Page 78 of The Bratva Betrayal

"To say no." I want to scream. "You don't know what I'm going to say, but I love keeping you on edge.”

“That’d be adorable, if you were capable.” He unfolds his arms. "You're going to walk in here, and you're going to look at my brother with that face you make when you're performing something you don't feel, and you're going to try to end it without telling him why."

"I don't have a face."

"You have several," he responds. "That's one of them."

I take a step back and reach into my jacket pocket, closing my fingers around the handle of the small blade I've carried since I was nineteen.

I pull it out, not because I really think I’ll need to use it. Just to make a point, the flat of the blade resting against my palm.

Artem looks at it.

Then he looks at me.

Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth moves.

"Is that all for me?"

"It's a precaution."

"Against what? I'm not armed."

"You don't need to be."

Something in his eyes shifts at that.

He looks down at the knife again and then back up at my face with an expression that says he finds this whole situation amusing.

“Lisichka…” The name in his mouth carries a wave of goosebumps along my skin. "That knife is four inches long. I've had papercuts more threatening."

"It's three and a half inches, and it'll do the job."

"Of what, specifically?”

"Of reminding you that I have options."

"You always have options. That's what I keep trying to tell you."

He's close now.

Too close.

The counter is solid against my back, but my knife hand isn't shaking.

"You should step back." I’m proud that my voice doesn’t crack.

"You should put the knife away."

"Simultaneously, then."

"I don't negotiate."

"Neither do I."

Neither of us moves.

The kitchen is quiet, and I'm aware of everything.