Page 113 of Mafia King's Ruthless Obsession

“Vasiliy,” Nikolai calls, voice low, hoarse. I glance back. His jaw is tight, eyes darker than I’ve ever seen them. “If you get the chance…make them suffer.”

I nod once. A pact, sealed without ceremony. Brotherhood doesn’t need vows.

“We’ll be ready,” Igor says. “When you give the signal.”

“I’ll get them out,” I promise. “But when the gates open, bring hell.”

The city blurs past—headlights smearing into streaks, horns screaming. Each second stretches, tightens, frays at the seams of my sanity. I can’t afford fury now. Not the white-hot, throat-ripping kind that screamsburn it all. I need calculation. Precision.

If Yakov has them, he’s not working alone.

My mind replays Galina’s message.Jaromir is working with Yakov.

That snake. That smiling fuck with polished shoes and dirty hands.

But why would Vladimir hand his niece over to a sadist like Matvei?

Unless he didn’t know.

Or he did—and didn’t care.

Either way, the why doesn’t matter.

The how ends tonight.

I run through every scenario, every room in the warehouse, every possible place they could be keeping them. I’ll tear the place down brick by brick if I have to. Light it up with bodies if that’s what it takes.

The warehouse looms ahead, jagged against the twilight like a beast with broken teeth. Rusted steel, shattered windows, the scent of rot thick in the air.

Perfect.

A slaughterhouse dressed in shadows.

I kill the lights. Step out. The wind bites, sharp and cold.

Inside, Galina waits.

Our child waits.

And I swear to every god listening?—

I’m not leaving without them.

Savagery wraps around me like a second skin—familiar, unyielding. I’ve worn it too long to call it armor. It’s instinct now. Breath. Pulse. Purpose.

Whatever waits behind that door, it ends here.

One way or another, only one of us walks away.

And it sure as hell won’t be Matvei.

The door creaks under my palm, the darkness behind it stretching wide like a mouth ready to devour. I breathe in once, slow and sharp, anchoring myself in the one image that cuts through the haze—Galina at the fashion show, radiant and defiant, her smile a weapon. Fire in her blood. Life in her eyes.

The mother of my child. The only thing in this fucked-up world that makes me believe there’s still something left to fight for beyond vengeance.

“I’m coming,moya lubov,” I whisper, voice low and raw. “Just hold on.”

And then I step into the dark.

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