Page 93 of Mafia King's Ruthless Obsession

When she lifts a leg and puts her foot on the edge of the tub, I’m forced to brace myself. Our eyes meet, a battle of wills flaring between us as we stare each other down. This is a different type of fight—a dance of passion and hunger.

I grind my teeth, my pulse racing.

She digs her nails into my skin, her cunt clamping down harder on my throbbing cock.

Her name fills the room, bouncing off the tiles.

The water flows around us, lapping at our heated skin in warm caresses. It crests against Galina’s skin with each thrust, generating a wild burst of sensation that brings us closer and closer to the edge.

Afterward, both of us panting and sweaty, we hold each other. My heart thunders in my chest, somehow soothing instead of alarming. Galina is the first to break the silence, pulling the drain before the water gets cold.

“That was, um, nice,” she says.

I tilt her chin up and lean forward. I place a soft kiss on her bruised lips, then her forehead, lingering in the comfortable bubble of safety we’ve built in this little space.

“Nice isn’t exactly how I’d describe it,” I muse.

She bites her bottom lip and then turns her gaze to mine.

“Very nice?” she suggests with a teasing smile.

I shake my head and laugh. This gorgeous woman beside me—I know now that my life is all the more exciting for having her in it.

A knock at the door breaks the spell. “Boss?” Jaromir’s voice carries through the wood. “I have some information about the bomb. It was military grade. This wasn’t some amateur operation. I’ve already had Raffe start on new security protocols. And I had the office prepared for you both to sleep here tonight.”

The mention of the bomb makes Galina’s fingers dig into my arm. I cover her hand with mine, squeezing gently. The reality of our situation crashes back, but I refuse to let it shatter this moment of peace we’ve found.

“Good man.” I run a hand down Galina’s spine, feeling the tension in her muscles. “We’ll be out shortly.”

I help Galina out of the tub, my hands firm on her slick hips to keep her steady. She doesn’t say anything, and neither do I. Words aren’t what she needs right now. I wrap a towel around her shoulders, catching the subtle tremor in her limbs as I steady her. Her green eyes are distant—haunted. Like she’s still in that room, still hearing the gunfire.

Once she’s dry, she reaches for a second towel and begins patting me down. I let her. My ribs ache, my thigh burns, and every muscle feels like it’s been put through a meat grinder, but her touch makes it bearable. She’s gentle with the worst of it. Focused. Intent.

When we finally leave the bathroom, the office looks different.

Jaromir’s been here.

The leather couch has been transformed into a makeshift bed—pillows, blankets, even a soft throw folded at the edge like this is normal. Like this place has always been ours.

“It’s not the penthouse,” I say, easing down onto the bed with a quiet grunt. “But it’ll do.”

Galina sinks beside me, careful not to jostle my injuries. She curls into my side like she belongs there. Like she’s always belonged there.

“As long as we’re together,” she murmurs, “I don’t care where we sleep.”

Her words hit somewhere deep. I pull her closer, my arm looping around her shoulders. Outside, the city moves on, oblivious to the blood we spilled, the war we escaped. But in here, it’s just us. Her heartbeat under my palm. The slow, steady rhythm of something that feels dangerously like peace.

“Sleep,” I whisper, brushing her hair back. “I’ve got you.”

She makes a soft sound—half sigh, half promise—and drifts off, her breath warming my chest. I stay awake, listening. To the hum of the club below. To the ghosts still pacing the corners of my mind.

She’s here. We’re alive. And that should be enough.

But it’s not. Not for the men who tried to take this from us. Not for the ones who think they still can.

Let them try.

Let them send bombs, knives, bullets.

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