Page 34 of Ruthless Bratva King

The stranger leans against the wall of the elevator, his hands in his jacket pockets. He looks casual, but something about the set of his shoulders feels deliberate, like a cobra waiting to strike.

Dmitri steps slightly in front of me, a move so subtle I might not have noticed if I weren’t hyper-aware of him. His broad shoulders block my view of the man, shielding me.

The elevator continues its descent, the hum of the machinery deafening in the silence.

“Nice night,” the man says, his voice low and gravelly.

Dmitri doesn’t respond.

My stomach tightens. There’s something off about his tone, something too familiar.

“Going down to the bar?”

Dmitri replies this time, his voice like cold steel. “You’ve got the wrong elevator. Get out at the next floor.”

The man chuckles softly, the sound grating. “Seems like the right one to me.”

The tension in the small space is suffocating. Dmitri doesn’t move, doesn’t take his eyes off the man, but the energy rolling off him is lethal.

“Step off at the next floor,” Dmitri says, his tone flat and unyielding. “Last chance.”

The man raises his hands in mock surrender, the smirk never leaving his face. “Relax, friend. Just making conversation.”

“So be it.”

The man glances at Dmitri. “You look familiar. Do I know you?” he asks after a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Dmitri’s smile is faint and humorless. “You were sent to fetch it from her and kill her protector. You were sent here to die.”

The man glances at him again. “Are you…?”

“The name Dmitri ring any bells in that empty head of yours?”

The name lands like a thunderclap. The man stiffens, his face draining of color. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly.

The tension in the elevator skyrockets. I glance between them, my heart pounding, even though I don’t fully understand what’s happening.

The man quickly lowers his gaze, muttering something in Russian. Though I don’t understand the words, the tone is unmistakable—an apology.

Dmitri doesn’t respond. He stands there, unflinching, his eyes boring into the man like twin daggers.

“I’m sorry,” the man says, switching to English, his voice shaking slightly.

“Too late,” Dmitri says softly, his tone chillingly calm.

The elevator dings, signaling the lobby. Dmitri turns to me, his expression unreadable. “Step out, Elena” he says quietly. “I’ll be a moment.”

“Please,” the man mutters, looking on the verge of tears. “It was just a job. How was I supposed to know it was you?”

I step out of the elevator, my legs feeling unsteady beneath me. I catch one last glimpse of the man’s face. He looks like he knows he’s about to die.

Then the doors close, leaving me alone.

26

ELENA

Ishould run. But where would I go? I just agreed to be the wife of the savage man who’s now doing God knows what to the idiot who was stupid enough to cross him. I dread to think what could happen tomeif I leave his side.

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