There's a sickening pop as my fist connects with her face. Tiffany shrieks, hands flying to her nose; blood gushes between her fingertips. Tears stream down her face as shoots me a look so full of loathing I think I might combust.

"You should leave," Nicholai says calmly, betraying no emotion whatsoever.

Tiffany needs no further convincing. She spits blood onto the spines of a nearby cactus and storms off, already chattering angrily into her phone, somehow having materialized in her hand with alarming speed. I watch her go with dwindling satisfaction, hand throbbing. The reality of what I've done is already starting to sink in.

Oh, good. Guess we can add assault to my record.

I shoot Nicholai a panicked look. He raises an eyebrow. I'm not sure if it's a challenge, but the apology on my lips shrivels up and dies.

"She deserved it," I say, stubborn as ever.

His answering grin is utterly dazzling. Dazed, I allow him to steer me into the house, his hand lingering at the small of my back. I try to arch away from his touch, convinced there must be a pool of sweat the size of Lake Michigan back there. But he doesn't seem to mind.

"Sit," he commands as we enter the kitchen, gesturing to a length of pristine counter.

I glance around, curious. There is no flurry of activity, not today. We're utterly alone.

I cradle my throbbing hand. "I'm fine."

"Sit." He throws me a warning look over his shoulder.

I wriggle onto the counter and cross my ankles for modesty's sake, watching Nicholai dig around in the freezer. There's a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, as if he might burst out in a fit of laughter at any moment.

I know I shouldn't stare, but since he's preoccupied, I let myself admire him, if only for a brief moment. His sleeves are rolled to the elbow, exposing the skin of his forearms, painted with ink. Another surprise. I never imagined he'd be the type to have a tattoo.

When he straightens, I look away, staring resolutely at my knuckles, the skin there red and raw. Nicholai reappears at my side an instant later. Ignoring my feeble protests—my hand really does hurt—he takes my injured hand and presses the makeshift ice pack to my fingers. I hiss.

He's grinning again. "You have a mean right hook."

"Something to keep in mind," I warn him half-heartedly.

He readjusts his grip, thumb brushing the inside of my wrist. I shudder and tell myself it's from the ice.

Maybe Nicholai and Gabby have a point. I am a terrible liar.

A few minutes pass in silence. I begin to fidget, impatient. "Nicholai—" I start.

"Thank you." We make eye contact.

We're very close. Close enough to make out the scent of his aftershave. Something sharp and alluring. "No problem," I say weakly. "You better warn Chester. I'm coming after his job."

"He'll be so disappointed."

A drop of freezing water lands on my thigh. I suck in a startled breath. Nicholai brushes the water away absentmindedly, his touch featherlight.

The pain in my hand vanishes—forgotten. Nicholai's fingers linger against my skin, trailing dangerously close to the hem of my dress. The look in his eyes shifts as he gazes down at me.

"Hey, Nick—"

Nicholai steps back, putting distance between us. My skin burns with the imprint of his touch. I slap my free hand over the ice pack, face burning as the newcomers step into the kitchen.

I recognize Alexei Ivanov almost immediately. His blue shorts and white t-shirt are alarmingly casual, but it's a good look. He's far more approachable like this.

Now that we aren't standing at odds in a dim, crowded bar, it's easier to make out the similarities between the two brothers. Alexei's black hair is shorter than Nicholai's, and his nose is somewhat crooked, probably from a past break. When he smiles, I forget about his nose entirely.

That smile grows as he eyes the space between his brother and I. "Did we interrupt?"

We. My eyes bounce to the lean figure at his side, her arms coiled around his bicep like a strand of poison ivy.

Larissa.

There's no smile on her face. Her dark eyes watch me in silence, the expression in them unfathomable. She wears little more than an overlarge shirt; I catch a hint of a red bathing suit beneath.

"Tiffany tried to break in," Nicholai supplies, his tone offhand.

The distraction works. Alexei's eyes pop as he steps further into the kitchen, pulling out a set of stools over at the breakfast bar. Larissa sits without a word. His hand drifts to her lower back, a familiar, possessive gesture. "No way."

"Yeah." Nicholai grabs a glass from one of the cabinets and fills it with water. Which reminds me of my own dire thirst. I swallow, my tongue thick and dry in my mouth.

"Where? How?" Alexei bounces on the stool, eager for a play-by-play. It's hard not to smile.

I blink in surprise when Nicholai hands me the glass of water without a word. Alexei watches the exchange, that smile curling his lips once more.

"She was trying to scale the patio wall." Nicholai leans against the counter, taking care to put several feet of space between us. He crosses his arms. "Amara caught her."

