That draws a snort from me. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black if I’ve ever heard it. Only one of us assaulted a sitting congressman tonight, and it wasn’t me.”
He broods. Then: “I thought he had you.”
I exhale slowly. “So you’re telling me,” I venture, picking at the hem of my dress, “that the lawyer of the year, the cool-headed assassin, the Blue-Eyed Bastard himself, lost his s**t at a black-tie wedding because he was scared for me?”
“Huh?” He lofts a brow.
“I don’t know what to do with that, Matvei. Nobody’s ever lost their s**t over me. Not since Giana died.”
He comes toward me, finally, and sinks to a seat on the floor at my side. “Then I’d say it’s overdue.”
I look down at my hands. My ring is catching the firelight in fractured bursts, ugly and bright. I think about how
