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

39. Elena

39

ELENA

I stop at five in the evening. Still no sign of Dmitri. I end up scrolling through the streaming options on the TV with the remote, searching for something—anything—that might lift the heavy weight pressing on my chest.

My finger pauses over Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, and a small, nostalgic smile tugs at my lips.

It’s been my favorite movie for years, a comfort I return to every time I need to escape reality. Tonight, I need it more than ever. Dmitri’s been gone for too long. I can’t help worrying.

The opening scenes bring the usual chuckles. Neal Page’s exasperation as he attempts to outrun Kevin Bacon to the cab, it’s all so familiar, like slipping into a warm blanket.

For a little while, I forget about the swirling mess of my own life and get lost in theirs.

But as the movie unfolds, a bittersweet ache creeps in. Watching Del’s loneliness and Neal’s growing realization of what he has waiting for him back home stirs something deep inside me.

By the time the final scene plays—the joyful reunion, Neal’s family embracing him at the door, and Del standing there quietly, his longing so palpable—I’m a wreck.

Tears stream down my face as I hug my knees to my chest.

The happy family on the screen feels like a cruel reminder of what I never had. My parents were distant at best, more interested in their own lives than in creating a warm, loving home.

My childhood was spent on the periphery of affection, always yearning for what my sister had, warmth from my parents.

And now there’s Dmitri, pulling me into a world I barely understand, offering something equally thrilling and terrifying. What would I do if he died?

I shouldn’t let myself get too close. I’ll only end up getting hurt. That’s the way the world is.

The intensity of my feelings for him frightens me. It’s like standing on the edge of a cliff, exhilarated by the view but terrified of the fall.

The credits roll, leaving me with nothing but the echoes of my thoughts. Would I end up like Del? My married life torn apart by Dmitri’s inevitable death in some shootout somewhere? Alone and forever missing him? No home worth going back to.

I go back to The Sims, trying to forget my troubles.

I’m a half hour in when my phone rings. The shrill sound cuts through the silence, making me jump. My heart lurches, and I rush to answer.

His name lights up the screen.

I answer breathlessly. “Dmitri?”

“I need you to listen carefully.” The intensity in his tone instantly puts me on edge. “There’s a black car parked out front. The key is in the drawer by the fireplace. I’m going to send you an address. You need to bring a sewing kit and a bottle of vodka.”

A sewing kit? Vodka? The bizarre request makes my thoughts stumble. “What? Why? Dmitri, what’s going on?”

“I don’t have time to explain,” he says, his voice low but firm.

I hesitate, gripping the edge of the counter. My heart pounds as a dozen questions race through my mind. Where am I going? Why does he need a sewing kit?

“Elena,” Dmitri snaps, dragging my attention back to him. “I need you to do this for me? Can you do this?”

“Yes,” I say.

“That’s my good girl. Check your phone for the address. And Elena—” His voice softens slightly, just enough to send a shiver down my spine. “Get here as fast as you can.”