Page 77 of Ruthless Bratva King

She’s bound to a chair, her hair tangled and her face pale. Her clothes are rumpled, her wrists raw against the rope that holds her.

It’s her eyes that gut me. Wide with fear and betrayal, they lock onto mine, searching for answers I can’t give her. Not yet.

The sight of her hits me like a blow to the chest. The room seems to close in, and for a fleeting moment, the facade I’ve built so carefully threatens to crack.

I shove it down. Lock it away. She can’t see it. Peter can’t see it.

I am the Dmitri I used to be. Cold. Unyielding. Unaffected.

“Quite the scene, isn’t it?” Peter’s voice is light, mocking, as he strolls toward her. “Such a fragile thing. And yet you, Dmitri, snuffed out her family like they were nothing. Ruthless as ever. Only one body left to join the pile.”

Elena’s eyes fill with tears, her gaze darting between Peter and me. Her lips part, but no words come out. I force myself not to look at her for too long, to keep my focus on Peter, where it needs to be.

Inside, a storm rages. But outside? I am ice.

He circles me like a vulture, his smug grin growing wider with every second. He’s savoring this, soaking in the tension like it’s his lifeblood.

“Well, Dmitri,” he drawls, his voice dripping with mockery, “don’t keep the poor girl in suspense. Tell her what you’ve done. How did you do it?”

My jaw tightens, but I keep my face a mask of indifference. My pulse pounds in my ears, a drumbeat of rage and despair.

He gestures toward Elena, bound and trembling, her tear-streaked face turned toward me. Her eyes, wide and desperate, lock onto mine. They’re filled with questions, hope warring with fear, a silent plea for the truth.

“Go on,” he presses, his tone taking on an edge. “Tell her how you killed her family. Tell her you don’t care about her. Let her see the real you. You had your fun with your fuck toy but it’s over, isn’t it?”

Every muscle in my body screams to lash out, to silence Peter with a bullet and take her far away from this hell. But I can’t. Not yet.

I’ll be wiped out and she’ll be left alone. I force myself to meet her gaze, drawing on the cold, ruthless man I once was—the man I swore I wouldn’t be to her.

“Elena,” I say, my voice steady and devoid of emotion. “Your family is dead.”

The words are knives in my throat. Her lips tremble, her body going rigid as the weight of the statement crushes her. But Peter isn’t satisfied.

“And?” he prompts, his eyes glinting with malevolent glee.

I draw in a breath, locking away every emotion that threatens to surface. “And I don’t care about you. I never did.”

The lie tastes like poison.

Elena’s face crumples, her tears spilling over. Her belief in me—whatever fragile trust we had—shatters before my eyes. She folds in on herself, shaking her head as if trying to banish the words, her sobs filling the room like a dirge.

The pain in her eyes is unbearable, a searing wound I can’t let myself acknowledge. I don’t look away, don’t falter, even as her heartbreak cleaves me in two.

Peter laughs, the sound cruel and victorious. “There’s the Dmitri I know,” he says, clapping his hands together like this is all a game. “And to think I thought you’d lost it. You’ve just been torturing her in a different way, you crazy son of a bitch.”

Inside, I’m burning alive. But I remain silent, my mask unbroken. Because if I slip—if I let even a flicker of the truth show—Peter will destroy us both.

His smile widens, a viper savoring the moment before it strikes. He paces leisurely, his polished shoes clicking against the concrete floor, the sound echoing in the tense silence.

“Well,” he says, his voice mockingly light, “this is shaping up to be quite the reunion. But let’s make it more interesting, shall we?”

He turns to face me, his expression a mask of amusement barely hiding the venom beneath.

“You have two choices, Dmitri. You can fetch the jade statue that I sent to her and bring it back here within the hour.”

His grin stretches wider, shark-like. “I know you lied about that to me. What was the plan? Sell it and retire? You know no one retires from this job. I’ll make you a deal: your life or hers. You bring me the statue and sacrifice your life to save hers.” He shrugs. “Or you don’t come back, and she dies. One hour.”

The room feels colder. Elena’s gasp cuts through the air, sharp and pained. I don’t look at her, keeping my gaze locked on Peter’s.

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