Alexei laughs. His twinkling eyes land on my ice pack. "And the hand?"

Silence. I sigh, defeated. "I punched her."

Alexei roars with laughter. Larissa frowns, clearly disappointed by his reaction.

"Are you kidding?" He palms at his eyes, still chuckling madly. "Oh, man. I've got to find Chester. The security tapes probably caught the whole thing." He kisses the tips of his fingers. "Art."

Nicholai grins. "It was better in person."

"I bet it was." Alexei sounds sorry he'd missed it.

Larissa rests her chin on Alexei's shoulder. "Aren't we meeting Ava and Jakarta?"

"Oh. Right." Alexei turns back to Nicholai. "Got any plans tonight? We're going down to the pier—"

"Nicholai is busy."

The voice is familiar and cold and sends my fight-or-flight instincts into overdrive. Which is totally unnecessary, but there it is. I grimace as Luca Ivanov drifts in from the living room. Much like his eldest son, he wears a dress shirt rolled at the elbows. A golden watch gleams at his wrist.

Nicholai nods, but otherwise doesn't comment.

"Alright," Alexei says brightly, not disappointed in the least. I doubt much could disappoint him, with his sunshine smile and his mischievous eyes. "C'mon, babe."

Despite his jovial tone, they make a swift exit. Alexei tosses me a wink over his shoulder, and I hold up the ice pack in salute—his answering grin makes him look eerily like his brother.

Unfortunately, the gesture costs me. Luca's eyes dart to my hand. "What happened?"

Nicholai shifts. From discomfort, maybe. "Amara hurt her hand."

Luca shoots his son a hard look. "I can see that."

"Tiffany tried to break in." He keeps his arms firmly crossed. Maybe to avoid any more nervous fiddling with one of his many rings.

"Did she?" I gaze at the floor, suddenly very aware of my sweaty hair and my short dress and—

"There was an altercation—"

"On our property? Unacceptable." Luca leaves no room for discussion.

There's a short, tense silence. I worry at my lower lip.

"We're finalizing plans for the party this evening?" Nicholai asks, his voice even. I glance up. He has only eyes for his father, the expression on his face neutral. Unruffled.

Luca wanders over to the back wall of windows, his hands locked behind his back. "Yes. Michelle should be in within the hour." He turns his head, so that only his profile is visible. "You're done here, I presume?"

"We are." Nicholai answers quickly. I shoot him a quick, fervent look. Why the hell did I come all the way out here? "I need to make an adjustment to the guest list—"

"There will be more people than we anticipated," Luca agrees. Something in his voice causes a pit of dread to settle in my stomach. "Amara. You're a bartender. Correct?"

I look up, alarmed at the direct address. "Um...yeah. Yes," I correct myself quickly.

Luca nods, turning back to the window. "Excellent. We'll require your services at the party. You will be compensated, of course."

Nicholai frowns—a crack in his perfect armor. He opens his mouth to argue, but I catch his eye and shake my head, eyes wide. Drop it, I mouth.

I have a feeling Luca Ivanov knows exactly why Nicholai broached the subject of the guest list. Roping me in as a staff member will keep me out of his son's grasp—and punish me for the backyard brawl.

"If that is all," Luca continues, his tone dismissive.

I slide off the counter, my heels hitting the floor with a sharp crack. At a loss for what to do with the makeshift ice pack, I dump what little remains in the sink. I can feel Nicholai's eyes on my face, but I refuse to make eye contact. Refuse to think about his hands on my skin. Refuse to think about the look in his eyes as his fingers trailed—

Stop. Stop, stop, stop.

I start to leave.

"Miss Rossi," Nicholai murmurs.

The smell of aftershave fills my nose. I face him, clenching my injured hand until it hurts. The pain clears my head, chasing away the fog and the memory of his brief touch.

Nicholai is looking at me strangely. It takes a moment to place it—to realize that the bright look in his eyes has been extinguished. I wonder if he's aware how his father affects him. And then I wonder if it matters.

"I need you to drop off my dry cleaning," he says, voice distant. "The garment bag is on the couch."

Unsettled by the change in his demeanor, I sweep out of the house, snatching the pile of dress shirts on the back of the couch as I go. Truthfully, I can't wait to escape the watchful eyes of Luca Ivanov. But even as his admonishment echoes in my head—unacceptable—I can't help but smile like a fool the entire bus ride home.

I wiggle my fingers, relishing the pain and the memory of Nicholai's grin after witnessing his ex get decked in the face.

Worth it. It was so, so worth it.