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

57. Elena

57

ELENA

T he subway car rattles around me, a hollow, metallic echo.

I grip the address Dmitri gave me, the paper crinkled and damp from my clammy hands.

The destination stares back at me in sharp black ink, as if mocking the questions swirling in my head.

Did he kill them? Is he the monster Peter says he is? Or was it all a lie—to Peter, to me, to himself? What do I want to believe?

The train screeches to a halt, jolting me upright. My stop. I shove the paper into my pocket and step out into the cold, grim streets.

Broken windows, graffiti-smeared walls, trash-strewn alleys—this is a place where survival outweighs living. The air smells of pure desperation.

The address leads me to a crumbling brownstone at the end of the block. Its shutters hang loose like broken wings, and the front steps sag with decay.

I stop at the base of the stairs. My hands tremble, not from the chill but from the storm of emotions inside me. I’ve never been here, but it feels hauntingly familiar—this sense of being on the edge of something that will break me.

The answer I’ve been looking for is in this building. I know it is.

My mind flashes back to the conversation with Dmitri. The cold way he told me he’d killed my family. The unshakable mask he wore, even as my heart cracked in his presence.

I inhale deeply, forcing the air into my lungs, and start climbing the stairs. They creak under my weight, each step a countdown to the truth.

When I reach the door, I hesitate, hand poised to knock. My knuckles hover, but I can’t bring myself to connect.

What if no one answers?

Or worse— what if someone does?

I push those thoughts down, swallowing my fear, and knock. The sound echoes, sharp and hollow. For a moment, there’s nothing. Then footsteps—light, hurried—approach from the other side.

The door opens a crack, revealing a woman’s face. Her eyes widen in recognition, her mouth parting in shock.

“Elena? What are you doing here?”

“Mom.” My throat tightens. “You’re alive.”

“Who is it?” Dad shouts from deeper inside.

“Elena,” Mom replies.

He comes up to the door, pulling it wide open. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks, sneering out at me. “How did you find us?”

I meet his gaze, taking in his angry expression. There’s no joy in his eyes, no relief. Just unease, like I’m a ghost come back to haunt him.

“Nice to see you too, Dad. Going to invite me in?”

He mutters something but then steps aside, letting me walk in. Natalia is on her cellphone on a sagging couch. She doesn’t even look up. I turn to face my parents.

“Why?” I ask.

“Why what?” Dad replies.

“You left me behind. Why?”

My mother replies slowly, his movements cautious. “We did what we had to.”

Anger bubbles to the surface. “You abandoned me. Left me there with no warning, no explanation. Do you have any idea what that did to me? I didn’t know if you were dead or alive.”

Dad exhales heavily and sits back down, rubbing a hand over his face. “We thought the Bratva King would deal with you and give us more time to hide. Clearly we didn’t hide well enough. I’ve not got it, if that’s what you’ve come for.”

“Not got what?”

“The statue. What was the plan? Take it from me and sell it back? Sorry to disappoint you but Peter Ivanov beat you to it. He found out where I was hiding it the same day I took the fucking thing. Left me with nothing to show for my efforts, the son of a bitch.”

The words hit me hard. “I know that. I have the statue. I’m here to find out what happened to you all.”

“You have it? Where is it? It’s worth millions.”

“You’re not getting it.”

My mother averts her gaze, and my sister crosses her arms, still refusing to meet my eyes.

“He was after us,” Mom says, her tone defensive. She stops, looking away.

My voice cracks with disbelief. “You hoped Dmitri would kill me so you could be safe. You left me to die.”

“Stop being dramatic,” Natalia mutters. “You’ve always been such a victim.”

I whirl on her, fury burning in my chest. “Victim? You left me to die at the hands of a man you were running from, and I’m the victim?”

“You got him into bed instead though, didn’t you? Opened your legs for him easily enough, right?”

“You shouldn’t have come here,” my father says sharply, his voice rising. “Dmitri will follow you here. You’ve put us all in danger, you selfish bitch.”

