Page 52 of Ruthless Bratva King

36

ELENA

Ihear the front door creak open and spring to my feet, the gun trembling in my hands.

Every nerve in my body is on high alert, my heart pounding so loudly I’m certain whoever is entering can hear it.

Dmitri steps through the doorway with pastries in his hand, his broad shoulders filling the frame, his movements calm and deliberate.

He halts the moment his gaze falls on me—standing in the middle of the living room, pointing his own gun directly at his chest. His dark eyes narrow, not with anger, but with sharp, assessing focus.

“Elena,” he says softly, his voice low and steady. “Who did you think it was?”

My arms are trembling, but I tighten my grip. “Someone was here.”

The tension in his jaw is subtle but unmistakable. He steps closer, slowly, his hands slightly raised, as if calming a wild animal. “Did he give you a name? What did he look like?”

I exhale a shaky breath, trying to remember every detail. “Short. Russian accent. Short-cropped hair, maybe late twenties.He seemed angry—like he wasn’t expecting anyone to be here. He didn’t tell me his name.”

Dmitri nods once, absorbing the information. “Good. You have a keen eye for details.”

His calm demeanor is almost unnerving, but his steady praise soothes the frayed edges of my nerves. “You handled it well,moya lisitsa,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly in what I think is approval. “But you can lower the gun now. I’m not here to hurt you.”

I hesitate for a second longer, then slowly let my arms drop, the weight of the gun making my fingers ache as I release it. Dmitri steps forward, taking the gun from my hands and inspecting it briefly before setting it on the nearby table with the breakfast things.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his tone softening as he looks me over. “But you left the safety on. Lucky he didn’t notice. How’d you make him leave?”

“I remembered what you said.”

“What was that?”

“About belief. I made him believe I’d shoot him. He said he’d be back though.”

Dmitri’s eyes harden at that, a flicker of danger glinting in their depths. “Good. I have some things to discuss with him.”

The events of the morning catches up with me, and my knees feel weak.

He notices instantly, moving to my side and placing a steadying hand on my arm.

“Let’s eat,” he says. “You need food. You’ll feel better after.”

37

ELENA

We sit at the table in the kitchen, plates of croissants between us. I expected silence, maybe even awkwardness, but Dmitri is oddly conversational.

His casual demeanor feels almost normal—except for the unsettling things he says.

“You were the tidy one growing up, weren’t you?” he muses, cutting into his toast. “Yet you drop crumbs everywhere.”

I freeze mid-bite. “What?”

“You. Tidy.” He gestures with his fork. “Your clothes were neatly folded into drawers unlike your sister.”

I blink at him, unsettled. “You went through my drawers? Why?”

His dark eyes meet mine with no trace of apology. “To look for clues. And in the process, I learned a lot.”

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