Page 13 of The Mafia Bloodline
The table had gone silent around us. Sorcha’s eyes flicked between us with quiet empathy. Layla’s hand covered Roman’s, her gaze soft but knowing, like she’d seen this argument before, lived it herself.
Roman finally spoke, his voice level but firm. “Volken’s right, Runa. You don’t know how deep this goes yet. Malakai isn’t just a man. He’s a corruption. And he doesn’t work alone.”
I swallowed, forcing my voice steady. “Then teach me. Let me help. I can’t just sit here pretending everything’s fine while my father’s out there.”
Volken’s jaw clenched, the muscles working hard enough to make his cheek twitch. “This isn’t a negotiation. We will deal with it.”
“No,” I shot back, “You’ll deal with it while I sit in some gilded cage? I’m not built for that. I’m not…”
He cut me off, his voice rough. “You’re not built to fight what’s out there. You don’t know what those things do, what they are.”
“Then show me!” My hands balled at my sides, shaking. “If you care about me, don’t shut me out of this. I’ve been searching for my father for months. I won’t stop because it makes you uncomfortable.”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. His eyes darkened, that dangerous shimmer flickering behind them. “You think this is about comfort?” he said quietly. “You have no idea what happens when something takes what’s mine.”
“I’m not a thing,” I snapped. “And I’m not yours to lock away.”
The air crackled. For a heartbeat, neither of us moved, two storms colliding, no retreat on either side. Then Volken moved. Fast. One moment I was glaring up at him, the next my feet were off the ground, my breath catching as his arms swept under me.
“Volken!” I hit his shoulder, furious, half-panicked. “Put me down!”
“Not until you stop talking about walking into a war zone,” he growled. His voice wasn’t loud, it didn’t need to be. The power init rumbled through his chest and into me. “You don’t get to run into danger because you’re angry at the world.”
“I’m not angry at the world,” I spat, struggling in his hold. “I’m angry because you’re keeping me from the only person I have left!”
He didn’t answer. His stride lengthened, the halls of the mansion blurring past until he shouldered open the door to our room. When it closed behind us, the sound was final.
He set me down, not gently, not roughly, just firmly, his hands braced on my shoulders. “You will not go after him alone,” he said, every word deliberate, a vow made of ice and steel.
“I will,” I said, breathless. “You can’t stop me forever, Volken. My father is out there. And whether you like it or not, I’m going to find him.”
For a long second, he just stared at me. The fight in his eyes was raw, warring between fury and fear. Then, with a sound that was half a growl, half a sigh, he reached for me.
His hands slid up my arms, his voice low. “You’re driving me insane, Runa,” he said, the words roughened by something that wasn’t just anger. “You make me forget why I ever thought I could keep the world away from you.”
The tension broke like a dam. He pulled me against him, his mouth claiming mine in a kiss that stole the argument from my tongue, a kiss that said everything he couldn’t admit without breaking.
When he finally lifted his head, both of us were breathing hard. His thumb brushed my cheek, his voice a rasp. “You can hate me for protecting you. But I’ll take that hate over losing you.”
And even as I glared up at him, my heart betrayed me. Because underneath the fury, the bond thrummed, deep and undeniable. I could feel his fear, I realized it matched my own.
Volken’s breath hitched, a sharp sound that seemed to scrape against his control. His hand came up, framing my jaw, his thumb brushing the edge of my lip like he was memorizing the shape of it. “You don’t get it,” he rasped, his voice low and unsteady. “You’re inside my head now. My blood. There’s no shutting that off.”
“Then stop trying,” I whispered, and that was all it took.
The last thread of restraint snapped. He pulled me to him so hard I felt the world tilt, his mouth crashing down on mine in a kiss that was more confession than conquest. Everything we’d been holding back poured out, anger, hunger, love twisted up in its rawest form. His hands were everywhere, urgent and claiming. Mine matched him, desperate to anchor, to understand.
There was nothing gentle about it, but there was nothing cruel either. It was need, pure and overwhelming, the kind that left no space for thought. He whispered my name against my skin like a vow, like a prayer, his voice breaking with it.
The bond between us pulsed, electric and consuming, as if our hearts had synchronized. Every brush of his mouth, across my body, every breath shared between us fed that invisible thread, tightening it until I couldn’t tell where he ended and I began.
His fingers stroking my skin with a passion that leaves me breathless, every inch of my body burning with uncontrolled passion. He pulls my hands over my head holding them down with one of his as he takes my lips in a scorching kiss that leavesme gasping as I feel his naked, hard body rubbing against my sensitive skin.
“Volken!” I whisper
His thick cock rubbed over my sensitive nub in a scorching flame of lust just before he thrusts into my very depths bringing forth a gasp of pleasure from my very soul.
His every thrust a warning of who is boss, I want to rebel, I want to resist, but the pull between us is stronger than any grudge, any argument we might have.
