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The room tightened around my words. Chairs creaked. Someone’s breath caught. I let the silence stretch just long enough to remind them that my patience was a mercy for them.

“When they came after us again,” I said, “we eliminated the threat. Nothing more. Nothing less. You understand, don’t you? A man like me has a name to defend.”

Across from me, one of Webster’s capos—a broad, bald slab of a man—half rose and slammed his fist onto the table hard enough to rattle the glasses.

“You didn’t have to kill them,” he snarled. “Who the hell do you think you⁠—”

A flash of silver cut through the air.

THWACK.

A knife embedded itself in the table so close to the man’s knuckles that the blade hummed from the force. I didn’t need to look. Only one person in this room threw steel with that kind of elegance and accuracy.

Fuck. Should have known he wouldn’t behave.

Yuriy pushed himself off the wall like a man bored with formalities and strolled to the other side of the table with a lazy, predatory ease. The room went deathly silent, all eyes dragging after him as if compelled, waiting to see what he would do. This wasn’t our turf after all. But where they thought we had come to make amends, Yuriy’s actions said the opposite.

“Seems like you haven’t trained your dogs well, Mancini,” he said, voice soft as silk but carrying enough threat to make the nearest man flinch. “But if you’re too gentle with them, I can break them in for you. I’m very hands-on. Comes naturally.”

“Who the fuck are you even?” Mancini snapped, temper fraying. “Bruno answers to me, not you.”

Yuriy gasped dramatically, clutching his heart. “Wow. Rude.” He spun toward me, lower lip jutting out in a theatrical pout. He was so beautiful. “You hear that, babe? I’m not as popular as you. Tragic. Truly humbling.”

My lips twitched, but I held back my grin. He was fucking crazy, but I… liked it. I liked him this way—cocky, carefree, and childish.

“Yuriy,” I said gently in warning. Any sterner and he was stubborn enough to dig his heels in and behave worse.

“I promise I’ll shut up as soon as this one apologizes for speaking to you.” He faced the Mancini wannabe again with a bright, poisonous smile. “Make him apologize.”

“I don’t think you understand where you are,” Mancini growled. “Have you forgotten this is my turf?”

“That’s what makes it more fun.” Yuriy closed his hand around the hilt of the knife, and in one swift, unhesitating motion⁠—

SHUNK.

He drove the blade straight through the man’s hand, pinning it to the table. Flesh parted. Wood splintered. Blood welled instantly. Bruno screamed, a wet, ragged sound that bounced off the polished walls. Mancini’s men moved, hands going to jackets, chairs scraping.

“If any of you move,” he said calmly, “it will be the last thing you do voluntarily.”

He didn’t have a single one of his own men there, yet he spoke with such confidence, trusting me without hesitation. Heat stirred low in my gut. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

Yuriy leaned in close to Bruno’s ear. “Now say sorry nicely, and I’ll forgive you. Use your words.”

“Zhukovsky.” Mancini rose from his chair, outrage fighting its way across his face. “Call him off this instant!”

I drummed my fingers on the arms of the chair. “Nothing I can do. Unfortunately, his stubborn ass doesn’t listen to me. And frankly, I have no desire to tame him.”

Not when he looked so completely in his element, calm and unbothered while another man bled because of him. Yuriy twisted the knife, and Bruno’s face turned pale.

“I’m sorry,” Bruno cried, tears spilling down his face. “I’m sorry. Please⁠—”

I walked toward Mancini, and his jaw flexed, resentment tightening every muscle in his face. I stopped near him so only he could hear me.

“If you don’t want to lose face in front of your men, send them out. Now. Or you’ll see just how much they turn on you when I make you get on your knees and beg for your life like a little bitch in front of them.”

His nostrils flared. He hated that I was right. Hated even more that he had no good move left. My advantage was that my name preceded me. I’d spent years cultivating an image that got half the work done before me these days. He’d thought having this meeting in his ivory tower would make him safe, but facing the reality that with me on his ass, nowhere was safe for him.

Slowly Mancini lifted his hand and gestured to the door.