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

19. Elena

19

ELENA

T he doors to the hotel suite swing open to let me and Veronica inside.

“Oh my God,” Veronica whispers, dragging her wheeled suitcase behind her.

She pivots in a slow circle, taking in the crystal chandelier dripping like diamonds from the ceiling and the sprawling living room with its velvet couches and abstract art pieces. “This isn’t a hotel room. This is a goddamned mansion.”

Before I can respond, the concierge clears his throat. His name tag reads Jacques Dupont , but his accent suggests he’s from Moscow, not Paris.

“Ladies, welcome to the Whitney Penthouse,” he says with a smile that’s well practiced. “I’ll be your personal concierge during your stay. Anything you require, day or night, I’m just a phone call away.”

Veronica raises an eyebrow at him. “That’s a bold promise, Jacques. What if I need, say, an alpaca at three in the morning?”

Jacques doesn’t miss a beat. “We don’t keep livestock on hand, but I could arrange for one to be delivered. Or perhaps a bespoke alpaca plush toy would be simpler?”

Veronica grins. “Expect my call, Jacques.”

He inclines his head graciously, then gestures for us to follow him. “Allow me to show you the suite’s features. First, the view.”

He leads us to the floor-to-ceiling windows spanning the length of the living room. The Manhattan skyline stretches out before us, glittering and alive, the Empire State Building lit up in icy white.

“Wow,” I breathe, pressing my fingers to the cool glass.

“Right?” Veronica murmurs beside me. “I feel like we should toast something. Our friendship? Capitalism? Dmitri?”

Jacques doesn’t blink at her commentary. “The suite includes a full-service kitchen, a private gym, a library stocked with first editions, and a media room with an eighty-inch screen. Room service is available 24/7, and if you’d like a personal chef, I can arrange that as well.”

“Does the personal chef do mac and cheese?” Veronica asks. “I know it’s easy to make, but I’m lazy, and it’s my favorite.”

“I’ll look into it for you,” Jacques replies dryly. He hands me a sleek black card. “This grants you both access to all hotel amenities. I’ll leave you to settle in.”

As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, Veronica flops onto the oversized couch, throwing her arms over the backrest. “You think he’d really bring me an alpaca? I’ve always wanted one.”

“Maybe,” I say, unzipping my bag. “But for the sake of my sanity and the carpet, don’t ask him.” I pull out the parcel from my bag. “We doing this?”

“God, yes,” she says, leaning forward like a curious cat.

I tear the paper off the parcel, revealing a jade statue no bigger than my hand.

It’s carved into the shape of a coiled dragon, its scales detailed with such precision it almost feels alive under my fingers. The jade is smooth, cool, and a deep green that glimmers in the light.

Veronica whistles. “Wow. That’s not from Temu, is it?”

“No kidding,” I murmur, turning the statue over. It’s heavy, and the craftsmanship is impeccable. “Who sends something like this?”

“Maybe someone who thinks you’re worth a dragon?” she suggests. “How much do you think it’s worth?”

“I’ve no idea,” I reply, setting it back down inside the box.

She picks up the phone. “Hungry?” she asks. “Because I reckon we make the most of the room service while we check out the value of that thing.”