Page 32 of Mafia King's Ruthless Obsession

His interest sharpens. “What do you want?”

“A chance to pitch an idea.”

He gestures for me to continue, and I do—without words. Just movement.

I slide against the pole again, spinning down, arching my back in slow surrender to the moment. His gaze follows me like a touch I can’t escape. Heat crawls up my spine as I drag the zipper of my dress down, the sound obscene in the silence between us. The fabric slips to the floor, pooling around my feet. I’m left in nothing but black lace and raw intent.

His knuckles go white around the armrest.

“Imagine this,” I breathe. “A fashion runway meets seduction. Exclusive shows. Lingerie, couture—each piece custom, each moment unforgettable.”

He swallows, and it’s not subtle. I see the tension rip through him like lightning.

I hook one leg around the pole, stretch, spin. “No club in the city could touch us.”

He leans forward slightly, his voice rough when he speaks. “And the twist?”

I land with a slow, grounded slide. Rise. Walk barefoot to him.

“The twist,” I say, circling him like a lioness, “is that the fantasy is untouchable. They can look. They can crave. But they don’t get to touch. Not even in the private rooms.”

I lift my foot, settle it lightly on his thigh.

His jaw ticks.

And I lean down, whispering near his ear, “They’ll pay anything for something they can’t have.”

His hand shoots out, gripping my ankle tight.

“Careful,lisichka,” he growls. “You’re playing with a tiger.”

My lips brush his jaw—not a kiss, just a promise. “Good thing I know how to play.”

The tension hums between us, a bomb ready to detonate, and I wonder if either of us will survive it.

Vasiliy shifts in his seat, trying—and failing—to hide how tightly wound he is. His jaw clenches, his broad chest rising and falling in slow, deliberate breaths. He’s holding himself together by sheer force of will, and I can see the cracks forming. Gray eyes storm dark. Fists clenched too tightly on the arms of the chair. A man seconds from breaking.

And it thrills me.

“That was…unexpected,” he says at last, voice hoarse, scraping like gravel. He nods toward the stage, but his gaze doesn’t leave my body. “Well executed. The dresses could be showcased there, here—” His hand gestures toward the platform, like he’s trying to talk himself out of reacting. “With the right lighting…it becomes a wonderland.”

I can’t help it. I laugh—short, sharp, and unexpectedly real. It bursts from somewhere deep in my chest before I can cage it. I lift a hand to cover my mouth, startled by the sound. That girl—the one who used to laugh like that—feels like a ghost now.

His head tilts, like he’s just witnessed something rare and wants to memorize it. “Go on,” he says, voice softer now.

“Fashion doesn’t define us,” I say, my voice low. My hand skims down the curve of my body, slow and sensual, not for him, but for the version of me I want to become again. His eyes flicker, his control fraying visibly with each inch I trace. He wants to reach for me. I can see it in the way his hand flexes. But he doesn’t.

Not yet.

“This isn’t about dresses or lighting,” I continue, each word winding tighter between us. “It’s about power. Performance. Pleasure.”

“Pleasure,” he repeats, the word dark on his tongue. Then he smiles, slow and sharp, the kind that feels like being skinned alive and kissed better in the same breath. “This club has always been in the business of pleasure,lisichka. Lust sells. It always has.”

He leans back, fingers brushing his jaw, studying me like I’m a puzzle he’s dying to solve. “Tell me, how does your little rebrand improve revenue streams? What are you offering that we’re not already selling?”

I step sideways, closer to the pole again, letting my fingers brush the cool metal. I give it a flick, let it hum with potential. “Because this isn’t about cheap thrills,” I say. “It’s about creating something they’ll never forget. Something exclusive. Untouchable.”

I gesture to the stage. “Anyone can find a lap dance and watered-down vodka in a strip mall off the highway. But this?” I glide one hand up the pole again, arching slightly, letting the light hit my skin in a way that draws his gaze like a magnet. “We make them beg just to be in the room.”

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