Page 8 of Bratva's Intern

He bit his bottom lip as if contemplating backing down. He squared his shoulders. “Are you going to the back of the line or not? Your fancy suit doesn’t mean you’re better than anyone else.”

“You have no idea who I am, do you?”

He rolled his eyes, sticking his nose in the air. A lock of hair fell on his cheek.

“I don’t care if you’re the president. It’s rude to cut the line.”

I drummed my fingers on the counter. The barista was taking way too long with my coffee.

“How about I make up for it by paying for your coffee?” I asked. “In fact, I’ll pay for everyone’s coffee for the inconvenience.”

“All right.”

“Thanks, man.”

A chorus of approval came from behind us. The young man looked heartbroken, betrayed. I almost felt sorry for him. He had the dejected look of someone who still believed that people were inherently good.

Too bad one day he would learn that even babies were little devils waiting to grow into their horns.

“Your coffee’s ready, sir.” The barista reappeared, holding a steaming cup of coffee like it was a peace offering.

Finally. I reached for the cup, but before my fingers could close around it, the boy snatched it with a smug grin, holding it aloft like some kind of trophy. “I believe it was my turn,” he said breezily and turned away. “Appreciate it.”

“But that’s not your coffee!” the barista cried.

I stared, momentarily stunned by the sheer audacity. Without a backward glance, he weaved through the tables to a corner booth where a pretty blonde sat. She frowned at himas he slid into the seat across from her, but the corners of her mouth twitched in amusement when he held up the cup like a prize.

A slow burn of irritation curled through me, but it was quickly overtaken by something sharper—curiosity.

“Sir, I’m so sorry,” the barista said. “I’ll get you another cup right away and ban him from the coffee shop.”

I shook my head, still watching as the boy took a sip from my coffee. He stared right into my eyes, malicious and smug, then pulled a face. Served him right. Black coffee didn’t suit him. I already pegged him for a creamer.

Fuck.

My mind derailed to a different type of creaming.

“It’s fine.” I nodded to the barista. “Charge all their orders to me.”

“That’s quite generous of you, sir.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

What the hell was wrong with me? I didn’t even apologize for drawing blood. Why was it so important today to compensate others? I merely used my power to get what I wanted when I wanted.

My gaze strayed to the young man again.

Hmm.

The barista was saying something, but I walked away.Histable was out of the way of the exit. The inconvenience didn’t stop me from approaching him. My shoes clicked against the tiled floor.

“Uh-oh, we’ve got trouble,” his blonde companion whispered. “I have mace.”

And I had a gun. Tucked neatly in the waistband of my pants and concealed by my jacket.

The young man snapped up his head, narrowing his hazel eyes as I reached down and plucked the cup from his hands.

“What are you?—”

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