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

21. Elena

21

ELENA

V eronica is asleep in the other room, her even breathing barely audible through the closed door. I sit cross-legged on the bed, staring at the city outside the window.

It feels like it’s watching me. Taunting me.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. My thoughts drift again—where they shouldn’t.

To Dmitri.

I close my eyes and lean back against the pillows, trying to shove his image out of my mind. It doesn’t work. He’s there, vivid as ever: broad shoulders, obsidian eyes, a voice that could command armies.

Why am I letting him get under my skin? I barely know the man. And yet...

My imagination won’t be dissuaded, and just like that, I’m back in the library. Dmitri is there, leaning casually against the desk, his dark eyes fixed on me. His gaze is scorching, burning through every layer of defense I’ve ever built.

“You can’t keep running from me, Elena,” he says, his voice a low, gravelly caress.

“I’m not running,” I reply, though my breathless tone gives me away.

He steps closer. Too close. My heart pounds as his hand cups my cheek, his thumb brushing over my jawline. The touch is electric, sending a shiver down my spine.

“You’re lying to yourself,” he murmurs, his lips so close to mine I can feel the heat of his breath. “I can see it in your eyes. You want me.”

Before I can answer, his mouth is on mine. The kiss is demanding, consuming, a storm of passion and control that leaves me reeling.

His hands are on my waist, pulling me against him, and I melt into the strength of his body, the heat of his touch.

It’s overwhelming. It’s everything. It’s?—

I jolt awake, my heart racing, my body trembling. I sit up, clutching the blankets to my chest, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

It’s a long time before I can get back to sleep.