Page 78 of Ruthless Bratva King

He steps closer, circling me like a predator sizing up its prey. “You can go,” he continues, his tone deceptively casual. “You can walk away. Leave her here. I will let you retire. Walk away for good.”

He stops in front of me, leaning in as if to share a secret. His eyes glint with cruel amusement. “Let’s see,” he whispers, “if the cold-blooded killer has a conscience. Or if the old Dmitri is still alive and well under that new, flabby exterior.”

I don’t move. I don’t speak. Every instinct screams to lunge for Peter’s throat, but I know better. This isn’t just a test. It’s a trap, and if I falter now, we’re both dead.

Peter straightens, his smirk as smug as it is infuriating. “So, what will it be? The clock is ticking.” He taps his wrist, though he isn’t wearing a watch. “And I do mean that quite literally. You have one hour. Clock’s ticking.”

Elena chokes out a whisper, her voice trembling. “Dmitri…”

I force myself to remain stone-faced, the weight of her broken trust pressing heavy on my chest. My silence speaks volumes, but I can’t afford to crack.

Finally, I nod, curt and precise. Peter claps his hands together, mockingly delighted. “Off you go, then.”

As I turn toward the exit, I risk one glance at Elena. Her tear-streaked face and trembling body sear into my memory.

I force myself to look away and stride out, every step tightening the noose around my neck.

Behind me, Peter’s voice follows, a chilling reminder. “One hour, Dmitri. Tick-tock.”

55

ELENA

The hour Dmitri was given is nearly up.

Peter had a clock brought in so I could watch each minute drag by, another nail in the coffin of my faith in him.

A part of me wants to believe he’ll burst through that door at any moment, the man I thought I could trust, the man I?—

No.

I shove the thought aside, my chest tightening. I’ve learned this lesson before: you can’t rely on anyone but yourself. Belief is bullshit. It’s about protecting yourself as best you can from the pain of it all.

The door creaks open, and Peter strides in with three minutes left on the clock. The light from the hallway outlines his sharp figure, his tailored suit immaculate despite the crumbling surroundings. His eyes gleam with smug satisfaction as he surveys me.

“Well,” he says, his voice dripping with mock sympathy, “it seems your knight in shining armor isn’t so gallant after all.”

I glare at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing my fear.

Peter chuckles, stepping closer. “Don’t take it too hard, sweetheart. Men like Dmitri always choose survival. But don’t worry—I’ll find him soon enough. And when I do, I’ll ensure his betrayal ends with a bullet. He honestly thinks I’ll let him just walk away? The man’s a fool.”

His words are calculated, each syllable designed to cut deeper. My throat tightens, but I won’t let him see me cry.

He pulls a gun from inside his jacket, its black barrel gleaming under the flickering light. He holds it loosely in his hand. “One minute left.”

And then, the door bursts open.

Dmitri steps in, his presence commanding, his expression calm and unreadable. In his hand, he carries the jade statue, its intricate carvings catching the dim light.

“Here,” Dmitri says, his voice low and steady. “As you ordered.”

For a moment, time seems to freeze. Peter’s smirk falters, his gaze shifting from me to Dmitri and back again. The air in the room is electric, the tension so thick it’s almost suffocating.

He lowers the gun slightly, but his grip on it tightens. Dmitri takes a step forward, his eyes locking onto mine for the briefest of moments before returning to Peter.

“Well, look at you,” Peter says, his voice dripping with mock admiration. “Right on time. Maybe I misjudged you.”

Dmitri stands motionless, his expression a mask of indifference. He doesn’t respond, his silence infuriatingly cool against Peter’s gloating.

---