Ruthless Bratva King (New York Russian Mafia Kings #1)

10. Elena

10

ELENA

M y apartment is just as I left it—silent and still, the air thick with the echoes of some terrible occurrence.

Veronica sets her bag down and turns to me, hands on her hips. “Okay, let’s do this. Gather up the sketchbooks, oh talented one.”

“We don’t have to?—”

“Don’t even think about it,” she interrupts, going through to my room. I find her flipping through the pages when I catch up.

“These are good,” she says after a moment, holding up a page. It’s a sketch of a sleek modern library with a spiral staircase and floor-to-ceiling windows.

I smile faintly. “That one was for a competition. My dad called it ‘impractical garbage.’”

“Your dad was wrong, as always,” Veronica replies bluntly. “This is amazing.”

I feel a strange mix of pride and pain as she goes through the rest of the stack. These designs represent a part of me I’ve long tried and failed to bury, a part that still aches for validation I’ll never get from my family.

When she reaches the last page, something falls out—a scrap of paper folded into a small square.

“What’s this?” Veronica asks, holding it up.

I take it from her and unfold it. A single address is scrawled across the paper in my dad’s messy handwriting, and I read it twice, committing it to memory. I’m good with that kind of thing.

“I don’t know,” I say, frowning. “I’ve never seen this before.”

Veronica peers over my shoulder. “Could be a clue. Maybe your dad was hiding a secret lair.”

I snort. “Yeah, because he was definitely the supervillain type.”

“Hey, stranger things have happened.” She thumbs over her shoulder in the direction of the bathroom. “I gotta pee. Back in a minute.”

I pile up the sketchbooks on the coffee table in the lounge, my eyes flicking back to the scrap of paper. Could that address mean something?

It stares back at me as if daring me to figure out its significance.

I shake my head. “It’s probably nothing,” I mutter under my breath.

The sound of the front door clicking is so soft I almost don’t notice it, but when it eases open with a creak, every nerve in my body goes taut.

I look up in time to see Dmitri walking inside. He moves with practiced ease, slipping a set of lock-picks into his jacket pocket.

A sharp gasp escapes me before I can suppress it, and his face splits into a smile when he sees it’s me.

“Good morning, moya lisitsa ,” he says smoothly.

Outrage overtakes my shock. “What the hell are you doing here?” I snap.

For a moment, he simply stares at me, his expression unreadable. Then, he glances toward the bathroom, as the sound of the toilet flushing reaches us both.

“You have company?” he notes, his tone neutral.

“Yes. My best friend. He’s six foot six and carries two shotguns.”

He sniffs the air, a flicker of amusement flashing across his face.

“He smells divine. Is that Nina Ricci?”

I hesitate for too long, piqued by his mocking smile. “How do you know it’s not my perfume?”

“Trust me—I know.”

This is as ludicrous as it is dangerous, but it’s hard to focus with him standing there, larger than life and entirely too calm.

He takes another step forward, and for a fleeting moment, I think he’s going to say something else.

“You’re a talented architect,” he says after a beat, his voice softer.

I blink. Of all the things I expected him to say, that wasn’t it. “What?”

“You heard me.” He gestures toward the sketchbooks. “You should study it. If this is what you’re capable of now, imagine what you could do with proper training.”

Veronica’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife. “That’s what I’ve been telling her!”

I whip around to see her standing in the bathroom doorway, an accusatory finger pointed at me. “See? Even the brooding cat burglar thinks you should go for it!”

Dmitri’s expression hardens slightly, though I catch the faintest twitch of his lips.

“Why did you break in here?” I demand, bringing the focus back to him. “Come back to carve some more threatening messages in the wall?”

He tilts his head, his gaze narrowing. “It’s better if you don’t know why I’m here.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

He scans the room, eyes narrowing as he does so, and neither me nor Veronica move.

What are we supposed to do? It was stupid to come here. Anything could happen now and there’s nothing we could do about it?—

Dmitri takes a step so he can snatch something from the table, and I realize it’s the scrap of paper with the address. He turns on his heel and strides toward the door. He opens it and steps out without another word, closing it behind him.

The spell is broken, and Veronica moves to follow, but there’s a metallic crunching in the lock, followed by a decisive click. Vee rattles the handle and curses.

“He un picked the damn lock!” she cries. “Who even knows how to do that? Where are my keys?”

I ignore her and rush to the window, my heart racing. Dmitri emerges after a few moments, heading for his SUV.

Then I notice the parking officer standing by the driver’s side door. The officer is writing him a ticket, looking mighty pleased about it.

Veronica steps up beside me. “What’s going on?”

“Dmitri,” I say. “He’s getting a parking ticket.”

She squints, trying to make sense of the scene. “Well, I guess brooding antiheroes have to follow parking laws too.”

It sure doesn’t look that way. Dmitri is speaking, his stance casual, yet whatever he’s saying has stopped the officer in his tracks, his pen frozen mid-air above the ticket pad.

With a quick, jerky motion, he rips the ticket into shreds, stuffing the pieces into his pocket before running off down the street.

I shake my head. “Apparently not.”

Dmitri doesn’t move right away. He stands there momentarily, his back to us, then tilts his head slightly as if he knows we’re watching.

I hold my breath as he turns his head just enough for his sharp profile to appear. Slowly, deliberately, his gaze rises until it locks with mine through the window.

My chest tightens, my heart thudding painfully. There’s something about the way he looks at me—an intensity that feels like it’s burning into my soul.

Then he turns away and gets into his car.

The engine roars to life, and he pulls away from the curb, disappearing down the street.