Vivaldi’s b‘/bFour Seasonsb‘ /bdrifted through the ballroom as I typed out a bresponse /bto Ethan’stest bmessage/bb. /b

b“/bbHey/bb, /bbbeauty/bb, /bhonor me with a danceb?/bb” /bNight appeared bbeside /bmeb, /bbextending /bhis hand with exaggerated formality. bHis /bbgray /bbeyes /bgleamed with mischief under the crystal chandeliers.

b“/bPass,” I breplied /bwithout looking up, tapping out a response to Ethan’stest message. My phone buzzed almost immediately bwith /bhis reply.

Night peered over my shoulder, his smile fading as he spotted Ethan’s name. “Seriously? You’re texting Haxton while ignoring bme/bb?/bb” /b

I’ll dance with you if she won’t,” Chris joked, reaching for Night’s hand.

Night swatted Chris’s hand away like it carried the gue. “Fuck off,” he muttered, ring at him.

“Can’t you see she’s busyb?/b” Chrisughed, nodding toward my phone.

Night’s jaw tightened as he looked back at my screen. “Are you actually into that old man? Haxton’s gotta bbe /bwhat–thirtyb?/b”

I ignored him.

“Don’t be like that,” Night persisted, his tone hardening. “That guy isn’t right for you. I don’t like him.”

I turned my face away, refusing to engage.

Chris stepped between usb, /bying peacemaker. “Rx, man. They’re just friends at this point, maybe with a little interest. That’s miles away from dating or anything serious. You’re acting like she’s about to marry him. What’s with the tension?”

“If he wants to pursue my baby, it won’t be easy,” Night dered, his ent thickening with emotion.

I rolled my eyes and slipped my phone into my clutch. “Are we leaving or what? I’ve had enough Russian elites for one night.”

Night checked his watch. “It’s early, but I suppose we’ve made enough of an appearance.”

We made our excuses to our host and slipped out through the side entrance where Night’s ck SUV waited. The valet handed Night the keys with a respectful nod.

bAs /bwe settled into the vehicle, Moscow’s lights glittered against the night sky. Night started the engine, and we pulled away from the opulent estate.

b“/bHow long before Hunter tries something stupid?” Chris asked from the backseat, loosening his tie.

“Seven minutes,” I answered, checking my pistol’s magazine before sliding it back into ce with a satisfying click.

Night bnced /bbat /bme through the rearview mirror. “That specific, huh? I say ten minutes minimum.”

b“/bbI’ll /bgo with four minutes,” Chris added, leaning forward between the seats. “His ego can’t handle waiting any longer than that. Want bto /bmake it interestingb?/bb” /b

b“/bbSure/bb,/bb” /bNight breplied/b. b“/bLoser btakes /bbthe /bpoker bdebt /bfrom earlierb./bb” /b

b“/bbDeal/bb, /bbNight /bbagreed/bb, /bbpressing /bbthe /belerator. The bSUV /bbsurged /bforward, engine bgrowling /bbas /bwe bhit /bbthe /bmain road.

bAs /bbwe /bbapproached /bbthe /bmercial districtb, /bbthe /bstreets grew quieter. bI /bcounted down silentlyb, /bwatching the shadows between buildings. bRight /bbon /bcueb, /bheadlights shed from bside /bstreets bas /bmultiple ck bSUVS /bconverged on our position.

b*/bbRight /bbon /bbtime/b, I murmured bas /bNight swerved bto /bavoid ba /bcollision.

The first shots pinged against our reinforced doors. They were aiming at bthe /btires and engine bblock/bb–/bbnot /bthe windows. Whoever was shooting clearly wanted to disable the bvehicle/bb, /bnot kill its upants.

b“/bSeven minutes exactly,b” /bChris noted, checking his watch. “Jade wins.”

Night cursed in Russian bas /bhe jerked the wheelb, /btrying to break through the encirclement. More vehicles appeared, forming a blockade across the road ahead. He mmed on the brakes, bringing us to a skidding halt.

“Twelve vehicles, at least twenty–five men,” I counted, peering through the tinted windows. “They’ve been waiting for bus/bb./b”

Night didn’t hesitate. He rolled down his window just enough to extend his arm and fired three precise shots. Two of Hunter’s men dropped immediately.

A familiar figure emerged from behind an armored car–Hunter Whitmore, his arm and leg still bandaged from his self–inflicted wounds bat /bthe party. He stayed behind cover, shouting through a megaphone.

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