Page 33 of The Bratva Betrayal

I don’t notice anything wrong until the sound hits my ears.

It’s not loud, just a sharp, clean rupture that cuts through the quiet of the afternoon.

My car window shatters inward, and I freeze with my hand still halfway inside the car while my brain is trying to catch up to what my eyes are seeing.

“Inside. Now.” Paul steps toward me, and his hand finds my arm and pulls me back from the car.

There’s no hesitation.

I let him guide me without arguing, my feet catching up a second later as he steers me toward the entrance of my high-rise apartment building.

Misha moves then, but not toward me.

He walks ahead of us, toward the building,

It takes me back, even though it shouldn’t. Misha is all about himself.

“Keep moving, Miss,” Paul says under his breath. “Almost there.”

The glass doors come into view, and he doesn’t let me slow down or turn back.

We’re inside before I process everything. The quiet hits differently in the lobby.

Paul doesn’t let go until we’re a few steps in, easing his grip just enough to give me space without stepping away completely.

“Stay here.” He’s already turning back toward the doors.

“Artem,” Misha says, and I turn to see him speaking into his phone.

“Someone shot at me.”

I can’t help but gape at him in disbelief. The bullet was closer to me than anyone.

“Just now,” he leers. “No… they missed. …I need you here now.”

So that’s his solution.

Call Artem.

Let someone else handle it.

I watch him for a second before my focus drifts past him toward the doors, and to the car I can’t see anymore.

The shot.

The glass.

The way it broke.

Clean.

Deliberate.

“Yeah, I am. …She’s fine, dude. Someone just tried to assassinate me.”

A dry, disbelieving laugh presses at the back of my throat, but I swallow it down.

Of course, that’s how he sees it.