Page 9 of Mafia King's Ruthless Obsession

When we pull apart, he gestures toward the whiskey like it’s a peace offering and not the start of a transaction.

“Welcome home, Vasiliy,” he says, voice low, almost fond. “We’ve been counting down the days.”

I grunt. “Feels like hell followed me home.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Thirteen months in our worst pit, and you walk out a myth. You didn’t just survive—you made Siberia your hunting ground.”

I don’t bother with modesty. “Should I assume the city rolled out the red carpet?”

Igor smiles, all teeth and polished menace. “You’ve come back to a city dripping with gratitude.”

I raise a brow. Gratitude? From who? The ghosts I made? The enemies I left bleeding in the snow?

Then he says it.

“I have a gift for you.”

He reaches into his jacket like it’s nothing, like he’s not about to upend my entire life again, and drops a thick envelope onto the table between us.

“What is it?” I don’t touch it.

“Your new kingdom,” he says smoothly. “The Velvet Echo. It’s yours now.”

For a second, the room tilts. Not from shock. From fury I can’t place. I came back expecting nothing. Not control. Not legacy. And sure as hell not this.

I pick up the envelope like it might bite. “What’s the catch?”

Igor’s laugh is quiet, but there’s steel in it. “There’s no catch, brother. