Page 62 of Ruthless Bratva King

The cracks are forming. I can’t finish the job, not yet. Not when Elena’s trust and affection are tangled in the same threads as my lies.

I glance back through the glass door at her sleeping form. Her face is soft, her body curled beneath the blanket.

A part of me whispers that I should go inside, wake her, and confess everything. But I know what that would cost me. She’d look at me like they all do when they find out who I really am. Disgust in her eyes.

She’d hate me. She’d leave. And I’d deserve it.

I can’t let myself think about that. Not yet. Not while the heavier truth still hangs over me like a noose.

The truth.

The memory of that night claws its way to the surface, unbidden and relentless. I can still hear Peter’s voice, cold and detached as he gave the order.

Jimmy Carlton stole from me. Find out where he’s hiding it then kill them all. Do it in front of him. Make sure it hurts.

Back then, it didn’t occur to me to question him. Orders were orders, and following them without hesitation was how I’d survived this long. It’s what kept me alive, respected, feared.

But something went wrong with this job. When I arrived, the apartment was empty apart from her. I reported back to Peter that I would hunt them down at once.

Another lie.

Now the weight of what I nearly did suffocates me.

Would I have killed them if they hadn’t run? Before her, I wouldn’t have hesitated. The thought now sickens me.

My fingers tighten on the balcony railing as if gripping hard enough will hold back the tide of guilt.

My most trusted people are out there, quietly searching for her family.

Could I kill them now? Could I look Elena in the eyes after wiping out the last blood ties she has left? They treated her like shit. Attachment is weakness.

My stomach churns with questions I can’t answer.

It’s not just guilt that holds me back. It’s fear. Not of Peter, though he’s dangerous enough to warrant it. No, my fear is simpler. More human.

I’m terrified of losing her. The way she looks at me like she thinks I’m human.

If she knew the truth—if she knew I was the executioner sent to erase her and her family—she’d hate me. And she’d be right to.

But the thought of her looking at me with disgust instead of trust, of her leaving and never coming back…

The idea is unbearable.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, but it doesn’t help. She’s burrowed under my skin, latched onto every broken piece of me and made it her own.

Her presence soothes something raw and restless in my soul. She’s become my obsession.

I’ve put her in danger more times than I can count. I’ve made her a target.

But if I lose her, there won’t be a world left to live in. I’ll drown it in blood—Peter Ivanov’s, Don Lombardi’s, and every bastard who dared stand in my way—before I follow her into the grave.

I imagine Peter’s face if he ever discovers the truth. The cold fury in his eyes. The sick satisfaction as he plots his revenge.

He’d see my betrayal as a challenge, a game to be won. And when he’s finished with me, when my body is a ruin and my empire is ashes, he’d turn his attention to her.

As long as he lives, she’s in danger. Any thoughts of a family with her are pointless. He’d have us all killed.

I have one simple choice. I either kill him or her.

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