Page 60 of The Bratva Betrayal

"Not currently."

I glance up. "That's unfortunate."

I manage almost ten minutes of silence before movement catches my attention. Not because I want to know what he's doing. Because every time Artem gets quiet for too long, it means he's about to become a problem.

Sure enough, when I glance up, he's standing on the opposite side of my desk.

Holding half the sandwich I’d brought in with me to eat.

Slowly, I lift my eyes back to him. "Did you just steal my lunch?"

"Yes."

I stare.

He stares back.

Neither of us says anything.

Finally, I lean back in my chair. " Do you always touch things that aren't yours?"

"I haven't touched you yet."

Yet.

The word sits between us, and he doesn't take it back or look away. He doesn't do anything except stand there holding my sandwich. Another man would backtrack, laugh it off, pretend it was a joke. Artem is waiting to see what I do with it.

"And you're never going to," I tell him flatly. "Go home, Artem. This is me telling you that I don't want you here. I don't need you here. Fuck off."

He takes another bite of my sandwich.

"You still mad about the whole brother thing, Lisichka?"

Nostrils flaring, I begin to Google openly and silently, typing out how to kill someone and make it look like natural causes.

I don’t even get to hit enter before Artem offers, “Carbon monoxide. You won’t even need to worry about the self-defense part.”

This asshole reads lips, too.

My brows pull together. “They’d pick that up in the autopsy report.”

“Then why didn’t you die?”

“Because I killed you.”

I point to the door. “Then take your important ass and get out of my penthouse.”

“Eat your sandwich, Lisichka. You’re cranky.”

“You stole it.”

“You weren’t eating it.”

“I was working.”

“And now you’re talking.”

I hate him. I really do.