The pistol weighs heavily at my hip, tucked away in the waistband of the black linen pants that sit stiffly around my legs. I don't wear suits. They're uncomfortable and make the act of killing all the more difficult, but tonight it's unavoidable. Sebastian Volkov is heir to the Russian crime mob and just like every other snotty prick of his caliber, requires dress up for his parties.

His little castle is cute. The mansion must be five stories stacked with white pillars and french doors. Probably built for him, directly from a floor plan he sketched himself.

I wasn't invited but I don't think he'll mind. After tonight, there won't be a single thought floating through his brain. Sebastian Volkov will be dead.

The interior looks like a princess threw up everywhere. Wide-set spiral staircase, marble flooring, diamond chandelier. My lip curls before I can stop it. I have money. Lots of it. I couldn't imagine spending it on creating a teenage girl's wet dream.

The den is overflowing with people. I recognize a few of them and quickly tuck my head before they can catch sight me. None of them are particularly notable, just old money, mobster families, and a few women I've fucked. Okay, maybe more than a few, but tonight I don't have time to humor them.

I sigh, jaw clenching as I brush my hand over the subtle metallic bulge over my waistband. It's impossible to spot Volkov's head through such a crowd. The hardness of the little pistol reassures me but I refuse to put a finger on why. Can't be the fact that when my hand wraps around the worn handle the image of stubborn golden eyes push into the forefront of my mind.

A tug on my suit jacket sleeve pulls me away from the thought. Probably a good thing even though I can tell this interaction is going to give me a headache.

Big brown eyes meet mine, a meek smile stretching over her lips. "Hi. Who are you?"

She's cute, I guess. Tiny and delicate, dressed in a classy pink gown fit for royalty, wavy brown hair tied up in an elegant updo. Her mouth is full and pouty, face perfectly symmetrical but round in a way that indicates that she's still young.

I gently pry her hand from my bicep. Her grip is strong for such a tiny thing. "Sorry, sweetheart. Don't have time to chat."

To my surprise, she steps in closer. I tense as she narrows those innocent eyes upon me. "I didn't invite you."

I don't move, hiding the sliver of confusion that flashes inside of me with a slow grin. It's the one I save for the women when I want them to melt in their shoes. "Plus one."

As far as I knew, this was Volkov's party. They're a private family so it was hard to milk information from distant sources but it should have been true all the same. Someone is getting their throat cut tonight.

She softens a bit. "Who'd you come with? One of daddy's acquaintances?"

My smile almost falters. Daddy? Who is this girl? "What's it to a little girl like you anyway?"

"Little?" Her chin tilts up stubbornly in a way that reminds me of another strong-willed brat. "This is my eighteenth birthday party."

I snort.

"I want you to dance with me," she says, reaching for my hand.

I snake my arm away, distaste clenching my stomach. "What if I came with another woman?"

"So what if you did?" She crosses her arms over her jeweled corset. "It's my party. My night. If what I want is you, then I'll have it."

My hands clench at my side, the heat of my temper slowly crawling in my chest. I huff a quick breath to cool it. I'm not a man to be trusted but that doubles once I'm angry and I don't need to be ripping out the throats of entitled princesses tonight. "Don't you have someone your own age to mess with?"

"Идиот," she mumbles, rolling her eyes. "Do I need to repeat myself?"

I stiffen, suddenly able to pick up the subtle harsh lilt of her words. How could I have ever missed such an important detail?

It's been too long since I've last done this. My mind is getting lazy, attention to detail glazing over time.

"You're lucky she's only an acquaintance. You could make some very powerful women angry with that attitude." I force my hand out, resisting the urge to tear my palm away as her cold fingers meet mine. It's a strange sensation, almost concerning with its foreignness. She's a pretty thing even if she's too young for my taste. I've never been reluctant for a woman's touch. "Remind me of your name again?"

She frowns. "Juliet."

"Volkov, right?"

Her eyes narrow suspiciously. Maybe she's smarter than what I'm giving her credit for. "Of course. What, did they just bring you for eye candy? Either you don't have a lot going on up there or you're not familiar with this world."

I stay out of mafia bullshit when I can so I only know what's surface level. Unless I have a victim in mind. In this case, someone neglected to tell me everything they were supposed to.

Sebastian Volkov has a little sister. And here she is, practically falling over herself to have a taste of me. I almost laugh at the easiness of it all.

I let her lead me to the dance floor, watching her fold my hands into the dip of her waist as she sways to the music. I don't dance, but if I did, it definitely wouldn't be to this pretentious bullshit. What is that, a harp?

"Tell me your name," she says, fitting her hands on my shoulders. I don't miss the way she slowly creeps her arms closer to my neck.

I snort. "Don't little girls like you thrive in the mystery of it all? The danger?"

She scowls. "Tell me."

"Henry," I offer monotony. I don't care if it sounds convincing or not. She seems more concerned with popping her cherry than getting to know the monster she's latching onto.

She huffs. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

I shrug, casting another easy grin upon her. The action makes her lips quickly screw together. "Maybe I'll be willing to tell you later tonight. You'll have to see if you can survive what you're getting yourself into first, little one."

That does the trick. Her face heats so brightly I'm surprised she doesn't combust in my arms as she mutters flustered Russian babbles under her breath.

"Мать Мария, спаси меня," she sighs, looking unsure whether she should swoon or run away as fast as possible. She surprises me by doing neither, wrapping her arms around the back of my neck and pushing her body close to mine. "Kiss me."

"Whoa, little girl." I grab one of her hands from where it twists around my neck like a snake preparing for its next meal. She has a jagged metal ring around her middle finger, shaped into a tiny crown. It catches my skin as I pull her away from me, tucking her arm back to her side. Crimson wells around the small cut and trickles down my palm. Something doesn't sit right with me about this.

Her delicate face pulls into a frown as she moves to twine herself around me again. I stop the movement, smearing a small line of blood over her forearm in the process.

We both stare at it. My gaze fixed in mild concern, hers in disgust. Such a tiny cut should have healed immediately. Then again, I haven't been able to feed properly with so many distractions, haven't wanted to unless it involves my small, annoying prisoner. I must be in a weakened state.

She takes the opportunity to step forward, pushing her mouth against mine. She tastes like cherry lip gloss with a sweet hint of birthday cake. I don't step away but I don't get a lick of enjoyment out of it either.

I wait until she takes her fill before leaning away. She lets me, heavy-lidded chocolate eyes sparkling with a desperation for more.

"Finished?" I say, careful to keep my face blank. Careful to keep the urge to push her away from leaking into my limbs.

"Again," she mumbles, already closing her eyes and shifting forward.

Her lips never make contact. A hand wraps around my collar, yanking me away from her tiny body.

I tense, muscles quaking with strain to keep still. All of this is too much for me, the rage building in my soul growing hotter at each passing second.

I turn my head, prepared to rip his fingers off one by one, but my body stills in astonishment.

Juliet has noticed the presence as well. She pales, taking in the dark form that faintly radiates displeasure behind me. The same one I've studied in dozens of distantly taken photographs.

"Seb," she mumbles, hand reaching forward as if she's going to push him off of me before thinking better of it and dropping her arm back to her side. "Брат. What are you doing?"

((a/n: All translations are done through the internet so I apologize for any mistakes. Translations read idiot; Mother Mary save me; Brother.))