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

25. Elena

25

ELENA

D mitri presses the button for the lobby, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back as we step into the elevator. The warmth of his touch makes me feel secure, even as a thousand questions swirl in my mind about what lies ahead.

The doors slide shut with a soft chime, and for a moment, the world feels contained within the sleek metal walls.

I glance up at him, his profile sharp and perfect under the fluorescent lights, and can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking.

“What’s on your mind?” I ask, breaking the silence.

He glances down at me, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “What you look like out of that dress.”

The elevator slows, a soft ding announcing that someone else is about to join us. The doors slide open, and a man steps inside.

He’s tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a leather jacket that has seen better days. His dark eyes flick over us briefly before settling on the buttons for the floors. He doesn’t press any.

Immediately, the atmosphere shifts.

Dmitri straightens, his body language going from casual to alert in an instant. His hand drops from my back, his posture stiffening.

Though his expression remains calm, his jaw tightens, and there’s a dangerous edge to the way his eyes track the man’s every move. His knuckles crack by his sides as he tenses his fingers.

The stranger leans against the wall of the elevator, his hands in his jacket pockets. He looks casual, but something about the set of his shoulders feels deliberate, like a cobra waiting to strike.

Dmitri steps slightly in front of me, a move so subtle I might not have noticed if I weren’t hyper-aware of him. His broad shoulders block my view of the man, shielding me.

The elevator continues its descent, the hum of the machinery deafening in the silence.

“Nice night,” the man says, his voice low and gravelly.

Dmitri doesn’t respond.

My stomach tightens. There’s something off about his tone, something too familiar.

“Going down to the bar?”

Dmitri replies this time, his voice like cold steel. “You’ve got the wrong elevator. Get out at the next floor.”

The man chuckles softly, the sound grating. “Seems like the right one to me.”

The tension in the small space is suffocating. Dmitri doesn’t move, doesn’t take his eyes off the man, but the energy rolling off him is lethal.

“Step off at the next floor,” Dmitri says, his tone flat and unyielding. “Last chance.”

The man raises his hands in mock surrender, the smirk never leaving his face. “Relax, friend. Just making conversation.”

“So be it.”

The man glances at Dmitri. “You look familiar. Do I know you?” he asks after a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Dmitri’s smile is faint and humorless. “You were sent to fetch it from her and kill her protector. You were sent here to die.”

The man glances at him again. “Are you…?”

“The name Dmitri ring any bells in that empty head of yours?”

The name lands like a thunderclap. The man stiffens, his face draining of color. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly.

The tension in the elevator skyrockets. I glance between them, my heart pounding, even though I don’t fully understand what’s happening.

The man quickly lowers his gaze, muttering something in Russian. Though I don’t understand the words, the tone is unmistakable—an apology.

Dmitri doesn’t respond. He stands there, unflinching, his eyes boring into the man like twin daggers.

“I’m sorry,” the man says, switching to English, his voice shaking slightly.

“Too late,” Dmitri says softly, his tone chillingly calm.

The elevator dings, signaling the lobby. Dmitri turns to me, his expression unreadable. “Step out, Elena” he says quietly. “I’ll be a moment.”

“Please,” the man mutters, looking on the verge of tears. “It was just a job. How was I supposed to know it was you?”

I step out of the elevator, my legs feeling unsteady beneath me. I catch one last glimpse of the man’s face. He looks like he knows he’s about to die.

Then the doors close, leaving me alone.