Page 26 of The Bratva Betrayal

"Do I look like someone interested in having dinner with my brother's girlfriend?"

"A man has to eat."

"Not if the food is coming from you."

I let out a huff of amusement before dipping my chin. "Then enjoy the rest of your night, Mr. Makarov."

I move to step around him, but he moves just enough to stop me.

The realization settles between us. My breath catches, small enough that I pray he doesn't notice.

But he does, and his attention sharpens almost unnoticeably. "What do I get out of this, Lisichka?"

I glance back up at him. "Excuse me?"

"You should've picked me instead." His voice drops dangerously low. "I'm closer to the information you're looking for."

He isn't wrong. And that would have been more ideal. I bet the sex alone would've been more my style.

However, Artem doesn't date. I've looked into that.

"I like Misha." The words feel unconvincing. "And I'm not trying to create problems for the Volkov family. That's not my intention."

“You're lying again," Artem mutters. "Because you've gotten closer to me without realizing it. And I could fuck you harder than eight of him combined, Lisichka." He allows his gaze to drop down the length of me. "You look like a princess who likes to be tossed around a little bit while you gag on good cock. Let me know if you change your mind."

Then, just as deliberately as he created the pressure, he steps back and releases it.

The loss of it is immediate.

He disappears into the crowd a second later.

I force myself not to look after him.

I need to stay away from him. No dinner. No proximity. No opportunities for him to look too closely. If I stay in his orbit for too long, he’ll start pulling things apart.

And I have a feeling he'd enjoy unraveling me most of all.

6

Cady

There's something about quiet that makes everything feel louder than it should.

My thoughts don't have anywhere to go when there's nothing else competing with them. They just settle in, stretch out, and replay things I probably shouldn't be holding onto.

Tonight, it's Artem.

He came in quietly and dropped one warning to back off the Volkov line or end up in a freshly dug grave with no marker.

It would be quiet and calculated, efficient enough that no one would have time to interfere, and clean enough that nothing ties back to him unless he wants it to.

Maybe a hand at the back of my neck, a soft word in my ear. Or something simpler: a car that never makes it where it's supposed to go. Something written off as an accident.

I've heard stories like this my whole life and seen enough to know the difference between rumors and reality.

I know what kind of man he is.

Which means I know what kind of risk I'm taking by not listening to him.