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

37. Elena

37

ELENA

W e sit at the table in the kitchen, plates of croissants between us. I expected silence, maybe even awkwardness, but Dmitri is oddly conversational.

His casual demeanor feels almost normal—except for the unsettling things he says.

“You were the tidy one growing up, weren’t you?” he muses, cutting into his toast. “Yet you drop crumbs everywhere.”

I freeze mid-bite. “What?”

“You. Tidy.” He gestures with his fork. “Your clothes were neatly folded into drawers unlike your sister.”

I blink at him, unsettled. “You went through my drawers? Why?”

His dark eyes meet mine with no trace of apology. “To look for clues. And in the process, I learned a lot.”

I stare at him. “Anything else you discovered while you were busy violating my privacy?”

“You’re sentimental. You kept every birthday card anyone ever gave you. But your sister was the golden child.” He takes another bite of croissant, as if dropping a bombshell like that is no big deal.

“How do you—” My voice catches. “How can you even know that?”

“The room and the photos,” he says simply. “In every one of them, your parents are beaming at her. You’re either off to the side or looking miserable.”

My throat tightens. “Want to know what she got last Christmas?”

“Go on.”

“A new car. Want to know what they got me?”

He nods.

“A sweater and a box of tissues.”

He growls, his expression grave. “You deserved better.”

I drop my gaze to my plate, swallowing hard. “You know you’re the first person who’s ever made me feel like I mattered. Even if it’s just for now, I appreciate it.”

He leans back in his chair, his gaze heavy on me. “I never really knew my parents. I suspect they were like yours, abandoning their son the way they did.”

“What happened?”

“Dumped me in the street when I was six.”

“What the fuck? What did you do?”

“I stole to survive until the Bratva found me. They trained me to kill. Taught me the value of power and strength.”

“And that’s all you care about?” I ask.

His gaze locks onto mine, and something flickers in his eyes. “Until you.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I look away, my heart racing.

After a moment, he speaks again, his tone matter-of-fact. “I’ve moved all your things to a safe place. If anyone goes to your apartment, they won’t find anything to connect you to any of this.”

I glance up, startled. “All my things?”

“Everything.”

There’s a finality in his tone that leaves no room for argument. I can’t decide if his thoroughness is comforting or unnerving.

“What about the man who came to the door?” I ask, my voice quieter now. “Who was he?”

Dmitri’s expression hardens. “I’ll deal with him after breakfast.”

His calm assurance is both chilling and strangely reassuring. As we finish eating, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve stepped into a world I barely understand—a world where I might not survive without Dmitri’s ruthless protection.

“I canceled your funding application,” he says casually a moment later.

“What? Why?”

“Your place at the college is secured. I paid the tuition in full and made a donation. A substantial one.” His tone is so matter-of-fact, as if he’s talking about the weather. “You’re in. No need to worry on that front.”

“You bribed them?” My voice pitches higher with every word. “You think I’d be okay with that? That I’d only get in because of your money?”

He tilts his head, studying me with an expression that borders on amusement. “Do you think those admissions aren’t already influenced by money? I simply leveled the playing field for you.”

I throw my hands in the air. “That’s not the point! I wanted to earn my place, Dmitri. On my own merits. Not because someone bought it for me.”

His calm demeanor infuriates me. “And I’m telling you, this is how the world works. Connections. Influence. Money. You can choose to accept it or fight against it, but it won’t change the reality.”

My fists clench at my sides. “You had no right?—”

“I have every right,” he interrupts, his voice turning steel-edged. “You’re mine now, Elena. Your safety, your future—it’s my responsibility.”

“Responsibility?” I snap. “I didn’t ask for you to bribe the college!”

“No,” he says, his tone softening just enough to send a shiver through me. “But I did it anyway. Whether you like it or not, I’ll take care of you. That’s not up for debate.”

I open my mouth to argue but stop when I see the look in his eyes—unyielding, possessive, and utterly certain. The kind of certainty that brooks no opposition.

“You’re impossible,” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest.

“And you’re too stubborn,” he counters, stepping even closer. “But I’d rather you be furious with me and have what you need than see you struggle. Your talent deserves to be nurtured, Elena. Even if I have to break a few rules to make that happen.”

For a moment, I think about how much easier it would be if I could hate him for what he’s done. But instead, I feel a flicker of something dangerous—gratitude mixed with a reluctant kind of admiration.

“I have to go handle the man who came to the door,” he says calmly, getting to his feet. “What do you need to keep you busy for a while?”

Caught off guard by his directness, I fumble for a response. “Uh … sketchpads. And maybe a computer?”

He raises a brow, his amusement clear. “That’s all? You could’ve asked for a helicopter. Or a couple of sports cars.”

The corners of my mouth lift despite myself. “I’m a simple girl, Dmitri.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and rich, momentarily lightening the weight of the conversation. “Not simple. Unique.”

My cheeks heat at the compliment, and I glance away, pretending to busy myself with straightening the silverware. “I just don’t need much.”

“I’ll make sure you have everything you need.” He stands, towering over me, his presence commanding even in this quiet moment.

As he turns to leave, an impulse grips me. Before I can second-guess myself, I rise and grab his arm.

When he looks back at me, his dark eyes questioning, I lean up and press a kiss to his lips. It’s soft, quick, but full of the emotions I can’t yet put into words.

“Be careful,” I whisper.

His gaze locks onto mine, something unspoken passing between us. Then he nods, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Never had anyone give a shit before.” He kisses me back. “Could get used to it.”