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

53. Elena

53

ELENA

I come around to cold air biting at my skin and the sharp, musty smell of mildew.

My head aches where they knocked me out. My wrists are raw where they’re bound together in front of me.

Disoriented, I try to piece together how I got here, but my thoughts are sluggish, jumbled.

The room is dimly lit by a single, flickering bulb swinging from the ceiling. Shadows dance across cracked, damp walls stained with streaks of rust or something worse.

The air is heavy, and every breath tastes of rot and decay.

I shiver, pulling my legs tighter against my chest. My bare feet rub against the concrete floor, and the sound echoes in the stillness, joined only by the occasional drip of water somewhere out of sight.

Rats skitter in the darkness, the faint scratches sending a chill down my spine.

I will not panic.

My breaths come shallow at first, but I force them deeper, slower. Fear threatens to overtake me, clawing at the edges of my control, but I shove it back. Believe in myself. That’s what he taught me.

Panicking won’t help. Staying calm will. He’ll come for me. That thought calms my breathing as I swallow down my terror.

I scan the room, noting the sagging beams overhead and the warped cracks running jaggedly along the walls. The structure is failing, subsiding under its own weight. This place isn’t just old—it’s dying.

Good.

If the building is unstable, maybe I can use that. Maybe there’s a weakness, a way out.

I trace every detail with my eyes, mentally cataloging the information. The water pooling in the far corner must be coming from above—leaking pipes, probably.

The door on the other side of the room is reinforced steel, but the rust at its hinges might buy me a chance.

I shift my wrists against the rough rope, testing the binding. Too tight to slip free, but the chair I’m tied to wobbles slightly. Cheap, flimsy. I could use that, too, if I could figure out how to tip it without breaking my neck.

The creak of the door echoes like a scream in the silence, and I sit up straighter, my heart pounding.

A thin man in his sixties steps inside, his figure outlined in the harsh light spilling from the hall.

His tailored suit looks as out of place here as a diamond necklace in a trash heap, but it suits him.

He shuts the door behind him with a deliberate click, taking his time as he adjusts his cufflinks. His movements are smooth, controlled, like he knows exactly how much space he owns and how little air he’s left me.

“Good morning, Mrs. Chekov,” he says, his voice smooth but cold, laced with a menace that coils in the pit of my stomach. “I trust the accommodations are to your liking?”

I don’t answer. My mouth is dry, my tongue heavy.

He moves closer, his polished shoes silent against the concrete floor. I tilt my chin up, forcing myself to meet his gaze. His eyes are sharp, calculating, the kind that see too much and give away nothing.

“I’m Peter Ivanov,” he says simply, as if his name should explain everything. “I trust you’ve heard of me.”

I can’t stop the words that tumble out of my mouth next. “Do you own this building?”

The question catches him off guard. He pauses, one brow lifting in surprise. “What an unusual thing to ask. Why do you wish to know?”

I shrug, masking my fear with feigned indifference. “Because it’s falling apart.” I gesture with a tilt of my head toward the nearest wall, where a jagged crack runs from floor to ceiling. “Those walls are subsiding. If you don’t reinforce the foundation, this place will collapse within a year.”

He stares at me, his expression shifting from curiosity to faint amusement. “You’re tied to a chair, held by men who could kill you with a snap of their fingers, and you’re worried about the structural integrity of my walls?”

“I’m not worried,” I reply coolly, lifting my bound hands as much as the rope allows. “Just stating the obvious.”

He chuckles, a low, humorless sound that makes my skin crawl. “I see why he’s so taken with you.”

If he’s fishing for a reaction, I won’t give it to him.

He takes another step closer, the amusement in his gaze fading, replaced by something darker. “Well, I’ll keep your professional advice in mind. But for now, let’s talk about why you’re really here.”

His tone chills me to the bone, but I lift my chin higher, refusing to show weakness. “Please, enlighten me.”

He crouches to my eye level, his piercing gaze fixed on mine. “Do you know why you’re here?”

“Because I make a great hostage?” I bite back, my voice sharp.

His lips curl into something that’s not quite a smile. “Cute. But no. You’re here because of Dmitri. Or more specifically, because of the way he’s lied to me since you entered his life. He never lied to me before you, did you know that?”

My stomach knots at his words, but I keep my expression blank.

“I sent you the jade statue,” he continues, his tone colder now, laced with derision. “A little test of loyalty, you see. And do you know what he did?”

I don’t reply, but my silence only seems to amuse him.

“He proved my suspicions correct,” Peter says, his eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. “Claimed he hadn’t found it yet. That he was still ‘searching.’”

