He just kind of stared at you from across the ballroom.

The soft lighting caught the glint in your eyes, and your smile—God, your smile—it completely threw him off. For someone like him, who’d seen bloodshed, betrayal, and brutality, nothing ever made his heart race. Until now.

This was the first time he had ever felt something like this. The first time he saw you.

You were just standing there, laughing at something your friend said, totally unaware of the chaos you were causing on the other side of the room. He must’ve looked like an idiot, just standing there with a drink in hand, gawking at you like some teenage boy. And of course, his boss noticed.

Mikhail followed his line of sight, gave him a knowing smirk, and muttered under his breath, “Go talk to her before some other bastard does.”

Easier said than done.

Instead, he chickened out—leaned against the nearest marble column, trying to look bored and indifferent, like he hadn’t just mentally planned out a whole conversation he would never have the guts to start. He hoped, prayed, willed you to glance his way. Just once.

And then, just like clockwork, some guy approached you.

He watched your expression—how polite you remained, how you smiled, but it wasn’t the same as before. That smile, the real one, hadn’t come back yet. Still, something inside him sparked, flared.

Jealousy? Panic? Maybe both.

Whatever it was, it shoved him forward. He set his drink down with a quiet thud and made his way across the ballroom floor. Each step felt heavier than the last, his heart thudding against his ribs.

He didn’t walk like someone confident—he walked like someone trying very hard to appear confident. But his eyes? His eyes never left the guy who was talking to you.

And then he was there, sliding into the conversation like it was casual, like he belonged there.

He didn’t. And he knew it.

Still, he cleared his throat and gave a slight nod toward the guy as if to say your time’s up. Then he looked at you.

Up close, it was worse. You were even more beautiful in person. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but nothing came out. This wasn’t like him. He could shoot a man without blinking, make high-stakes deals without flinching, but speaking to a woman? Speaking to you?

He was lost.

You tilted your head slightly, waiting.

And all he managed to get out was, “Hi.”

But the way he said it—low, nervous, slightly raspy—told you more than he intended.

It wasn’t perfect. Hell, it wasn’t even smooth. But it was real.

And sometimes, real is enough to catch your attention.