Page 112 of Mafia King's Ruthless Obsession

“Vasiliy,” she breathes, voice taut. “Galina was supposed to meet me. She left the club over an hour ago. She’s not here.”

The world narrows. Every sound fades.

“When did you last speak to her?”

“Right before she left. She said something wasn’t right?—”

A video call slices through her words, and I take the call.

Matvei’s face fills the screen—scarred, sneering, soaked in malice.

“You looking for something?” His voice is silk soaked in venom.

He turns the camera.

Galina.

Unconscious. A bruise blooming on her temple. Fragile in the backseat of a blacked-out SUV like a broken doll. My lungs seize.

I don’t scream. I don’t rage.

I go still.

And in that stillness, something monstrous wakes up.

The part of me that never left Siberia. The part that learned to kill without sound.

“Karma’s a bitch,” he snarls. “And she’s wearing your fucking name.”

My pulse hammers, but my voice stays measured. “What do you want?”

His smile stretches, feral and gleeful. “Come alone. I’ll send the address. No police. No backup. Just you.” He tilts the camera again, and the image sears into my brain—Galina, slumped and still, a smear of blood curling at her temple. “Or yourlisichkadies. And your spawn with her.”

The screen cuts to black.

A beat later, a message pings.

Coordinates. A warehouse address in Jersey.

“It’s a fucking trap,” Igor growls, already reaching for his gun. “You walk in, you both die.”

“No.” I’m already checking my mags, re-holstering. “He wants me to suffer. He won’t kill her until he has me.”

Nikolai grabs my arm tight. “Think. We assemble a team. Surround the place. Extract?—”

“There’s no time,” I snap, yanking free. “And if you think it’s a coincidence your wives vanished too, you’re dumber than you look.”

Their faces pale. Reality slams into the room like a loaded gun.

“This is it,” I say. “Yakov’s checkmate. He’s gathering everyone—Katya, Katarina, Galina—one final blow to destroy what’s left of us.”

“Then we do it together,” Nikolai argues. “Bring the whole fucking army.”

“That’s what he wants,” I bite out. “To wipe us out in one glorious blaze. But if I go in alone, I give you the opening to get the others out.”

“You’ll die,” Igor says, deadpan.

“Maybe.” I move for the door, adrenaline already syncing with breath, with steps. “But I’ll take as many of them with me as I can. Including that bastard Matvei.”

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