Page 24 of Ruined

The Bratva? That was the real problem. And Luca—stubborn, reckless Luca—was the one piece of this mess I didn’t trust to keep in line.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. I had too many fires to put out, but Luca was the smoldering ember that burned hottest.

SIX

LUCA

When I was ten, the Bratva came for my parents.

There’d been a war for Southie, prime territory that my father had gained too much influence over. Mikhail, a man who later became Pakhan, wanted to send a message. He broke into my home and killed my parents. Then he set my house on fire.

He wasn’t supposed to take me.

I still didn’t know why he did it. Mercy? Doubtful. Mikhail didn’t believe in mercy. Maybe it was a whim. Maybe he liked knowing he’d turned a Costa into a Romanov puppet.

I’d woken up in a gray room—cold, empty, silent. Strangers surrounded me. A woman with a tight smile sat beside me. She said this was my new home, that I wasluckyto be alive.

Lucky.

I screamed until my throat went raw. I cried for my mother. I waited. Day after day, I waited for someone to come for me.

No one ever did.

The Bratva carved themselves into me that night, as deep as the fire scarred my memories. I spent fourteen years living under their roof.

They forced me to kneel. Fed me lies about brotherhood while they laughed and watched me choke on it. I learned to smile through gritted teeth while plotting my revenge. When I finally took my shot and put Mikhail in the ground, I thought I’d won.

Wrong.

The Bratva circled closer every day. They had no reason to let go of their vendetta after what I’d done to their Pakhan. Revenge wasn’t optional. It was sacred.

Fear burned through me like acid. I didn’t let it show but it chewed through me in the dark. Every quiet moment felt like a trap waiting to snap shut.

After getting my orders from Vinn, I spent hours pacing the tables and back rooms, scanning every face.

Then I sat at a small poker table near the bar, sorting a stack of chips. The movement steadied me. The rhythmic scrape of ceramic on felt, stacking neat towers of green and red. Count. Build. Shuffle.

Gamblers were thinning out. A few tourists clung to slot machines like their luck would change if they stared hard enough. My back itched where it faced the empty casino floor.

I placed another chip onto a stack.

Loyalty.That’s what I’d earned every time I survived Alexei’s sadistic “training,” but loyalty went both ways, and I’d spit on the Bratva when I walked away.

I should’ve run.

My phone rang with an unknown number. Third one today. I answered it, knowing full well what waited me on the other end.

Nothing.

Dead air. Not a fucking breath.

I didn’t bother speaking. Neither did he. We didn’t need words. No apologies. No threats. Everyone knew how it would end. The only question was how many pathetic bastards we’d take with us.

This time, the unknown caller allowed me to hear what they did on their end. A grating, metal-on-metal sharpening creaked over the line.

A blade on a whetstone.

At least the knife would be sharp when they dug it into my guts.

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