Page 14 of Ruthless Bratva King

“That’s not how the world works, Elena,” he’d said, sneering as he held one of my designs up to the light. “You think someone like you has a chance at making it? Stick to reality, kid. Girls don’t design things. Hell, you can hardly cook a fucking omelet.”

The memory tightens my chest, but I shove it aside as I look at Veronica. “It doesn’t matter,” I say. “I wouldn’t even know where to start. My portfolio is outdated, and the deadlines?—”

“Stop.” She cuts me off with a sharp tone I don’t hear often from her. “You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“The thing where you sabotage yourself before you even try.”

I open my mouth to argue, but she barrels ahead.

“You’re afraid to fail, and I get it. But you know what’s worse than failing? Not trying at all.”

Her words hit harder than I want to admit. I glance down at the sketches in my lap, the intricate lines blurring as my eyes sting.

She scoots closer, resting a hand on my knee. “You’ve spent your whole life letting them hold you back—your dad, your sister, your mom. But they’re not here anymore. This is your chance to take control. To do something foryou.”

I swallow hard, staring at the design in my hands. It’s the library, my favorite piece. I can almost hear the echoes of my father’s cruel laughter in the back of my mind, but Veronica’s words drown it out.

“What if I can’t do it?” I whisper. “What if he’s right?”

She squeezes my knee. “What if he’s wrong? He’s not exactly an oracle of genius, is he?”

The question hangs in the air.

“I could update the portfolio,” I say quietly, more to myself than to Veronica. “Maybe add some new designs. If I start tonight…”

Her face lights up, her smile so wide it’s almost blinding. “Yes! That’s what I’m talking about!”

Her excitement is contagious, and despite the anxiety swirling in my chest, I feel a flicker of hope. For the first time in years, the idea of pursuing architecture doesn’t feel impossible.

“I’ll do you a deal,” I say. “I can’t focus on my future until I get to the bottom of this mystery.” I pull out the scrap of paper and pass it to her. “I’ll apply for college if you’ll take me to that address.”

12

DMITRI

Ifucked up.

Dropped the address in her room. When was the last time I did something that dumb? Had to go back in her room and looked through her sketchbooks before I left, didn’t I? Dropped the damned paper and didn’t even notice, too busy thinking about her.

I went back to get it as soon as I realized. Didn’t want to leave any clues for some rookie cop trying to make a name for himself.

But she was there. I wasn’t expecting that.

I need to move fast before she does. Get to the address and get this whole shitshow over with.

I stare up at the flickering neon sign above a shabby brick building. It’s a front, and a shoddy one at that, like all of Lombardi’s places.

What a fucking dump. The kind of place where debts spiral into bloodshed, and bodies go missing without anyone asking questions.

The scent of her lingers. Elena. The faint trace of something sweet on her skin, like vanilla or honey. I can still see the fear inher wide eyes, the slight tremble in her hands as she stood frozen in front of me.

And the way her lips parted as if she was going to say something before the bathroom door opened and her friend interrupted us.

She doesn’t even know how close I came to ripping her clothes off and fucking her right there. If she hadn’t had company, I doubt I could have held back.

She’s just a means to an end. But the truth claws at me, sharp and unrelenting. I can feel her under my skin, crawling deeper with every second I let her live.

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