Page 46 of The Bratva Betrayal

“I think,” she continues matter-of-factly, “that you’re so used to everyone around you being terrified that you don’t know what to do with someone who isn’t.”

“That’s cute.”

“Is it?”

“You should be scared of me.”

“I’m not. And you will not ruin my day.”

“I am definitely going to ruin your day.”

“I’m going shopping. Not to a secret spy meeting.”

“Sounds fun.”

Her nostrils flare. “You are not coming.”

“Watch me.”

Her eyes narrow. “You’re going to follow me into stores? I’m going to make you carry my bags.”

“Fat chance.”

“Then I’ll lose you.”

“Would love to see you try.”

“This is psychotic behavior.”

“I’ve done worse.”

“I’m sure you have.”

She turns away again, muttering something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like “asshole” while I watch her pace.

Sunlight spills across her skin, highlighting her red curls while the city stretches behind her.

For one dangerous second, I stop focusing on what she might know or be hiding.

Instead, I think about bending her over this fucking island in the kitchen.

“You’re staring again,” she says without turning around.

“You wear tiny shorts around men and act surprised when they look?”

She glances over her shoulder. “I don’t mind them looking. It’s you I mind. I’m dating your brother. I’m fucking your brother. You don’t get to look.”

“I’m invested now.”

Her head rears back a little. “In what?”

My gaze locks onto hers again. “You.”

10

Artem

I’m standing in Saks Fifth Avenue, holding shopping bags, while two women pop into and out of dressing rooms like it’s a goddamn military operation.