones!"

“They were T-72s,” Dmitri corrects. “And you were twelve.”

“See what I had to deal with?” Alexi appeals to me. “No vision, no sense of adventure.”

“Just common sense,” Erik states.

It’s strange but nice being included in their banter. For once, I’m not bristling at Dmitri’s presence or analyzing his every move for hidden threats. Here, surrounded by his brothers and Mrs. Petrova’s cooking, he seems almost... human.

“The tank thing explains so much about you,” I tell Alexi, who clutches his chest in mock offense.

“Et tu, Tash? We are supposed to be friends!”

“We are. That’s why I’m trying to save you from yourself.”

“Another voice of reason,” Dmitri says. “We could use more of those around here.”

Our eyes meet across the kitchen island, and the playful atmosphere shifts into something heavier. The memory of our kiss at the gallery floods back—the heat of his mouth, his hands gripping my waist. I tear my gaze away, focusing on the steaming plate of pelmeni before me.

“These are amazing,” I say to break the tension, though my voice comes out slightly breathless.

We settle around the large kitchen table, and Dmitri takes the seat directly across from me. Each time I glance up, I catch him watching me with that intense focus that makes my heart skip.

This version of him—relaxed in his sweater, trading barbs with his brothers—is dangerously appealing. It humanizes him in a way that makes my usual defenses feel paper-thin.

“Have more of the mushroom ones,” he suggests, his voice low and intimate despite the bustling kitchen. “They’re your favorite, aren’t they?”

The fact that he’s noticed and cataloged this small detail about me sends an unwanted thrill down my spine. I spear one with my fork, aware of his eyes tracking the movement.

“Show off,” Alexi mutters, but there’s amusement in his tone. “Some of us can’t memorize everyone’s preferences like a creepy database.”

“Not everyone’s preferences,” Dmitri corrects, his gaze still fixed on me. “Just the important ones.”

I take a bite to avoid responding, but the way he looks at me makes it hard to swallow. The comfortable family meal suddenly feels charged with electricity. Every accidental brush of his foot against mine under the table sends sparks shooting through my body.

This is exactly what I was afraid of—how easily he can affect me, how natural it feels to be here among his family. The dangerous man who cornered me in my office is still there, but now I see other layers. These other facets make him even more irresistible.

I turn to Sofia, desperate for a distraction from Dmitri’s intense stare. “Did you hear about Caroline Mitchell’s disaster of a gallery opening?”

Sofia’s eyes light up with gossip. “Oh God, when she hung that Rothko knockoff thinking it was real? I almost died of secondhand embarrassment.”

“The authentication paperwork was apparently ‘in transit,’” I say, making air quotes. “Amateur hour. You always verify before hanging.”

“Speaking of verification nightmares,” Sofia leans closer, lowering her voice, “Janet from Sotheby’s told me the Berkowitz collection might be mostly forgeries.”

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