Page 18 of Mafia King's Ruthless Obsession

I know what’s on the other side. I always did.

This club used to be my father’s legacy. Every flickering light, every velvet-draped corner whispers his name. I grew up in this place. Played games in its corridors. I thought I was just a little girl chasing shadows.

Turns out, I was always running from monsters I already knew.

The key pressed against my ribs feels heavier tonight. I tucked it beneath the lining of my dress, where brass bites into skin like a warning. I stole it before the world unraveled—before the padded rooms, the pills, the exile. Not because I needed it.

Because it was the one thing they hadn’t taken.

If Vasiliy hasn’t changed the locks—if some part of this place still remembers me—then I have a way in. A wayunderneath.

If not?

Then I’m out of time.

“Getting curious, princess?”

The voice slithers across my spine like ice, tightening every muscle in my body.

Jaromir.

He doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t have to. His voice alone feels like fingers dragging down my back. The predator who never blinks. Who sees too much. Who feeds information to Vasiliy like a loyal dog with blood on its muzzle.

I don’t need to turn around. I already feel him watching.

Waiting.

Stalking.

“Just minding my business,” I say, steady. I force a smile over my shoulder, teeth bared like I mean it.

But I hear the thin crack in my voice.

And judging by the glint in Jaromir’s eyes, so does he.

His gaze drags over me, like he’s peeling back skin to see what I’m hiding underneath. “Funny thing about curiosity,” he murmurs, his voice all silk and switchblades. “It tends to end badly. For pretty little things especially.” His finger skims the edge of my tray, a slow circle that feels more like a noose tightening.

“You always seem to linger where the money moves fastest,” he adds, eyes narrowing. “Like you’re counting more than just tips.”

A chill slides down my spine. Every instinct screamsdon’t engage, but I can’t afford silence. Silence makes me prey.

I let out a laugh, brittle and too sharp. “If I could handle math, I wouldn’t be slinging cocktails in stilettos.”

The lie curdles on my tongue.

Because I’ve already memorized the numbers. I see the gaps, the phantom transactions, the weight of cash that disappears in places no camera watches. My father trained me for this. Not with kindness, but with precision. Numbers don’t lie, he used to say. People do.

Jaromir’s smile stretches, teeth gleaming like he smells the lie too. “That mouth’s going to get you in trouble.” He leans in, close enough for his breath to brush my cheek. “Clients like sass on a leash. I’m not as forgiving.”

I tighten my grip on the tray, fingers digging into cheap plastic, trying to hide the way they tremble. He hasn’t touchedme, not really, but his presence is a hand on my throat just the same.

I force a shrug, even as nausea curls in my stomach. The key against my ribs burns like it’s alive. “If I wanted trouble,” I say dryly, “I’d ask you to join me for a drink.”

His laugh is low and cruel, amusement laced with warning. But he doesn’t step closer. Not this time. His gaze lingers for a beat too long, like he’s cataloging every fracture in my mask, then he turns and strolls toward the bar as if I’m nothing more than a passing curiosity.

I let out a breath through clenched teeth, the release jagged and laced with bitter relief.

But it’s a mistake to think the danger passed.

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