Page 72 of Mafia King's Ruthless Obsession

“Not a setup,” Rong says quickly, shaking her head. “An opportunity. Help me bring them down, Galina. Your uncle wants you home. If we work together, we can dismantle their empire from the inside. You’ve seen the records, the movement, the cash. With your testimony?—”

“No.” The word cuts through the air, sharper than I expected. “I won’t help you destroy them.”

Surprise flickers across her face. It doesn’t last.

“They’re monsters,” she snaps. “Criminals. Your child deserves better than?—”

“My child deserves a future,” I interrupt, voice rising. “And I won’t let you or Vladimir or anyone else decide what that looks like.”

She stiffens. “Your uncle only wants to reclaim what your family lost—what the Volkovs stole.”

Maybe once, I would’ve believed that. Maybe there’s still a sliver of guilt somewhere inside me. But I’ve lived in both oftheir shadows now. And ironically? It’s Vasiliy who gave me space to step out from under them. Even if that space came laced with danger and fire.

If Vladimir takes over the club, I lose everything. My work, my freedom, my future. My child’s future. And I’m done living under someone else’s thumb.

“This conversation is over,” I say.

Rong’s expression hardens. She moves toward the door but stops, her hand hovering on the handle. “Think carefully, Galina. Vladimir doesn’t stop. And now that Vasiliy’s knocked you up, you’re worth more—alive or dead.”

“Get out.” I step toward her, forcing her to move back. My voice is ice. “Before I call security.”

“You’re making a mistake.” Her tone softens into something almost pitying. “When it all burns down, remember I tried to help you.”

The door clicks shut behind her, and the silence left in her wake is deafening. The air feels heavier. The shadows darker. My stomach turns, not from the baby this time, but from the slow realization that something bigger is moving beneath the surface, and I’m only seeing the ripples.

I drop to the floor, knees buckling under the weight of it all. My hands shake as I reach for my phone. Vasiliy needs to know. About Rong. About Vladimir’s real plan. About everything.

But my thumb hovers over the keypad.

What if this is the thing that tips the balance? What if I tell him, and he locks me away again for good? “For my safety.” “For the baby.” What if I stop being a partner and become another pawn?

But if I don’t tell him, and something happens…

No. I made my choice the moment I stood up to Rong. I’m not running. Not hiding. If I want to change this game, I have to play it.

I’m about to dial when I catch movement out of the corner of my eye.

A shadow slides past the small, grimy window in the door.

Too tall for a dancer. Too slow for a customer.

And then I see his face.

Matvei.

The air leaves my lungs.

How the hell did he get in?

I remember Vasiliy mentioning that one of the back exits was under repair—camera feed down, alarm sensors in flux. It had been flagged but not fixed. With the cops here and staff scattered, that blind spot was ripe for abuse.

Still, it shouldn’t be possible. Not unless someone left the rear service door propped open during the shift change. Or unless Matvei paid off a staff member. Or worse, someone in a uniform let him in.

I don’t have time to figure it out.

The lights flicker as if on cue. I swear I hear the faint metallic creak of that old service door swinging shut. My breath catches.

I snatch a heavy metal rod from a nearby shelf, slipping into position beside the door, adrenaline searing through my veins. If Vladimir’s men are making their move, they’re not walking out of here without a fight.

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