Page 121 of Mafia King's Ruthless Obsession

“On their way,” he says, scanning the room. “Igor and Nikolai are coming in from the south and west. Vladimir’s taking the north.”

I blink. “My uncle’s here?”

Vasiliy nods. “Turns out this wasn’t his plan. Matvei and Yakov hijacked the whole thing. And despite everything...he wouldn’t let you get hurt.”

Relief nearly folds me in half. For all the distance, the silence and the judgment, my family showed up when it mattered.

Love isn’t always soft.

Sometimes it’s bullets and blood and showing up anyway.

“We need to go,” Vasiliy says, leading us toward the exit. “This place is about to turn into a war zone.”

Right on cue, engines screech outside. Yelling. Metal clicks—magazines being locked in. Boots hitting pavement.

“Too late,” Katarina murmurs.

Vasiliy’s jaw hardens. “Stay close. Whatever happens, we move together.”

I shift beside him, not behind. Shoulder to shoulder.

His glance is half annoyed, half impressed.

“Together,” I say.

A ghost of a smile. Fierce. Proud. Lethal.

“Together.”

Chapter 36

Closure

Vasiliyi

The factory is a warzone.

Gunfire ricochets off steel beams and broken machinery. The air stinks of gunpowder and blood—thick, metallic, and familiar. I keep Galina close, one arm firm around her waist as we move, not dragging her, but shielding her. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t shrink.

She’s locked in, alert and steady beside me.

Ahead, Katya and Katarina fan out, weapons drawn—pipe and pistol—cutting through the chaos like they were born for it.

“Right flank,” I call out, spotting movement behind a pile of rusted crates.

Katya doesn’t hesitate. She swings the pipe with a crack that sounds like bone. The man drops hard.

The main doors blow open with a thunderclap, dust and smoke swirling as Igor’s men storm in. I recognize the shape of him through the haze—broad, furious, relentless. Beside him, Nikolai’s team crashes through the west entrance like clockwork.

The trap we laid is finally springing shut.

“Down!” I bark, pushing Galina behind an overturned workbench just as another volley of bullets tears through the air.

She ducks low, but when I look at her, there’s no panic. Just pure focus. Her hands are steady on the gun. Her jaw set. She doesn’t look like a woman caught in the middle of a firefight.

She looks like she belongs here.

“We move for that door,” I say, nodding to the far side of the factory. “Nikolai’s covering it.”

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