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

16. Elena

16

ELENA

T he package sits on the floor outside my apartment door. Plain brown wrapping paper, a neat twine bow, and no return address in sight.

Veronica stands behind me, peering over my shoulder. “That’s it?” she says, tilting her head. “I was expecting something a little more dangerous.”

“Like what?”

“Ticking clock like a bomb or vibrating love eggs. You know, something more exciting.”

Her flippant tone doesn’t help the nervous knot forming in my stomach. “It’s not a joke, Veronica,” I mutter, bending down to pick it up.

The package is solid in my hands, lighter than it looks. A tingle of apprehension runs up my spine.

She crosses her arms, leaning casually against the wall. “Relax, girl. I’m just saying, for all the drama you’ve been through, I expected something flashier. But, hey, maybe it’s a treasure map, or a cursed artifact, or?—”

“Can you not?” I snap, though the edge in my voice isn’t meant for her. It’s the nerves talking.

I turn the package over in my hands. No writing, no instructions. Just a name scrawled in block letters: Elena Carlton.

Veronica pops her gum. “Well? You gonna open it?”

I shake my head, suddenly certain that whatever’s inside, I don’t want to see it. “Not here. Let’s take it to the car.”

She raises an eyebrow. “What if it is a bomb?”

“Nah,” I say, too quickly. “That would be a dumb risk for someone to take. I just—look, let’s get out of here. I feel weird out in the open.”

She rolls her eyes but picks up her purse. “Fine. But if it is a bomb, my detached head’s last words will be ‘I told you so’.”

I shoot her a glare, but she only grins, unfazed. Sometimes I think nothing ever rattles her, but then again, I’m pretty sure that’s her defense mechanism.

We head to the stairwell, package in hand. I clutch it tightly to my chest, every step down to the street feeling heavier than the last.

My pulse races for reasons I can’t explain. The farther we go, the more I’m certain this package is something dangerous.

When we finally step out onto the street, Veronica unlocks her car with a click and gestures for me to toss the package into the back seat. I hesitate, staring down at it in my hands.

“Elena,” she says, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Get in the car. Whatever spooky vibes you’re getting, we’ll deal with them later.”

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. But just as I step toward the car, I feel a presence behind me. It’s a shift in the air, a prickle on the back of my neck.

Two men emerge from the shadows across the street, their eyes locking onto me.

They’re rough around the edges—grimy jeans, leather jackets, and the kind of smirks that scream trouble. One has a cigarette dangling from his lips, the other cracks his knuckles as they approach.

“Well, well,” says the taller one, his voice oily and full of mockery. “Looks like little Miss Carlton turned up at last.” He glances at Veronica. “Piss off, bitch. This doesn’t concern you.”

My heart slams against my ribs, panic bubbling just under the surface.

The shorter one laughs, slow and mean. “Your daddy’s been promising payment for weeks. Hand it over.”

“Back off!” Veronica snaps, stepping between me and them. Her voice is bold, but I can hear the tremor underneath. “Or we call the cops.”

“Aw, look at this,” the taller man jeers. “Got yourself a guard dog, huh? How cute.”

And then I feel it.

The atmosphere shifts, the air growing heavier, colder. A shadow moves in the corner of my vision, and I know before I see him that Dmitri is here too.

He steps into the light. His presence is commanding, his dark eyes sharp. The smirk drops from the taller man’s face instantly, replaced by a pale, wide-eyed fear.

“I warned Lombardi,” Dmitri says, his voice low and lethal. He doesn’t raise it, doesn’t need to. It carries a weight that promises consequences far worse than words can describe. “Now you’re going to die.”

The shorter man stumbles back, his bravado crumbling. “W-we didn’t know,” he stammers, holding up his hands. “He just sent us to get it.”

“Too late for excuses,” Dmitri growls, taking a step forward. “You scared my woman.”

His woman?

The taller man doesn’t wait for further warning. He grabs his friend by the arm, dragging him back toward the shadows. “Let’s get the hell out of here!” he hisses.

They disappear into the night, their footsteps echoing down the street. Veronica lets out a shaky breath, her tough-girl facade cracking as she clutches her chest.

“What just happened?” she mutters.

I’m too stunned to answer. Dmitri’s gaze shifts to me, intense and unreadable. “You’re reckless,” he says flatly, his tone a mix of frustration and something else—concern? “Coming back here so many times is asking for trouble.”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” I snap, adrenaline making me bold.

“You don’t need to,” he replies, stepping closer. His eyes flick to the package in my hands, then back to my face. “Keep that safe. Don’t let anyone else see it.”

“What is it?” I ask, my voice trembling.

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think he won’t answer. Then he says, “If it’s what I think it is, it’s your ticket to survival.”

“How?” I demand, but he shakes his head.

“Not here.” He steps back. “Go somewhere safe. A hotel.” He hands me a card. “Tell them I sent you. I’ll handle the cost. Stay there until I return.”

Veronica cuts in, her voice shaky but firm. “And what happens if those two come looking for us?”

“They won’t be alive long enough to look for anyone,” Dmitri says darkly. “Now get going.”