Page 2 of Mafia King's Ruthless Obsession

The water shuts off. She looks up, and I feel it like a bullet to the chest. That smile, dark and knowing, curves the edges of her lips. She’s playing me. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and worse, she knows that it’s working.

Her dress cascades down her statuesque frame, shimmering in the stark light. My body responds before my brain can stop it. Heat flares low in my gut, molten and violent, mixing with therage I’ve carried for her for so damn long. A year of deprivation twists the desire into something sharp-edged, something almost painful.

“Do it,” she whispers, her voice like smoke curling through my veins. “Destroy me.”

My breath locks in my chest, my fists clenching at my sides. I should. God help me, I should. But instead, all I can think about is how pliant her lips would be on mine. How good it would feel to crush her to me, to take what she’s daring me to take.

I’m a man possessed. A man undone. And she’s the devil smiling back at me in a midnight-blue silk dress.

Her smirk carves its way under my skin, slicing through every ounce of restraint I have left. “What’s the matter, Vasiliy?” she taunts, her voice low, syrup-sweet and laced with venom. “Afraid of what you might do if you let yourself touch me?”

I place my hand on her throat, tightening my grip, just enough to feel the pulse of her life thundering against my palm. Her body presses into mine like she craves the violence simmering between us. It’s sick. It’s wrong. And yet, I can’t pull away.

“You think you’re safe?” I hiss, the words full of derision. “You don’t know a damn thing about me, Galina.”

“Don’t I?” Her lips curve into a smile that’s pure sin, her eyes sparkling with challenge. “I know the way your hands are shaking. I know you’re so wound up you’d rather rip me apart than admit how much you want me.”

She’s toying with me, daring me to break. And fuck, I’m close.

“But you… you’re poison,” I rasp. My thumb strokes her jawline, almost unconsciously, and she shivers against me. “Beautiful. Deadly enough to destroy a man.”

Her laugh is soft, mocking, the kind that peels back my last layer of control. “Funny. I don’t remember you being so poeticbefore Siberia. Tell me, Vasiliy, did the cold make you softer or harder?”

The fire in her eyes doesn’t dim even as I press her against the sink, my body bracketing hers, every line of me searing against every line of her. My reflection in the mirror stares back, a stranger with burning eyes, a man teetering on the edge of destruction. She tilts her head slightly, studying me in that infuriating, calculated way that makes me want to drag her into hell with me.

“You want to play?” I snarl. “I don’t play nice, Galina.”

Her lips part, and for a second, I think she might apologize for trying to kill my sister. Beg for mercy. But instead, her voice comes soft and low. “Maybe I don’t want nice.”

The room feels smaller, the air hotter. Every instinct I have screams at me to walk away, to let her go before I do something I can’t take back. But my body—my traitorous fucking body—has other plans. It’s been too long. Too many nights spent drowning alone in the cold emptiness.

And now she’s here, offering herself to me, not with submission but with defiance. A woman daring a monster.

I raise my hand to her face, meeting her eyes with mine. “You have no idea what I want to do to you.” I cup her jaw, stroking it lightly. She’s purring, leaning into my hand, moving as I explore the line of her face. I slide the pad of my thumb to her ear, tracing the shell with a light caress, feeling her tremble under my touch.

“Show me.” The challenge slips from her lips like silk, her green eyes blazing. “Or are you too afraid of what will happen when you give in?”

“You should be afraid, Galina,” I drawl, tipping her chin up and forcing her to look at me. She whimpers, the sound tugging low in my belly. The slide of my hand down her arm leaves a trail of goosebumps in its path.

My control snaps like a frayed wire. The beast I’ve been holding back—starved, violent, and furious—comes roaring to the surface. My mouth crashes into hers with punishing force, all teeth and tongue, my fingers tightening on her throat. Her lips are soft, too soft, and they part beneath mine willingly like she’s been waiting for this just as much as I have.

It’s not a kiss. It’s a battle. A collision of anger and lust that makes my blood roar and my chest tighten. She bites my bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood, and it sends a white-hot jolt straight through me.

“You’ll regret this,” I rasp against her mouth, my breath ragged. My hand slides from her throat to the curve of her waist, dragging her closer until every inch of her is pressed against me.

Her laugh is breathless, wicked, and full of victory. “Maybe. But you’ll regret it more.”

The truth of her words cuts deep, but I don’t care. Not when she feels like fire in my hands, like salvation and damnation all at once. Her body arches against mine, her nails digging into my shoulders, and I hate her for the way she makes me unravel. Hate her for the way I want to rip her apart and worship her in the same breath.

I tear my mouth from hers, panting, my hands still gripping her waist as though she might evaporate if I let go. Her chest heaves, her lips swollen and red, and she looks up at me with those fucking eyes—eyes that don’t just see me but wreck me.

“I should kill you,” I growl. “For everything you’ve done. For everything you’ve taken from me.”

Her smile is slow, knowing, and infuriatingly calm. “What’s stopping you?”

The answer catches in my throat, too dangerous to admit, even to myself. Because for all the hatred and fury burning inside me, there’s something else, too. Something I can’t name. Something that scares the hell out of me.

Her hand cups my jaw, her touch almost tender. “Face it, Vasiliy,” she whispers, her voice a caress. “You don’t hate me nearly as much as you wish you did.”

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