Page 17 of Ruthless Bratva King

She scoffs. “Raise you? Your parents treated you like a burden, and as for your sister—don’t even get me started on her. The only reason you’re in this car right now is because you think fixing their mess will make them treat you better. Newsflash, it won’t. Nothing will. Good fucking riddance, I say.”

“That’s not fair,” I snap, but even I can hear the lack of conviction in my voice.

She glances at me again, her brow furrowed. “When are you going to start thinking about your future, huh?”

“I can’t afford the rent on a waitress’s salary.”

“Move in with me.”

“That’s a kind offer but you’d get sick of me.”

“Enough with the bullshit!” she shouts, then exhales sharply, visibly trying to calm herself. “Elena, you can’t keep doing this. Chasing after people who don’t care about you. Living in their shadows. Kicking yourself over and over. You’re smart. You’re talented. You’re gorgeous?—”

“Don’t,” I cut her off.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t lie to me. I know what I look like, okay?”

Veronica slams her hand against the steering wheel, making me jump. “God, you’re infuriating! You’re not ugly, Elena!You’re just too damn stubborn to see yourself the way everyone else does. Including that uber-hottie Dmitri, by the way.”

I blink at her, thrown off by the mention of his name. “What does Dmitri have to do with anything?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the way he can’t take his eyes off you? Broke into your place and looked like he was about to fuck you into next week if it wasn’t for my rude interruption.”

“That’s not?—”

“Stop.” Veronica cuts me off with a raised hand. “Just stop. You’re allowed to want more for yourself, okay? You’re allowed to be happy. And he wanted you, that much was clear.”

“Did he?” The idea, so clearly stated, sends a tingle through me.

She winks. “Sure he did.” She pulls the car to a stop at the curb. “Looks like whatever happened here, we missed it.”

I look out the window, my stomach sinking at the sight of a run-down building surrounded by police tape.

A sense of foreboding settles over me, heavy and oppressive. Two police cruisers, lights flashing, block the street.

“Well, this looks ominous,” Veronica mutters. “You think your family’s in there?”

“Wait here,” I swing open the door and look for the nearest cop. “I’ll find out.”

I hesitate on the sidewalk, my heart pounding. The faded sign above the door readsThe Red Lanternin chipped paint, its neon lights fizzling and flickering.

“Yeah, he just walked in, calm as you like,” a gruff voice is saying in an Italian accent. “Killed all three of ‘em before anyone even had time to blink.”

I spot where the voice is coming from. Coming out of the doorway is a black cop in his fifties and some skinny guy in a blood splattered suit, cigarette dangling from his lips. He looks on the verge of throwing up.

The cop mutters something I can’t make out.

“Looking for someone,” the guy replies as they get closer to me. “Carlton, I think the name was. Jimmy Carlton.”

“Who’s that?” the cop asks.

“One of our regulars. Used to play here but we’ve not seen him for a couple of weeks. Kept going on about some big score he was about to make, racking up debts. Pissed Lombardi right off. Swore he’d pay us back as soon as he did this big secret job of his.”

The cop looks up, noticing me for the first time. “You lost, sweetheart?”

I take a step back, my heart hammering. “You’re talking about my dad. Jimmy Carlton. Have you seen him?

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