Page 50 of Ruthless Bratva King

“Thanks for the reminder,” I mutter.

“Hey, I’m not saying it’s not possible. Just don’t get too attached yet. Wait until he’s taken you up Pompeii a few more times. Then see how you feel.”

I lie back on the pillow, staring at the ceiling. “I feel good. Is that weird?”

“Post sex high? Yeah, it’s totally normal.” Veronica’s voice is teasing, but there’s an undercurrent of concern. “Either that or you feel disgust and self loathing. Or maybe that’s just me. Remember, you can always bail if it gets too much.”

There’s a brief pause, then she shifts the conversation. “And hey, I sent off those forms for you like you asked. You owe me a coffee when you get accepted on that course.”

I smile. “Deal.”

34

ELENA

Itake a shower then wrap myself in a fluffy towel. I wander back into the bedroom, water dripping from my hair onto the floor. Dmitri still hasn’t returned, and the silence in the apartment feels heavier than before.

I glance at my bag in the corner, the jade statue tucked safely inside.

I sit cross-legged on the bed, pulling the statue out carefully. The jade is smooth and cold under my fingers, its intricate carvings catching the light. I can’t explain why it fascinates me, but there’s something almost hypnotic about it.

Curiosity gnaws at me. Grabbing my phone, I snap a picture of the statue and open Google Lens. The app processes for a moment, then a list of results pop up.

The first article grabs my attention immediately: “The Jade Dragon of Peter Ivanov: A Symbol of Power and Blood.”

My stomach sinks as I click the link. The page loads with a photo of the exact statue I’m holding. My heart pounds as I skim the text, my fingers tightening around the phone.

Peter Ivanov, Head of the East Coast Bratva. Known for his ruthlessness and unrelenting thirst for power, Ivanov recently cemented his place as the most feared mob boss in the world.

The Jade Dragon, a priceless artifact was gifted as a token of submission by the collective efforts of three defeated rival factions.

I scan down to the bottom of the article.

Since it was stolen during an insurance appraisal last week, tensions within the New York underworld have reached boiling point.

I search for Peter Ivanov, reading the text as I feel bile rise up inside me.

His methods for consolidating power are as infamous as they are horrifying. In one incident, he ordered the execution of an entire rival family after luring them to a supposed peace negotiation.

Six months ago, he ordered a high-ranking informant to be boiled alive as a warning to others.

Just this week, Ivanov ordered the torture of a journalist who investigated the jade statue theft, sending the man’s dismembered pieces to his family one at a time.

His personal hitman, an as yet unidentified underworld figure, is believed to have carried out these and many other atrocities on Ivanov’s behalf both in America and Russia.

A wave of nausea hits me. I put the cellphone down, breathing deeply to steady myself.

His personal hitman.

Could that be Dmitri?

The idea leaves me cold. I’ve known since the beginning that Dmitri is morally gray at best, but this is on a whole other level.

Is Dmitri only here for the statue? But if that’s the case, why let me keep it? And who sent it to me anyway?

I look at the statue again, my reflection warped in the polished jade. The intricate dragon carving seems to stare back at me, its expression mocking my questions.

Dmitri saved me. He’s protected me. He’s nothing like my family, who abandoned me without a second thought. He promised to keep me safe.

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