Page 24 of The Bratva Betrayal

"Looking through things that don't belong to you."

The warning is clear.

I let a faint crease form between my brows. "I think you're overestimating me."

"I don't overestimate anything."

"Then maybe you're misunderstanding," I counter.

"I'm not." The certainty in his voice settles between us. "I know what you were doing. And I know what you were looking at."

I don't respond right away because this is the problem. Not that I got caught. But that he's the one who caught me. Artem doesn't miss things, and he doesn't let them go. I'm either going to flirt my way out of this, or he's going to make sure I'm not a threat to his precious bratva.

"If you're going to keep dating my brother," he continues, his gaze sharpening, "you should try being better at it."

I perk a brow. "Did he say that?"

"He doesn't talk about you at all."

"I hope you're joking," I emit, even though I don't care. "I like him."

"Then you're stupider than I thought."

Okay, that's enough.

"Was that all?" I cross my arms. "Or did you come all the way over here to insult my intelligence? I would think Benedikt Volkov would have you running around doing whatever it is you do."

"You know what I do."

I shrug. "I don't go looking into people who have nothing to do with me."

"Then you are stupider than I thought. Because you were in my house, looking through our shit."

"I was shopping."

"Break up with him."

Mindlessly, I make a face because he has to be joking. "And if I don't?"

"I'll take care of it for you."

The meaning lands the way he intends it to. Clear. Final.

My pulse jumps again, harder this time, but I don't step back or break eye contact. Instead, I study him.

"Is that concern?" I ask quietly. "Or a threat?"

"Yes."

The answer is immediate, and it almost pulls a laugh out of me. God, he's an asshole. A dangerous one. And worse, he knows what he is.

"Donation table's still that way," I murmur, nodding toward the front of the room. "Feel free to get a drink at the bar as well."

His gaze drops to my lips, not lingering long enough to be obvious but not brief enough to be accidental either, before returning to my eyes with a level of focus that feels sharpened rather than softened.

"I'm not donating anything here," he says evenly.

"No?" I ask.