Page 22 of Ruthless Bratva King

I don’t really believe it, though. Something tells me I’m safe with him, even though his presence alone made my body quake with previously unfelt desires. How did he do that to me?

Veronica’s about to launch into a rebuke when my phone buzzes on the counter. I glance at the screen and frown.

“Apparently, a parcel was just delivered to my apartment.”

“Do you have any idea what it might be?”

I shake my head. “No. I haven’t ordered anything.”

Her eyes light up. “Ooh, maybe it’s a surprise gift. From a not-so-secret admirer, perhaps? A Russian one who wants to take my bestie’s V-card and reduce it to confetti?”

I roll my eyes, but my chest tightens at the thought. “He doesn’t strike me as the flowers-and-candy type.”

“Maybe it’s a dildo.”

“Vee!”

She grins. “Seriously, though. What do you think about what I said earlier? About taking a chance?”

I hesitate. “I don’t know. It’s not that simple.”

“Nothing worth having ever is.” Her tone softens, and when I glance at her, her expression is serious. “Look, I’m not saying jump into bed with him tomorrow, but don’t shut yourself off from the possibility, okay?”

She glances at the time. “The casserole needs to simmer for another hour. Loads of time. Let’s go.”

16

ELENA

The package sits on the floor outside my apartment door. Plain brown wrapping paper, a neat twine bow, and no return address in sight.

Veronica stands behind me, peering over my shoulder. “That’s it?” she says, tilting her head. “I was expecting something a little more dangerous.”

“Like what?”

“Ticking clock like a bomb or vibrating love eggs. You know, something more exciting.”

Her flippant tone doesn’t help the nervous knot forming in my stomach. “It’s not a joke, Veronica,” I mutter, bending down to pick it up.

The package is solid in my hands, lighter than it looks. A tingle of apprehension runs up my spine.

She crosses her arms, leaning casually against the wall. “Relax, girl. I’m just saying, for all the drama you’ve been through, I expected something flashier. But, hey, maybe it’s a treasure map, or a cursed artifact, or?—”

“Can you not?” I snap, though the edge in my voice isn’t meant for her. It’s the nerves talking.

I turn the package over in my hands. No writing, no instructions. Just a name scrawled in block letters:Elena Carlton.

Veronica pops her gum. “Well? You gonna open it?”

I shake my head, suddenly certain that whatever’s inside, I don’t want to see it. “Not here. Let’s take it to the car.”

She raises an eyebrow. “What if itisa bomb?”

“Nah,” I say, too quickly. “That would be a dumb risk for someone to take. I just—look, let’s get out of here. I feel weird out in the open.”

She rolls her eyes but picks up her purse. “Fine. But if it is a bomb, my detached head’s last words will be ‘I told you so’.”

I shoot her a glare, but she only grins, unfazed. Sometimes I think nothing ever rattles her, but then again, I’m pretty sure that’s her defense mechanism.

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