Page 16 of Mafia King's Ruthless Obsession

My grip tightens.

This isn’t dominance.

This is obsession, wrapped in bloodlust and desire, blurred beyond reason.

I breathe her in and pull back just enough to speak.

“The job is yours,” I say, voice low and firm, “if you agree to a few conditions.”

She nods, barely. Her green eyes widen, the air between us thickening as the seduction slides away and something rawer takes its place. No more mask. Just Galina, stripped down to pride and desperation, fury and fire.

I lean in, letting my voice drop low, a whisper against her skin. “Let’s make one thing clear.”

Her breath hitches.

“If you want this job, you become mine. Fully. No hiding, no running. Every part of you—your time, your loyalty, your body—belongs to me.”

The temperature in the room shifts, like we’ve stepped onto a wire stretched above an open flame. Her pulse stutters at the base of her throat, but she doesn’t pull away. If anything, she leans in, just enough to betray the war behind her eyes.

“You’re asking me to be yours,” she says, voice tight. “Professionally?”

I don’t blink. “And personally.”

There’s a beat of silence, thick enough to drown in. Her mouth parts, a breath escaping like she’s trying not to tremble.

“Is this your idea of a contract?” she asks, voice dry, but her hands are clenched tight on the armrests. “Or ownership?”

“I’m offering you control disguised as surrender,” I say, tracing the edge of her jaw with the back of my knuckles. She shivers but doesn’t break eye contact. “Think before you agree. Because once you do, there’s no doing this halfway. No blurred lines. No pretending this is just a job.”

She lets out a breath that shakes, but it’s not fear I hear—it’s something darker. “And if I say no?”

“Then you leave. Now. And we forget this ever happened.” I straighten, giving her space. “But we both know you won’t.”

Her eyes flicker, her mask cracking just enough to show the storm underneath—humiliation, hunger, the quiet ache of someone already halfway surrendered.

“You’re a bastard,” she breathes.

“Yes,” I agree, voice cool. “But you knew that even before you walked in here.”

She stands slowly, chin lifting. “If I’m going to sell my soul, I might as well get something valuable in return.”

There it is.

Not just desperation. Desire.

She’s not here because shehasto be.

She’s here because part of herwantsto be.

As she turns to go, I catch her wrist, gently, deliberately. “Not so fast,lisichka.”

She flinches at the nickname, which only makes it more perfect.

She yanks her arm free. “If you think I’m going to fuck you before you even give me the job?—”

“I already fucked you,” I cut in, voice quiet, threading heat through control. “And if I decide to do it again, I won’t be asking.”

She stiffens, rage and arousal flashing in tandem. My hand slips lower, firm but brief, just enough to remind her who’s making the rules.

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