Page 69 of Mafia King's Ruthless Obsession

“The police found nothing,” I tell her. “But Detective Rong asked about you.”

She moves to the window, arms folded under her chest. Her reflection blurs against the rising sun. “What kind of questions?”

“If you were safe. If I was holding you here against your will.”

She goes still. Her voice is calm when she answers, but her shoulders tighten. “Interesting line of inquiry.”

“Interesting enough,” I say, stepping behind her. “I’ll ask you straight. What’s your connection to her?”

A long pause. Her hand moves, unthinking, to her stomach.

“She thinks I need saving,” she says finally. “That I’m just another woman trapped in a Bratva-owned club. Easy story to sell.”

“Try again.”

She sighs. “She’s connected to Vladimir. I don’t know how deep it goes. But she’s watching me, using me to get to you.”

Everything locks into place. That look in Rong’s eye. The way she circled, not just the club, but Galina. This isn’t a cop building a case. This is a hunter lining up her prey.

“And you didn’t think to tell me this before?” My voice is low, sharp.

She turns, fire flashing in her eyes. “Would you have believed me? You’ve barely looked at me since you found out I was pregnant. You don’t see me—you see a liability. Or a bargaining chip.”

The accusation slices through me, precise and merciless.

“You’re carrying my child,” I say. “Everything else is secondary.”

“Exactly,” she says, stepping closer. Her scent hits me like a memory. “You say you’re protecting me, but it feels a lot like possession.”

“I protect what’s mine,” I growl. “That’s not the same thing.”

“Isn’t it?” Her voice is quiet now. Wounded. “Because it feels exactly like what my father did. Like what every Bratva man does—wrap a woman in chains and call it safety.”

I flinch. Just slightly. But she sees it.

“I’m not your father.”

“No,” she agrees. “You’re worse. Because you make me think you care.”

That lands harder than any bullet.

I reach for her. My fingers brush her cheek, so soft. So breakable.

“I do care.”

She looks away. “You have a strange way of showing it. Just…leave me alone. I want a shower. And some privacy.”

The word pierces me clean through. Pride wars with something more urgent—need.

I don’t let her go. I step in. Wrap her up. My hand finds her belly. She softens for a breath, lets her head tip into me, and I cling to it like a drowning man. Then she stiffens again, the walls going back up.

“Stay with me,” I murmur. Not a command. A plea. A whisper of something I barely understand.

She doesn’t answer. Not at first. Then, slowly, she nods.

“I still want that shower,” she says, voice gentler now.

“Want company?” I ask, teasing.

---