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

Veronica

VERONICA

I approach the reception desk, where a poised young woman in a charcoal-gray blazer looks up from her screen.

The lobby is pristine, with marble floors that echo with each step and large abstract paintings adorning the walls, their bright colors a stark contrast to the otherwise minimalist design.

“ Bennett,” I say, my most professional smile firmly in place.

She types my name into her computer, her manicured nails clicking softly against the keys. After a moment, she nods. “Eighth floor. Conference Room.”

I clutch my bag tighter. “Thank you,” I reply.

I head toward the elevator bank, the sound of my heels muffled by the plush carpeting. As I wait for the elevator, I glance down at my phone. A text from Elena lights up the screen:

Good luck! Last one didn’t work out, but who gives a shit? You’ll nail this one. I know it. X

Her words make me smile, even if the knot in my stomach refuses to loosen.

I step into the elevator, the mirrored walls reflecting the tension on my face as I press the button for the eighth floor.

The ride feels interminable, the soft instrumental music doing little to soothe my nerves. I glance at the polished buttons, catching a distorted version of myself staring back.

I used to be stronger than this. Marco and his love-bombing got me fooled at first, and for a while, I thought he and I had it all. Then he got nasty. Real nasty.

He doesn’t know how to find me now, and it’s been a while since I saw him last, but the trauma clings to me like cigarettes smoke, choking my confidence at every turn.

Not today.

“Get it together, Vee,” I mutter under my breath.