Page 10 of Ruthless Bratva King

I groan, rolling onto my back, the couch groaning in protest. Veronica is a wonderful person, but how her skinny ass can sit on this abomination, I’ll never know.

I peel open one eye to see Dmitri’s business card tucked under the corner of my phone on the coffee table. I stare at it like it might sprout legs and crawl away.

So it really did happen.

I close my eyes and exhale shakily. My thoughts drift to him—his intensity, the way his gaze felt like a physical weight. His voice, deep and commanding, echoes in my mind.

The sound of Veronica’s rendition of Espresso breaks my trance, her singing amplified by the tiled walls of the bathroom.

I stagger off the couch, rubbing at my face as I head for the kitchen. The coffee maker is as ancient as the couch, but it does the job.

The bathroom door bursts open with a rush of steam, and Veronica emerges, wrapped in a towel and radiating smug cheerfulness.

“Good morning, sunshine! Feeling awake yet?”

I grunt in response, pouring coffee into a chipped mug and handing it to her.

She takes a sip and moans like it’s the best thing she’s ever tasted. “I needed that. Listen, I was thinking?—”

“Oh God, don’t do that yet. It’s far too early for thinking.”

She grins. “No, listen. This is important. I was thinking about waxing my?—”

“Don’t,” I cut her off, holding up a hand. “I don’t need to know.”

She wiggles her eyebrows at me. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“Yes, I do. It’s always about me helping to hack away at your nether regions, Veronica. Always. I am not waxing it for you. Our friendship has limits. I’m still recovering from you asking me to bleach your?—”

“Fine. Be unhelpful.” She takes another sip of coffee and gives me a pointed look over the rim of her mug. “You could at least help a girl out with her jungle. Monkeys are swinging from the vines down there.”

Her eyes flick to my open bag. “What’s that?” She points at my old portfolio sticking out the top.

Panic spikes in my chest. “Nothing. Just some old stuff.”

She grabs it before I can stop her, flipping through the pages. “You’ve been working hard since high school.”

I grab for the portfolio, but she yanks it away, holding it up like it’s a sacred artifact.

“Why aren’t you doing this for a living?” she asks. “You should be designing skyscrapers and art galleries, not hiding in my apartment dodging Russian serial killers.”

“Vee—”

“I’m serious.” She slaps the portfolio shut and shoves it back into my hands. “You’re not letting your crappy family or theirstupid opinions hold you back any longer. That college course you keep avoiding. Apply. Today. Where’s the rest?”

“The rest of what?”

Veronica narrows her eyes at me. “Your sketchbooks, doofus.”

“Back at the apartment.”

“Then we go get them together. We’ll get you into college.”

“Now is not the time for me to think about college.”

“Get dressed. We’re going to your place.”

“What if he’s there?”

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