Page 7 of Scarred Bratva King

“What are you talking about?”

He lowers his voice. “You’re talking about Vito Lombardi’s nephew, right?”

The name hits me hard. Everyone in New York knows Vito Lombardi—the head of the city’s most powerful Italian crime family. “Marco’s his nephew?”

“You didn’t know?”

The asshole is in the fucking Italian mafia. That’s just perfect.

“What does that have to do with anything?” I ask, though the sinking feeling in my chest already tells me the answer.

Russo’s mouth tightens. “It means Marco has ten witnesses swearing he was at a private event in Chicago that night. Swearing he couldn’t have been anywhere near you or the Hudson.”

“That’s not possible,” I whisper. “He tried to kill me.”

Russo shrugs, the gesture heavy with resignation. “Doesn’t matter what’s true. What matters is what people will swear to. And with the Lombardis…”

He trails off, shaking his head. “Your best bet? Stay away. Disappear if you have to.” He walks over to the door. “You fell in, right? Anyone asks, you fell in. Simple as that.”

Then he’s gone.

I hear a voice, a familiar, frantic voice, calling out somewhere in the corridor.

“Where is she?” Elena is shouting. “Veronica Bennett, where is she? Is she here?”

A moment later, the door bursts open. Elena is here, filling the space with her presence like a whirlwind. Her hair is slightly disheveled, and tears streak her flushed cheeks.

For a moment, she stands frozen, her wide eyes locking onto mine. Then she rushes forward, careful but desperate, and throws her arms around me.

“Oh my God, Veronica,” she breathes, her voice cracking. “You’re alive. You’re okay. I thought you were gone. It’s been a month. Jesus, I should have found you before now. I’m so sorry.”

I flinch slightly at the pressure of her hug against my sore ribs, but I don’t stop her. I can’t. The raw emotion in her voice cuts me deeply.

“Elena,” I manage, my voice hoarse. “I’m okay.”

She pulls back, her hands cupping my face as she studies me. Her eyes are full of tears, her lip trembling. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” she says fiercely. Her voice falters, and she looks away for a moment, collecting herself.

“Dmitri’s been looking for you,” she continues, her voice steadier. “He’s had everyone searching for weeks. We checked the hospitals but you must have slipped through the net somehow.”

Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them away. “I didn’t mean to scare you. It wasn’t…” My voice cracks, and I take a shaky breath.

She sits on the edge of the bed, taking my hand in hers. Her touch is firm but warm. “What happened? Please, tell me everything.”

I swallow hard, my throat dry and tight. “You remember the job interview?” I begin slowly.

She nods. “That was the last day I heard from you. I went to the building but no one remembered seeing you there.”

“It wasn’t a real job. Marco set it up.”

“Marco? Who’s Marco?”

“I never told you about him. We dated for about a month before he turned psycho so I dumped him. That was six months back. Seven, now I guess.

I show her the scar on my arm. “Remember how I told you it was an accident?” I shake my head. “Anyway, I got out of it and thought that was that but he stalked me.

“All those dates I had, he scared off the men dating me. All of them. Hacked into my emails and found out I was job hunting, set up an interview, hired a room downtown. Told me he wanted me to marry him. I told him to get lost and he knocked me out.”

I pause to steady myself, the memories hitting me hard. “When I woke up, I was dangling over a bridge. He threw me into the river. He tried to kill me.”

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