Page 77 of The Bratva Betrayal

But his calm makes me even more uneasy.

I look around the kitchen, at the clean lines of it and the absence of anything personal or warm.

Functional.

Cold.

"He sent roses," I say, because I can't help it. I’m about to burst about this alleged engagement.

Artem picks up his coffee. "I know."

"Twenty dozen."

"I know."

"I hate roses."

He looks at me over the rim of his cup. "Congratulations.”

“You can’t mean that.”

"I don't."

"Then why say it?”

"Seemed like the thing to say." He sets down his cup.

I suppress the scoff that wants to break free from my lips. "I came here to speak with Misha."

"About the engagement."

"About something personal."

"The engagement."

"That's my business."

He tilts his head. "Is it your shopping addiction? You're about to be a Makarov."

“I bet you love that.”

Something ticks inside his jaw; that’s the first sign that he’s not a fan. “I’m not loving that he sent two hundred and forty roses and a commitment you’re about to shove up his ass.”

His eyes stay on mine. “So, what’s the game plan? You’re not impressed.”

“Do I look impressed?”

“Needed a shopping spree, too, Lisichka?”

“No.”

He pushes his lips out as if he’s being thoughtful about the situation. “So, you’re not saying yes?”

"I didn't say anything. I came here."

"To say no."

"To speak with Misha."