Page 27 of Mafia King's Ruthless Obsession

That’s going to cost him.

“Volkov—” he stammers, eyes darting from me to the silent crowd watching the spectacle unfold. “I was just?—”

“Leaving.”

The word stops the world. The temperature in the room drops.

My men don’t need a signal. Raffe moves like a shadow peeled from the wall, Jaromir two steps behind him.

Antonov tries to puff up, clutching his blazer like it might shield him. “This is how you treat your best customers?”

“I treat them better than they deserve,” I growl, stepping into his space. “Until they touch what isn’t theirs.”

His mouth opens again, some pathetic protest ready to spill out, but I don’t care.

“Your membership is revoked.” I stare him down until the man flinches. “You’re done here.”

“You can’t?—”

“Get him the fuck out.”

They drag him, all flailing ego and crumpled threats, but I barely register it. I’m not watching him.

I’m watching her.

She’s already on her knees, fingers sweeping through glass like it’s any other mess. But I see it—the rigid precision, the tremor under control. Rage and shame knotted beneath her skin, burning through every motion.

“My office,” I say.

She looks up. Her eyes flash, hard and hot, something wild behind them. Not fear.

Never fear.

But defiance. And something darker.

She holds my stare for one long, dangerous second. Then she nods.

Just once.

And rises like she’s being pulled by strings of pure willpower. Her uniform clings, soaked in vodka and tension. Strands of hair have slipped loose from her braid, haloing her face in a way that feels too intimate, too undone.

I track her through the club like a wolf stalking prey it’s already claimed.

Every stare that follows her is a threat.

Every man who watches her walk is a mistake waiting to happen.

They don’t know what I know.

They haven’t tasted her sighs.

Haven’t felt her fall apart in their hands.

They haven’t earned the madness.

The hallway swallows us. Red lights overhead blink like eyes in the dark, always watching. Always recording. But they’ll never capture this—what lives between us. This is a different kind of cruelty.

She steps into my office like a soldier entering enemy territory—shoulders squared, jaw locked, but I see it.

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