Page 27 of Ruthless Bratva King

She picks up the phone. “Hungry?” she asks. “Because I reckon we make the most of the room service while we check out the value of that thing.”

20

ELENA

Veronica sits cross-legged on the floor, a bowl of crème brûlée balanced precariously on her knee, while I curl up on the sofa with the last of my food.

She’s humming a tune I don’t recognize as she scoops a spoonful of dessert into her mouth.

“See?” she says around a mouthful of custard. “This is the life. Fancy food, comfy robes, and no worries.”

I smirk, poking at my chicken with a fork. “If only life could always be this simple.”

“It could,” Veronica insists. “If you’re not gonna go for it with Dmitri, just ditch the drama, move to Fiji, and start a new life as a beach bartender. I’ll come with you. We’ll drink margaritas every day and wear bikinis so small people will think we’re modeling floss.”

“You do realize you burn like toast in the sun, right?”

She waves a hand dismissively. “It’ll be worth it. Come on, let’s run off together like Thelma and Louise.”

I sigh, setting my plate down on the coffee table. “I can’t just run away, Vee. My family might be... I don’t know, involved in something bad, but they’re still my family.”

“Are they, though?” Her tone is sharp, but her eyes are soft with concern. “Elena, you’ve spent your whole life trying to win their approval, and for what? So they could leave you behind? They don’t deserve you.”

She’s not wrong. My parents have always been more interested in their own lives than mine. Still, the idea of completely letting go feels impossible.

“I want to know where they went,” I admit. “Even if they left me behind.”

She sets her bowl down and scoots closer, placing a hand on my knee. “Look, I get it. You’re stuck in this limbo where your family is this giant question mark hanging over your head. But you can’t let them hold you back. You’ve got dreams. Architecture, remember?”

I nod slowly, wiping my eyes. “I know.”

She grins, nudging me playfully. “Now, tell me about Dmitri.”

I groan. “Do I have to?”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” She picks up her dessert again, eyeing me knowingly. “He’s mysterious, he’s hot, and he’s obviously into you. Why aren’t you on that ride yet?”

“The problem is that he’s terrifying,” I say, throwing up my hands. “And secretive. And dangerous. And...”

“And exactly what you need to get over all this family bullshit,” Veronica interrupts. “Come on, Elena. You said it yourself: your family doesn’t care about you. So why not have a little fun for once in your life?”

I open my mouth to argue, but no words come out. Because deep down, I know she’s right. Dmitri might be a lot of things, but he’s also the first person in a long time to make me feel alive.

21

ELENA

Veronica is asleep in the other room, her even breathing barely audible through the closed door. I sit cross-legged on the bed, staring at the city outside the window.

It feels like it’s watching me. Taunting me.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. My thoughts drift again—where they shouldn’t.

To Dmitri.

I close my eyes and lean back against the pillows, trying to shove his image out of my mind. It doesn’t work. He’s there, vivid as ever: broad shoulders, obsidian eyes, a voice that could command armies.

Why am I letting him get under my skin? I barely know the man. And yet...

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