Page 13 of Scarred Bratva King

I smile to myself as I realize something.

“You look happy,” Ivan says.

I nod. “Arseni was paid by Vito Lombardi to betray us. When I’m Pakhan I can order everyone to focus on bringing Lombardi down. No more sticking to our half of the city. I kill him and then I rule New York.”

“Just like you always dreamed of doing.”

“Precisely.”

7

VERONICA

One week later…

Elena’s car pulls up in front of the hospital.

“There she is,” she says brightly as she climbs out, striding toward me. “The great survivor. You ready to blow this popsicle stand?”

I snort, despite myself. “I prefer blowing men to popsicle stands. They pay for dinner first.”

“Just as cold inside though.” She chuckles, but her gaze flits over me, scanning for signs of weakness. I’m sure she sees them all—the stiffness in my walk, the way I press my arm to my ribs, the dark circles under my eyes that no amount of concealer could ever hide. But she doesn’t comment on it, and for that, I’m grateful.

“I will miss the gourmet Jell-O,” I add dryly as she takes my bag from me and places it in the trunk. “Two flavors available for the discerning diner. Slop or bilge for madam?”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Dmitri can get hold of some bilge,” she says with a grin, opening the passenger door and gesturingfor me to get in. “Slop’s been out of stock for a couple of days though. Will shit do?”

“Beggars can’t be choosers.”

I lower myself into the seat, a sharp pain flaring in my chest. I wince. Elena notices, of course.

“You okay?” she asks.

“I’m fine,” I snap, harsher than I mean to. Her expression doesn’t change, but guilt creeps in anyway. I rub my temples, forcing a softer tone. “I’m fine, really. Just tired.”

She slides into the driver’s seat, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye as she starts the car. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend you’re okay when you’re not. It’s me, Veronica. You don’t have to perform.”

I stare out the window, my fingers curling into the leather seat. “It’s not a performance,” I mutter, but we both know it is. Humor is the mask I wear, the shield I use to keep people at arm’s length. If I can make them laugh, they won’t see how broken I really am.

Elena doesn’t push, and for that, I love her. Instead, she eases the car into traffic, the city blurring around us as we head toward her mansion.

The silence between us is comfortable, or at least it would be if my nerves weren’t fraying at the edges. “You lost your rental,” she says after a while. “Sorry.”

I shrug. “Hated that place anyway. Needed an architect to redo the whole building. Do you know one?”

She grins. “I haven’t even started the course yet. Give me time. How come you haven’t asked about any of your stuff?”

“Because lovely woman that you are, I’m betting you got it out of my apartment and put it in storage before the lease ran out.”

“Nope.”

“Oh.”

She laughs. “Put it in Dmitri’s place. It’s all there waiting for you.”

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