“You’ve always been useless,” Natalia snaps. “No talent, no purpose. Couldn’t even die the right way.”

The words sting, cutting through the fragile remnants of my faith in them. I turn to my mother, hoping for some denial, some small defense of me. But she just shrugs, her expression indifferent.

A bitter laugh escapes me, cold and sharp. “Of course. Why would I expect anything different?”

My father snarls. “He’ll kill us all, and it’ll be your fault.”

“No,” I say, my voice firm. “He could’ve killed you already. He lied to Peter to keep you alive because that’s the kind of man he is.”

My father glares at me, his fists clenched. “Bullshit. You believe the horseshit he’s been feeding you?”

“Don’t talk about my husband like that.”

Natalia barks out a laugh. “Oh, my God, you’re in love with him. That is hilarious.”

Mom turns pale. “You love him?”

Dad speaks over them. “You don’t even know what love is. You’re a child for God’s sake.”

“What is love?” I say, my voice breaking. “Leaving your daughter to die to save yourselves?”

“You think you get a happy ending?” Dad replies. “He is a coldblooded killer. He’ll slit your throat when he’s bored of you.”

A new voice speaks up from the doorway. “Will I?”

I turn just in time to see Dmitri step inside, his expression calm, his movements controlled. Even in the dim light, his presence dominates, the sheer force of him drawing every eye.

He doesn’t glance at my family. His gaze locks onto mine, searching, assessing, his dark eyes filled with something I can’t quite name.

“What does my wife want?” he asks, his voice low but unyielding. “Would you like me to kill them all?”

The question lands between us like a challenge, weighted with the memories of everything I’ve seen, everything I’ve felt. I meet his gaze, my breath catching in my throat, but there’s no hesitation in my heart.

Turning to my family, I take a step forward. “Goodbye.” My voice is steady, final. “I’m done. I’m done with all of you.”

My father bristles, rising from his chair. “You’re making a mistake, Elena. This man?—”

“This man,” I interrupt sharply, “chose me when you didn’t. Protected me when you wouldn’t. He taught me how to stand up for myself. You? You taught me how to act invisible. I’m not that person anymore.”

My mother’s lips press into a thin line, but she doesn’t say a word. Natalia just glares at me, her disdain cutting but ineffective.

I turn to Dmitri, whose steady gaze hasn’t wavered. “I’m leaving with my husband. We’re going to build a family of our own—a family full of love. A family that knows what it means to care for each other.”

My father snorts, his face twisting in disdain. “You think he’ll give you that? He’s a killer, Elena. A coldblooded, ruthless killer. You’re deluding yourself if you think he won’t turn on you the second he doesn’t want you anymore.”

I tilt my head, narrowing my eyes at him. “Why did you steal the jade statue, Dad?”

His mouth opens, then closes. For a moment, he looks almost…sheepish. “I didn’t know who it belonged to,” he finally admits. “I just saw an opportunity and I took it.”

I can’t help the bitter laugh that escapes me. “You saw a chance and you took it,” I repeat, my voice sharp. “I’m doing the same. But unlike you, I’m not stealing. I’m choosing. And I choose him.”

The room falls silent, my declaration ringing in the stillness.

My father’s face darkens, and my sister mutters something under her breath, but I don’t care.

Dmitri holds out his hand. Without hesitation, I take it, letting his warmth wrap around me.

“Let’s go,” I say softly.

As we turn to leave, my father’s voice cuts through the quiet. “He’ll take the statue from you. He doesn’t need you anymore. He’ll kill you soon enough, Elena. You’ll regret this, mark my words. We could all have been rich but once again, you ruined everything.”

Dmitri pauses, glancing over his shoulder. Slowly, he pulls the jade statue from his coat and tosses it onto the table in front of my shocked father.

“Call it a dowry for your daughter’s hand,” Dmitri says, his tone calm but edged with warning. “If I ever see you again, you die.”