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

13. Elena

13

ELENA

V eronica drives, her fingers tapping an erratic rhythm against the steering wheel. The dull hum of the engine fills the silence between us, but my mind is anything but quiet.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Veronica says, dragging me from my thoughts.

“What thing?”

“That broody, staring-out-the-window, I’m-so-misunderstood thing.” She smirks, shooting me a quick glance before turning back to the road. “It’s very ‘sad indie movie heroine.’ All you need is a rainstorm and an obscure acoustic soundtrack.”

I snort, but the corner of my mouth twitches up despite myself. “Sabrina Carpenter’s more my vibe, and you know it.”

“Keep please, please, pleasing me then. Meanwhile, I’m chauffeuring you to sketchy addresses like a good best friend.”

“You didn’t have to say yes.”

“It didn’t seem that way. And I can’t let you wander into the lion’s den alone. Someone has to be around to hold your purse when this mysterious Bratva King sweeps you off your feet.”

I shoot her a glare, but she doesn’t even flinch. She’s used to my grumpiness by now.

“I’m serious,” she continues, her voice softer now. “You need to stop trying to appease people who don’t deserve you. Your family doesn’t deserve this level of compassion. Whatever you think you owe them, you don’t. I had to listen to Natalia yelling at you so many times, I got second hand tinnitus.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek, her words striking a nerve. “I can’t just walk away, can I? What am I supposed to do, Veronica? Pretend they don’t exist? Pretend they didn’t raise me?”

She scoffs. “Raise you? Your parents treated you like a burden, and as for your sister—don’t even get me started on her. The only reason you’re in this car right now is because you think fixing their mess will make them treat you better. Newsflash, it won’t. Nothing will. Good fucking riddance, I say.”

“That’s not fair,” I snap, but even I can hear the lack of conviction in my voice.

She glances at me again, her brow furrowed. “When are you going to start thinking about your future, huh?”

“I can’t afford the rent on a waitress’s salary.”

“Move in with me.”

“That’s a kind offer but you’d get sick of me.”

“Enough with the bullshit!” she shouts, then exhales sharply, visibly trying to calm herself. “Elena, you can’t keep doing this. Chasing after people who don’t care about you. Living in their shadows. Kicking yourself over and over. You’re smart. You’re talented. You’re gorgeous?—”

“Don’t,” I cut her off.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t lie to me. I know what I look like, okay?”

Veronica slams her hand against the steering wheel, making me jump. “God, you’re infuriating! You’re not ugly, Elena! You’re just too damn stubborn to see yourself the way everyone else does. Including that uber-hottie Dmitri, by the way.”

I blink at her, thrown off by the mention of his name. “What does Dmitri have to do with anything?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the way he can’t take his eyes off you? Broke into your place and looked like he was about to fuck you into next week if it wasn’t for my rude interruption.”

“That’s not?—”

“Stop.” Veronica cuts me off with a raised hand. “Just stop. You’re allowed to want more for yourself, okay? You’re allowed to be happy. And he wanted you, that much was clear.”

“Did he?” The idea, so clearly stated, sends a tingle through me.

She winks. “Sure he did.” She pulls the car to a stop at the curb. “Looks like whatever happened here, we missed it.”

I look out the window, my stomach sinking at the sight of a run-down building surrounded by police tape.

A sense of foreboding settles over me, heavy and oppressive. Two police cruisers, lights flashing, block the street.

“Well, this looks ominous,” Veronica mutters. “You think your family’s in there?”

“Wait here,” I swing open the door and look for the nearest cop. “I’ll find out.”

I hesitate on the sidewalk, my heart pounding. The faded sign above the door reads The Red Lantern in chipped paint, its neon lights fizzling and flickering.

“Yeah, he just walked in, calm as you like,” a gruff voice is saying in an Italian accent. “Killed all three of ‘em before anyone even had time to blink.”

I spot where the voice is coming from. Coming out of the doorway is a black cop in his fifties and some skinny guy in a blood splattered suit, cigarette dangling from his lips. He looks on the verge of throwing up.

The cop mutters something I can’t make out.

“Looking for someone,” the guy replies as they get closer to me. “Carlton, I think the name was. Jimmy Carlton.”

“Who’s that?” the cop asks.

“One of our regulars. Used to play here but we’ve not seen him for a couple of weeks. Kept going on about some big score he was about to make, racking up debts. Pissed Lombardi right off. Swore he’d pay us back as soon as he did this big secret job of his.”

The cop looks up, noticing me for the first time. “You lost, sweetheart?”

I take a step back, my heart hammering. “You’re talking about my dad. Jimmy Carlton. Have you seen him?

The cop’s gaze rakes over me like I’m a piece of meat. “Come here, kid.” He pulls the gun from his holster, pointing it straight at me. “I’ve got a dozen bodies cut into pieces and I’m betting you know something about it.”

I backpedal, my breath hitching. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

“Come here kid, or I’ll put you in cuffs.”

Before I can respond, a deep rumbling voice cuts through the tension like a knife.

“You won’t touch my fiancée.”

The men freeze, their expressions shifting from amusement to alarm. I turn toward the sound, my heart skipping a beat.

Dmitri steps out from the shadows, his presence as commanding as ever. His dark eyes lock onto mine for a brief moment before shifting to the two men, cold and calculating.

The cop’s eyes bulge. “Dmitri?” he says, glancing at the other guy. “He never said it was you. God, I’m sorry. Look.” He rips up the page in his notebook. “I don’t know anything.” He starts to tear up, sniffing loudly. “Please, I’ve got kids, man.”

The other guy looks like he’s staring at the Grim Reaper. “Dmitri?” he says in a weak voice. “As in Dmitri Chekov?”

Dmitri nods. “You tell Lombardi,” he starts, his voice low and deadly, “Elena Carlton is my fiancée. Anyone who touches her will answer to me.” He stares at the cop, gun still held in his hand. “You going to shoot me, Adrian, or you going to put it away?”

The cop shakes his head. “I swear I didn’t know,” he says, his voice filled with terror. “He just called it in and he never said.” He starts crying, openly, his shoulders shaking as he sobs. “Please, you don’t have to do this.”

Dmitri turns to me. “You see my car over there?”

I glance where he’s looking. “Yeah, why?”

“Get in it while I finish explaining a few things to these two.”

He walks over to the two men, leading them back into the building.

The moment they’re all out of sight, I run over to Veronica and climb into her car. “What the hell just happened?” she asks. “He appeared out of fucking nowhere.”

“Drive,” I say, tugging at her arm. “We need to get the hell out of here right now.”