Page 8 of Scarred Bratva King

Her hand tightens around mine, her eyes wide with horror. “That son of a bitch,” she spits, her voice trembling with anger. “I’ll kill him myself.”

I let out a weak, breathless laugh. “Pretty sure you’d look terrible in prison orange.”

“I’d only be in there until Dmitri had a word with the warden.” She frowns. “I guess we should thank God you’re such a good swimmer.”

I shake my head. “Someone pulled me out.”

“Oh my God? Who?”

“No idea. The nurse said it was some guy in a boat, but he didn’t stay. He saved me and then he just disappeared.”

Her expression softens for a moment, but the fury returns quickly. “Why didn’t you tell me about Marco?” she asks, her voice breaking. “I could have helped.”

Shame washes over me, and I look away. “I thought it was the real thing at first,” I admit quietly. “I wanted to be able to tell you I’d been dating properly for a while, no more one night stands.

“When he turned psycho, I was embarrassed. I thought it was my fault.”

“What?”

“For not being strong enough to see the red flags. I didn’t want you to think less of me.”

Her grip on my hand tightens. “Veronica, listen to me. None of this is your fault. Do you hear me? None of it.” Her expression hardens. “I promise you this. Marco is a dead man.”

I manage to wash with Elena’s help. The bathroom light is harsh, and when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I freeze.

Bruises have bloomed across my arms and neck, dark and angry against my pale skin. Elena sees them too, her face hardening.

She swallows hard, blinking back tears. “I swear to God, Veronica, Dmitri will rip him to pieces.”

“No,” I interrupt, gripping her arm. “Elena, he mustn’t.”

“Why the hell not?”

“This cop came in. He said Marco is Vito Lombardi’s nephew.”

“As intheVito Lombardi?”

“Yep, and they already have ten witnesses saying he wasn’t even there that night.”

Her jaw tightens, and I see the frustration in her eyes. “Dmitri will still handle this,” she says fiercely. “He can have Marco killed.”

“Not without causing a mob war,” I say quickly, my voice rising despite the pain it causes. “You know what it would mean if we kill Vito’s nephew.”

Her expression softens, but the determination doesn’t leave her eyes.

“We’ll work something out. Until then, you’re staying with us.” She squeezes my hand. “He’ll pay for hurting you, I swear to the almighty Gods of the Bratva.”

5

MAXIM

Moscow…

Ikeep thinking about that scar on her arm. I’ve burned enough men in my time to recognize it for what it was. Someone held her arm onto a stove top, scarred her for life.

I run my gloved hand over my own scar while I wait for the door to open. I have scars all over my body and I don’t give a shit about most of them. The one on my face, I like. It tells people who I am, that I’m a man you don’t fuck with.

I glance up and down the street. No one is watching. Good. Behind me, Ivan is waiting by my car, ready for if the piece of shit hiding inside makes a run for it.

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