Page 102 of Mafia King's Ruthless Obsession

“You’re a disgrace,” he spits, each word cutting deeper than the last. “We gave you everything. And you repay us with betrayal.”

“Daddy—”

“No!” he roars, his voice thunderous. I flinch instinctively, but Vasiliy moves between us, shielding me without hesitation.

“You got your brothers killed,” my father snarls. “Now you’re throwing yourself at the man who helped finish the job. You’ve brought nothing but shame.”

He looks at me like I’m something rotten.

“You’re no longer my daughter. Don’t ever set foot in this house again.”

I try once more, barely holding back the tears. “Please, Daddy?—”

“I wish it was you who died instead of your brothers,” he hisses. “At least then, they wouldn’t have died in vain.”

My heart stutters. Vasiliy stiffens, and then leans forward.

“You’re lucky I’m trying to be a better man for your daughter, old man,” he snaps. “Or I’d beat the living shit out of you right here.”

“Get the fuck out of my house!” my father bellows.

Vasiliy grabs my hand and hauls me out without another word. Fury radiates off him in waves. His jaw’s tight, his body vibrating with the urge to turn back and finish what he started. I don’t even try to reason with him. I just follow, wordless, my fingers clenched in his as we get into the car and drive.

I can’t help but glance back. One of the curtains twitches. My mother’s watching from the window. Our eyes meet.

She’s crying.

And it’s my fault.

I look away before I break. I don’t know what hurts more, that she couldn’t speak up…or that she’s watching me go without protest.

The city melts behind us, each mile a buffer between me and the house I’ll never be welcome again. We wind through the Bronx in silence, the tension in the car slowly bleeding out as Vasiliy’s grip on the wheel eases.

It takes a while before I can find my voice. “Where are we going?”

He doesn’t look at me when he answers, “On an adventure.”

The corner of my mouth lifts, even as the ache in my chest lingers. I don’t have to ask to know. If I told him I wanted to turn around and go back, he’d do it. Not because he wants peace. Because he wants revenge. Because no one gets to hurt me anymore. Not even the people who raised me.

And yeah, there’s a dark, broken part of me that wants it too. But the rest of me—the part that’s grown and clawed her way out of the wreckage—wants peace. Wants more.

“Please,” I murmur, tightening my fingers around his. “I just need a break. From all of it.”

“I know.” His fingers graze my neck, heat blooming under my scarf. His touch is gentle. Familiar. His way of sayingI hear you.

Three hours later, the road curves, and the trees thicken. A sign flashes past:Catskill Mountains, New York.

We pull onto a quiet drive where a timber cabin nestles against the forest like it’s been waiting for us.

My eyes widen. “What’s this?”

“Nik owes me a favor,” he says, smirking. “With everything going on, I figured we deserve a weekend. Just the two of us.”

“But the fashion show?—”

“Can wait,” he says, cutting me off. His voice softens. “You come first,lisichka. Always.”

And suddenly, nothing else matters. Not the business, not the fight, not even the fallout waiting back in the city. There’s only him. Only us.

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