Page 53 of Ruthless Bratva King

I stare at him. “Anything else you discovered while you were busy violating my privacy?”

“You’re sentimental. You kept every birthday card anyone ever gave you. But your sister was the golden child.” He takes another bite of croissant, as if dropping a bombshell like that is no big deal.

“How do you—” My voice catches. “How can you even know that?”

“The room and the photos,” he says simply. “In every one of them, your parents are beaming at her. You’re either off to the side or looking miserable.”

My throat tightens. “Want to know what she got last Christmas?”

“Go on.”

“A new car. Want to know what they got me?”

He nods.

“A sweater and a box of tissues.”

He growls, his expression grave. “You deserved better.”

I drop my gaze to my plate, swallowing hard. “You know you’re the first person who’s ever made me feel like I mattered. Even if it’s just for now, I appreciate it.”

He leans back in his chair, his gaze heavy on me. “I never really knew my parents. I suspect they were like yours, abandoning their son the way they did.”

“What happened?”

“Dumped me in the street when I was six.”

“What the fuck? What did you do?”

“I stole to survive until the Bratva found me. They trained me to kill. Taught me the value of power and strength.”

“And that’s all you care about?” I ask.

His gaze locks onto mine, and something flickers in his eyes. “Until you.”

I don’t know what to say to that, so I look away, my heart racing.

After a moment, he speaks again, his tone matter-of-fact. “I’ve moved all your things to a safe place. If anyone goes to your apartment, they won’t find anything to connect you to any of this.”

I glance up, startled. “All my things?”

“Everything.”

There’s a finality in his tone that leaves no room for argument. I can’t decide if his thoroughness is comforting or unnerving.

“What about the man who came to the door?” I ask, my voice quieter now. “Who was he?”

Dmitri’s expression hardens. “I’ll deal with him after breakfast.”

His calm assurance is both chilling and strangely reassuring. As we finish eating, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve stepped into a world I barely understand—a world where I might not survive without Dmitri’s ruthless protection.

“I canceled your funding application,” he says casually a moment later.

“What? Why?”

“Your place at the college is secured. I paid the tuition in full and made a donation. A substantial one.” His tone is so matter-of-fact, as if he’s talking about the weather. “You’re in. No need to worry on that front.”

“You bribed them?” My voice pitches higher with every word. “You think I’d be okay with that? That I’d only get in because of your money?”

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