Page 7 of Bratva Claim

Sienna

I tell myself this isn’t a big deal.

It’s just a delivery.

Same as yesterday.

Nothing to overthink.

And yet, as I check my reflection in my car’s sun visor mirror for the third time, it’s clear that I am, in fact, overthinking.

The makeup is minimal. A little mascara, some concealer, and a swipe of tinted lip balm. Just enough to look put together but not like I’m trying.

Because I’m not.

Obviously.

Shoving my visor up, I grab the large pastry box from the passenger seat and head toward the building. The same receptionist is at the front desk, looking just as polished and bored as before.

She gives me the same slow, unimpressed once-over but doesn’t say a word as she taps something on her keyboard.

Finally, she gestures toward the elevators. “Top floor.”

Cool. Good talk.

Balancing the pastry box against my hip, I press the button and wait, mentally hyping myself up.

He’s just a customer.

In a very tall building.

It doesn’t matter that he’s handsome.

He’s just a guy.

Big deal.

Who cares?

The doors slide open and I step inside, rehearsing what I just said in the elevator, but it falls flat.

I immediately realize this isnotthe same as yesterday. There are men in suits.Severalof them. They’re gathered around a sleek, dark wooden table near the floor-to-ceiling windows, with papers and tablets in front of them. The air is thick with quiet conversation, a low hum of serious voices speaking in… Russian?

They barely glance my way, but I still feel the shift of energy in the room like I’ve interrupted something important.

Benedikt is at the head of the table, leaning back in his chair, but he’s noticed my arrival.

He’s cool, collected, and unfazed.

Why can’t I be?

I lift the box slightly. “Pastries?”

He exhales through his nose, stands, and gestures toward his desk. “There.”

I walk past the suits, keenly aware of their presence, and carefully set down the box, straightening a little before turning back around.

I feel his eyeseverywhere.