Page 61 of The Bratva Betrayal

He follows me around, steals my food, and shot my car yesterday. But somehow, none of that is the part getting under my skin.

Every time I start making progress, he finds a way to pull my attention back to him.

Judging by the look in his eyes, the bastard knows it, and he's testing how far he can push before I snap.

"You're staring," he says without looking up.

I turn my attention back to my laptop, forcing myself to refocus on Lucas Manifold's profile, on the articles and schedules and carefully curated image he presents to the world—untouchable on the surface, with something underneath no one is supposed to see.

I read the same paragraph three times because he's staring at me.

Manifold's latest press release is full of promises about public safety and community outreach, and not a single word helps me because Artem continues to chip away at my last nerve.

"I've been thinking about your shopping problem," he says.

My fingers pause over the keyboard before I force myself to keep typing. "I don't have a shopping problem."

"You're fishing for information for your daddy, right?"

"No."

"It's the reason you’re dating my brother."

That pulls a slow blink out of me, because there are a lot of assumptions a person can make about my life, but that one feels like a jab.

"Excuse me?"

"He's not your type."

I scoff haughtily. "Don't presume to know my type. I guarantee I'll disappoint you."

"Doubt it."

My office isn't small. The desk alone could comfortably seat six people.

Yet the room feels noticeably smaller when Artem comes around my desk and stops beside my chair.

I keep my eyes on my screen and my hands on my keyboard, and I breathe normally, forcing myself to pretend that I am completely unbothered by six feet, two inches of brooding Russian standing close enough to feel his warmth.

"You didn't answer the question," he says.

I tilt my head. "Which question?"

"Are you dating my brother because you want him, or because it gets you what you need?"

I look at him a moment longer than it should.

"I don't need your analysis of my personal life," I finally say.

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you're getting."

Artem's eyes stay locked on mine like he's waiting for a crack to show.

He shifts, one hand coming to rest on the edge of my desk.

"You know what I think?" he says quietly.