He straightens, his smile widening as he looks down at me. “His job was to retrieve the jade statue and slaughter the family that stole it from me.” His voice turns into a roar of rage, his eyes bulging. “Your family.” He points at me. “Including you.”

My heart twists painfully. Dmitri was sent to kill me and my family? The revelation stings more than I expect, and the rush of hurt catches me off guard.

Peter doesn’t miss it. His smile deepens, like a spider sensing weakness in a trapped fly. “It hurts, doesn’t it? Finding out someone you trusted has betrayed you?”

I want to argue, to deny the truth of his words, but the emotions surging inside me make it impossible.

He crouches again, his tone softening into something almost intimate. “You see, Elena, the world is a cruel place. People are liars. Deceivers. Dmitri isn’t special in that regard.

“He’s no different from anyone else who will say or do whatever it takes to get what they want. He wanted to fuck you for a while and that’s fine. But then he had to go and develop those hideous things called feelings.”

A lump forms in my throat, but I swallow it down. “You don’t know him,” I say, my voice quiet but firm.

He chuckles, the sound cold and devoid of humor. “Don’t I?” His gaze sharpens, slicing into me. “Dmitri isn’t the man you think he is. He’s spent his life killing, lying, and scheming. You think you’re anything special to him?”

I clench my jaw, refusing to let him see how his words hit their mark.

“Let me tell you what’s going to happen,” he says, his voice low and menacing. “Dmitri will return soon, fresh from killing your family. He’ll come here to save you, his precious little wife, and I’ll give him a simple choice. Your life or his. Won’t that be fun?”

He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that feels like ice on my skin. “I’m betting he’ll die trying to save you. And when he does, you’ll know you’re all alone. No one to save you. No one to trust. No help. Nothing awaiting you but pain and death.”

His words are a knife twisting in my chest. Despite my anger, my hurt, the doubts clawing at my mind, I can’t bear the thought of Dmitri walking into a trap, of him being killed because of me.

Peter straightens, his expression as composed as if he’s just delivered a weather report. “Enjoy your stay, Elena. You won’t be here long. Once I’ve had my fun, I have paying clients who will enjoy seeing what your insides look like.”

He frowns. “You’re quieter than I expected,” he muses, his tone mockingly gentle. “Most of my guests start begging or praying around this point.”

I glare at him, every nerve in my body alight with tension, but I say nothing.

He smirks, leaning against the wall. “Silence can be a weapon, I suppose. Or maybe you’re just too shocked to speak.” He pauses, his eyes narrowing slightly. “But I think I know what you’re thinking.”

I doubt it.

He pushes off the wall and takes a step closer, his presence oppressive, his voice low and smooth. “You’re wondering why Dmitri lied to me. Why he didn’t tell you about the statue. Why he keeps so many secrets.”

I flinch, barely perceptibly, but he notices.

“And you’re asking yourself, if he lied about that, what else has he lied about?”

“Get to the point,” I snap, my voice sharp despite the lump forming in my throat.

“Your father,” he begins, his voice conversational, “was a lucky thief. He stole my jade statue while it was left in the open by two idiotic insurance adjusters. They are long dead. Your father, on the other hand, ran to save his own hide? Heard that it belonged to me, that my rival wanted it for himself.”

He paces up and down, talking more to himself than me. “I’ve suspected Dmitri for some time. Thought he might want to kill me and take over. The only real threat to my empire.

“So I had that message carved in your shitty little apartment. I wanted your father to run. Had to know if Dmitri still had his edge. I knew your father would leave you behind, I knew everything about you and your pathetic worthless family before Dmitri set foot in your place. I thought that he’d kill you if he was still loyal or let you live if he wasn’t.”

He shouts again, eyes bulging once more. “He let you live!”

His voice lowers back to normal. “I spent years drumming weakness out of him. It’s my own failure, I suppose. It’s always those you trust most who let you down most, don’t you find?”

Dmitri knew. From the very beginning, he knew who I was. He knew what he was supposed to do.

The room spins, and I clutch at the chair beneath me to keep from collapsing. The memories of every moment with Dmitri—every kiss, every touch, every whispered word—now feel tainted, twisted by the knowledge of his original intent.

That time he stood with the knife in the dark. He wasn’t keeping me safe. He was trying to decide whether or not to kill me.

Peter grins. “We all lie, don’t we? You tell yourself you have talent but you don’t. All you’ll ever be is a victim. Either he’ll kill you or I will. That’s all you have to look forward to.” He winks. “Oh, that and watching your husband being tortured while I fuck you.”

He walks over to the door. “Not so talkative now, are you? When he’s gone, you’ll finally see the truth. You’re on your own, Elena. You always have been.”