Page 4 of Ruthless Bratva King

“Yes,” I say, forcing my voice to stay steady. “That’s my family.”

He rolls his eyes. “In my experience, when adults disappear, it’s because they don’t want to be found.”

Heat rises in my chest. “Without taking their phones, their wallets, or even their car?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” He finally looks up, his eyes flat. “People with your parents’ history don’t exactly live predictable lives.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means your father’s criminal record is longer than my arm. Your mother’s not far behind him. And your sister…well, apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it? I bet if I looked into your closet, I’d find a few skeletons, right?”

The words hit like a slap, but I refuse to back down. “Even if that’s true, they’re still missing. Doesn’t that mean something?”

He leans back, crossing his arms. “It means you’re better off letting this go. Trust me, no one will miss them, least of all me.”

Anger bubbles up, hot and sharp. “They’re my family. Why won’t you do something?”

He lowers his voice, glancing up at the camera near the ceiling before whispering so faintly I can barely hear him. “The Bratva King doesn’t leave loose ends. If I were you, I’d stop asking questions and start looking for somewhere to hide.”

I stare at him, stunned. The silence stretches until it feels unbearable.

He exhales heavily. “Stop looking. Stop asking. Because if you don’t…” He shrugs. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

My fists clench at my sides. “So, you’re not going to do anything?”

“Lady, I just helped you more than you know,” he replies, standing. “Now get out of here before I have to arrest you for the kilo of crystal I’m about to find in your handbag.”

I want to scream, to demand he take me seriously, but the look in his eyes shuts me down. It isn’t apathy. It’s terror. I only see it briefly before he looks bored again, but there’s no way I got that wrong.

“Thanks for nothing,” I say, getting to my feet, feeling a mixture of pity and impotent rage.

Veronica is waiting for me in the lobby, her phone still in hand. “Well?” she asks when I reach her.

“Same old story,” I say, my voice hollow. “He thinks I should be grateful I’m not dead. Whoever the Bratva King is, he sure scares the shit out of the cops.”

She curses under her breath. “So that’s it? Three people vanish and no one cares?”

“Pretty much.”

She grabs my arm and pulls me toward the door, her stride furious. “Fine. Screw them. We’ll figure this out ourselves.”

We step into the street, the cool afternoon air hitting me like a slap. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but something feels way off.

I glance around, my heart skipping a beat.

Then I see him.

He stands across the street, leaning casually against a sleek black SUV as if he owns the whole block—and maybe he does.

He’s got to be at least forty, imposingly tall, with broad shoulders that stretch the sharp lines of his tailored black suit. The fabric clings just enough to suggest the power beneath.

Tattoos coil up his hands like vines, vanishing beneath the crisp cuffs of his shirt, leaving me wondering how far they go.

His face holds me captive. His jaw is sharp enough to cut glass, framed by dark stubble that only adds to the air of menace.

His cheekbones are high, his lips firm, and his eyes take my breath away—piercing, cold, and utterly unrelenting, locking onto me like a predator sizing up prey.

His gaze reaches across the street to grip me, pinning me in place. My skin prickles under the weight of it, a flush rising to my cheeks that has nothing to do with the chilly air. My chest tightens, heat pooling low in my stomach, leaving me confused and off-balance.

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