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

56. Dmitri

56

DMITRI

“ W hat’s this?” Peter asks, plucking the folded note taped to the base of the statue. His fingers twitch as he opens it, his smirk growing wider with each passing second.

He reads aloud, his voice dripping with mockery. “I resign?” He shakes his head. “What is this bullshit?

I keep my voice steady, my tone as cold and detached as he has always expected from me. “You taught me well,” I say. “Never get attached to anything, not even the job.”

The shift in Peter’s expression is subtle—a flicker of confusion, a shadow of suspicion crossing his face. It’s too late. “I’d like to know your plan,” he says, sounding irritated.

“The statue’s a fake. You let us leave together or you never get the real thing back.”

Peter looks furious for a moment but then he grins, shaking his head. “Bullshit. This is the real thing.” He moves it up to his face, examining it closely. “I’d know the real thing anywhere.”

My thumb presses down on the hidden button in my pocket.

With a sharp hiss of released pressure, the concealed spike shoots out from the face of the statue. The deadly metal rod pierces Peter’s eye in an instant.

His scream is cut off before it begins as he collapses to the floor, lifeless, his body crumpled like a discarded puppet.

“Told him it was a fake,” I say to his bodyguards.

My gun is already in my hand. Four precise shots ring out in rapid succession. Terence’s head snaps back, blood spraying against the wall behind him.

His sidekick doesn’t even have time to draw his weapon before he crumples to the ground, clutching at the crimson bloom on his chest.

The other two get their hands on their weapons but too slow. They drop to the floor an instant later.

The room falls into silence, broken only by the sound of Elena’s sharp, uneven breaths.

She’s still tied to the chair, her eyes wide, flicking between the lifeless body of Peter and the cooling corpses of his guards. Her chest heaves as she struggles to comprehend what just happened.

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to focus, to push down the storm of emotions rising within me. “Elena,” I say, my voice low but firm, “I’m getting you out of here.”

My hands work swiftly to untie her bindings, my fingers trembling ever so slightly against the coarse rope.

As soon as her hands are free, she shoves me back with a force that catches me off guard.

“Don’t touch me!” she snaps, her voice trembling with fury and heartbreak.

“Elena—”

Her eyes are ablaze, glistening with tears that refuse to fall. She’s on her feet now, standing just inches away, but it feels like miles separate us.

“You lied to me,” she hisses, her voice breaking. “You killed them. My family. You?—”

Her voice falters, but she catches herself, shaking her head as if trying to clear the thought. “You slept with me. You looked me in the eye and you lied.”

Her words cut deeper than any blade could.

“Elena, listen to me.” I try to keep my voice steady, but the desperation leaks through. “Do you really believe I would do that? That I would hurt you like that?”

Her laugh is bitter, sharp as shattered glass. “What am I supposed to believe, Dmitri? What? You disappear, you come back with blood on your hands, and now Peter’s dead at your feet!

“Everything you’ve done—everything you’ve said—how can I believe a single word? All you wanted was to take his job, that much is clear. Congratulations, you win.”

For a moment, I’m silent. Not because I don’t have anything to say, but because I can see she’s not ready to hear it.

I reach into my pocket and pull out a folded slip of paper, stepping forward and holding it out to her.

She doesn’t take it right away, her glare unwavering. “What is that?”

“An address,” I say quietly. “Go there. Then decide who I am.”