I don’t usually drink.
Tonight seems like the perfect time to start.
I down half the bottle while gambling away the rest of my cash on street dice with Bram, Valon, Motya, and Pasha.
“That’s more like it!” Bram says, roaring with laughter as I roll an eleven, winning a hefty bet off Valon. “Nice to have the old Dean back.”
I take another swig of my drink.
“Yeah, you like the old Dean?” I say blearily. “That makes one of us.”
Pasha calls Bodashka and Vanya Antonov to join us. They’re at least as drunk as I am, Bodashka’s broad face flushed red, and Vanya swaying a little as he saunters over.
Bodashka gives me a grudging greeting, and even Vanya nods in a manner that might be interpreted as friendly.
“I didn’t think you drank,” Vanya says to me.
“I don’t.”
“What’s that, then?” He grins, jerking his chin toward my half-empty bottle.
“Anesthetic.”
“Oh yeah, the new doctor gave you that?” He chuckles. “She’s a hell of an improvement over the old one.”
“Careful,” I say.
“Don’t worry.” Vanya holds up his hands in mock surrender. “I have no intention of drawing the wrath of our boxing instructor. I learned my lesson the first day of class.”
“Not your most brilliant moment, Dmitry,” Bodashka snickers.
“It was certainly educational,” I say, taking another swig.
Bodashka and Vanya look surprised that I’m not instantly infuriated by their comments.
The truth is, I’m only half listening to them. The rest of my brain is wondering what Cat is doing right now. I had hoped she might drop into the party, but no luck yet.
“Well, whatever’s in that bottle, I think it’s good for you, Dmitry,” Vanya says, with the audacity to give me a friendly punch on the shoulder. “Chills you the fuck out. It’s better to be friends than enemies, don’t you think?”
I look at Vanya’s smile, full of perfect white teeth but stopping dead at his cheeks. His dark eyes remain as flat and predatory as a shark’s.
I bet Brutus looked like that when he smiled at Caesar.
“You need all the friends you can get, Dmitry,” Bodashka says quietly. “Big things are coming back home. And your father isn’t there to look out for your interests anymore.”
“You want to pick your alliances very carefully,” Vanya says, those shark eyes fixed on my face. “Kade Petrov is a poor choice.”
I wish I weren’t so drunk.
They’re trying to tell me something.
“What do you mean?” I ask Bodashka, struggling to focus on his pale, bloodshot eyes.
“The high table isn’t happy with the Petrovs. Ivan Petrov is barely in contact and his brother is siphoning off money. If Ivan can’t even keep his own house in order—”
“There’s upheaval coming,” Pasha says, his tone conspiratorial and eager. “If you pick the right side . . . all of St. Petersburg could be up for grabs.”
I look at Bodashka and Vanya. Motya, Pasha, Bram, and Valon, too. All my oldest friends, and one enemy who wants to become allies. They stare back at me, expecting me to jump at the chance to pillage the territory of the Petrovs. It could be the making of all of us.
I think of Kade Petrov, laughing when I pop him in our boxing class. Struggling with all his might to win the Quartum Bellum even when it’s clear that he lost, even when the waves washed over his head.
I just met that kid. Why should I care what happens to his family?
Why should I believe Dominik Petrov is a good man, just because he refused to fuck some ballerina? Everyone else says he’s turning on his own brother.
And yet . . . I trust the Petrovs more than I trust this group of schemers.
Or maybe I’ve just gone soft.
I stand up abruptly, scattering my remaining cash.
“It’s foolish to divide the meat when the bear hasn’t been shot,” I say.
“We’re not talking about the meat. We’re talking about the hunt,” Vanya hisses.
“Don’t mistake absence for weakness. Ivan Petrov is a powerful man. One I don’t want for an enemy.”
“You’re a coward,” Vanya spits.
“And you’re a traitor,” I retort, staring him down. “I’d take Ivan as an enemy before I’d take you as a friend.”
Bodashka, Vanya, and Pasha glare at me. Motya and Valon look torn. Only Bram gives me an affirming nod. He likes Kade Petrov.
“You better keep your mouth shut about this,” Bodashka hisses.
I scoff in his face, leaving the dice and cash scattered on the stable floor.
It’ll be a dark day when I take orders from Bodashka Kushnir.
Sunday morning I wake up with a raging headache. This is why I never fucking drink—I hate paying the price the next morning.
I go looking for Cat anyway, determined to talk through our argument.
But I can’t find her anywhere—she’s not in the dining hall, the library, or her dorm room.
I know she’s avoiding me intentionally. That sneaky little kitten can be quite elusive when she wants to be.
She won’t be able to hide on Monday—she’ll have to go to class, and I have her schedule memorized.
I corner her outside Chemistry before first period.
“Cat,” I say, grabbing her arm. “I need to talk to you.”
She shakes me off, snapping, “Don’t touch me!”
“Are you going to pretend you don’t like when I touch you?” I growl, pinning her up against the rough stone wall.
“I’m not playing games with you anymore!” she cries, trying to get past me.
I’m not looking at her angry expression—I’m fixated on the shockingly bare expanse of collarbone where the ruby necklace usually sits.
“You took off my necklace?” I say, outraged.
“It’s my necklace,” Cat says angrily, “and I’ll throw it in the fucking toilet if I feel like it!”
“Don’t you dare, you little—”
My words are cut off by a swift and accurate knee to the groin from my beloved.
I double over, groaning. Cat slips neatly past me.
“Leave me alone, Dean. I mean it!” she cries, darting into the classroom.
I lean against the wall, sweating and breathing hard until the throbbing pain in my balls dissipates.
“You should be more careful with something you might want to use again . . .” I grumble toward the closed door of Cat’s class.
Straightening up, I give my head a shake.
I should be angry with her. But I’m well aware of Cat’s claustrophobia. There’s a fine line between restraining her and trapping her.
Besides . . . I always enjoy a glimpse of Cat’s ruthless side. Even when it’s directed at me.
The bigger issue is how I’m going to make her talk to me.
I ponder this conundrum during boxing.
I pair up with Kade Petrov intentionally to annoy Vanya and Bodashka. Sure enough, they glower and mutter to each other as they watch us spar.
“I can never tell if they’re mad at me or you,” Kade says, sending a rapid combination my way.