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bathwater. She lay still for a few minutes, feeling the shakes in her legs subside.
    This thing with Andrey might be a problem. Especially since she still wanted to march over to wherever he was and demand they finish what they’d started in the kitchen. Galina finished cleaning her hair and rinsed out the conditioner. She stood, grabbing a towel from the stack she kept by the tub and wound herself in it.
    Andrey was a Rom. He might be the Alpha of his organization but her father would still have pups if he found out she was anywhere near him. Galina was a rare she-wolf, not to mention the youngest daughter of the Sudenkos. There were expectations. And slumming with a Rom—because that’s how her family would see it—wasn’t one of them.
    Galina didn’t give two figs about him being Romani. She thought the old ways were just that: old. People should rise through the ranks of the Volk Organizatsiya based on merit, not on birthright or were-status or family background. It was ridiculous how many talented and capable people were shunted off into lesser jobs just because they didn’t bear the Sudenko name or carry the were-gene. It was stupid and wasteful.
    She dried herself and pulled on her bathrobe. The feel of the soft chenille on her over-sensitized skin made her sigh with relief. It had been a long day and an even longer night. Wrapping her towel around her wet hair, Galina got into bed. In a few hours, she had to be over at Irina’s house to check on her, and then she wanted to talk to her father. He wasn’t going to leave her in the dark about the shooting. She would make him include her.
    Her eyes grew heavy, sleep dragging her down into comforting darkness. Before she was lost to it completely, she remembered Andrey’s growl of desire on the phone and smiled. She hoped to see him tomorrow too.

5
    The Morning-After Blues
    G ALINA A ND F RANNY V ALENTI , Irina’s very human best friend, walked up the stone steps that led to Irina’s front door. Two men sat in a black car directly across from the house, one man inside—Papa’s security detail. She stopped at the large wood and glass front door and used the coded knock that would alert the guard inside that she was family so he didn’t blow her head off her neck as soon as the door opened. Papa’s guards tended toward the over-reactive.
    Stepping inside the house, Galina’s nose was hit with the smell of strong coffee brewing. Heels clicking across the stone tiles, she led the way to the cozy white-and-blue kitchen.
    She heard voices and called, “I’m here! And I brought Franny! And cinnamon rolls! But mostly Franny!”
    Irina and Viktor turned to them, the conversation they’d obviously been having forgotten. It almost seemed like they’d been arguing. Galina cocked her head, eyeing her sister and Viktor carefully.
    “It’s good to know where I rank compared to breakfast pastries,” Franny muttered, giving Irina a hug. “How you doing, kid?”
    Her sister glanced at Viktor, who excused himself to the living room. Galina raised an eyebrow but said nothing. There was an energy between Irina and Viktor, but perhaps she was reading into it. He had been there when Sergei was shot, maybe that was all it was.
    “Would it be wrong to say I’m relieved?” Irina asked, wincing.
    “Not to anyone who’d met Sergei,” Galina deadpanned, pouring coffee for herself and Franny. Franny toasted her with the mug.
    “Galya,” Irina admonished her. “We can’t talk like that. It’s too soon.”
    Galina pursed her lips. Just because Sergei was dead didn’t mean he was suddenly less of an asshole in life. “Why the hell not? Do you think Viktor’s going to tell on us?” Galina jerked her head in the direction of the living room, where Viktor stood.
    “Look, Irina, whoever shot Sergei did you a big favor. I know you have to put on a proper public show and be the tragic widow for a while. But in private, here with us, we expect you to actually have