“Mmm,” Sergei said, nodding his head. “This I understand. Evette can be the same.” He aimed a conspiratorial grin at Kir. “Unless, of course, I’ve given her good reason to be relaxed.”

Kir shifted his attention to his hand resting on the chair’s arm. Talking with Roman, or even Sergei, about women in general was one thing. Talking about his pakhan’s bride was a barrier he wasn’t comfortable breaching.

Sergei must have sensed his hesitancy because he kept going. “I’ve decided it’s an American thing. They have a harder time sitting still and simply enjoying the world around them.”

“Perhaps. But for Cassie, I suspect it’s driven more by her family.”

“How so?”

Kir shrugged. “Cassie tells me her family is quite learned. All scientists of one kind or another. They consider her to be a black sheep of sorts.”

“Unfortunate.”

“It is. She’s very driven and talented. Why they don’t see that, regardless of her career, I don’t understand.”

Sergei nodded and tapped the ashes from his cigar into the standing ashtray between their chairs. “And how is she helping you?”

And that right there was why Sergei was their vor. His stealthy ability to loosen the tongues of those he dealt with and then slide seamlessly to the heart of a topic was a gift he’d honed over many years. “She interviewed many people after we dealt with Alfonsi.”

“So?”

The memory of Kevin’s death-shrouded body leapt to mind, the same stinging outrage he’d felt that night igniting right behind it. “She has insights to those who might have a grudge against us. Have some clue we might be aware of as to who might want revenge for our actions.”

“And does Miss McClintock know the extent of what she’s helping you with?”

“Nyet.”

“Why not?”

The question caught him off guard. “Because she’s a reporter. I wouldn’t risk her reporting on what’s happened at this juncture. It’s better we keep that information to ourselves. More than that, I wouldn’t want her drawn into anyone’s line of fire.”

Sergei’s mouth twitched. “And what would you do if someone were to act against Miss McClintock?”

A white-hot fury blasted through him, stealing his breath and locking all of his muscles tight. He knew he needed to speak. To say something—anything—rational or logical.

But the words wouldn’t come. Couldn’t get past the fist-sized knot in his throat.

Twisting his head, Sergei smiled. Not a smug action, so much as one of abiding patience and understanding. “Tell me again, moy brat, that she is not your woman.”

Fuck.

His muscles ached to move. A violent roar that desperately needed release seemed to swell and ricochet behind his sternum. He didn’t want a woman. Didn’t trust them. Couldn’t afford to. Not now. Not when he finally had the respect and opportunity he’d craved and been denied his whole life.

“Our pasts do not define us,” Sergei said as though reading his thoughts. “Nor do our parents. If that were the case, I’d be a drunken sot eking out a meager existence on the docks in Russia.”