Page 116 of The Bratva Betrayal

Not his face.

Not his face. His throat. A precise, deliberate choice that folds Manifold forward without a sound.

I look at the third party who just interrupted our conversation and see Artem.

The whole sequence takes fewer than two seconds, and the women browsing the rack six feet away haven’t even looked up yet.

Boulder moves in as Artem forces Manifold forward. Before I fully process what’s happening, the two of them are steering him toward the service corridor. SB stays beside me.

The whole thing happens so smoothly that no one nearby seems to realize anything is wrong.

A few seconds later, two muffled shots come from somewhere beyond the service door.

I go completely still.

The store keeps moving around me. Soft music. Low conversation. Women with their hands full of beautiful things and no idea what just happened twenty feet away.

I stare at the empty space between the racks where Lucas Manifold was standing less than a minute ago.

Then I think about cameras and the saleswoman two racks over refolding a cashmere sweater. I think about everything he said before.

A few seconds later, the service door opens and Artem walks back out alone. He looks at my face first before his eyes drop to my wrist.

He takes it carefully in both hands and turns it over, examining the marks Manifold left there with an attention that is at odds with what he just did forty seconds ago.

Gentle and methodical, running his thumb carefully over the reddened skin.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

He looks up from my wrist to my face, the controlled blankness giving way to something that isn’t quite soft but is the closest thing to it that I’ve seen from him.

“Lisichka…” He cups my face in one hand and tilts it up before pressing his lips to my forehead and holding them there.

Like he hadn’t just killed someone in the middle of the nightwear section.

I close my eyes and breathe because it’s the first full breath I’ve taken since Manifold closed his hand around my wrist.

“Nod. Scream. Do something,” Artem mutters as if my silence is driving him mad.

He always sounds so… worried.

I nod, hoping that it’s enough to show him I’m fine.

“Okay,” Artem says against my hair before moving away. “Come on.”

His hand moves to the small of my back, and he guides me toward the exit without rushing. Slow is less noticeable in a crowd.

I walk beside him and say nothing, thinking about everything Lucas Manifold said before Artem arrived.

It doesn’t matter anymore because he’s gone.

Dead.

Artem’s hand remains at my back and, somehow, it’s all the comfort I need.

It feels right.