"Don't be ridiculous." I turn my back on him and stalk to the bar in the corner of the living room. If I'm going to have this conversation, I'd like to be at least halfway drunk. "We've texted a bit for the last few weeks. That's it. She's not a threat."
"I bet you thought that about Katerina, too."
I pour myself a bit more whiskey than I mean to. And my voice, when it emerges, is angrier than I meant for it to be. "I was eighteen when I met Katerina. She wasn't always Satan in Louboutins."
"I was around back then, in case you forgot. I was also the only one of the three of us not blinded by some early boobs and a gift for makeup. Trust me, brother: she always had horns and a pitchfork."
I take a sip of whiskey. The burning liquid scorches on the way down, but it anchors me back into t
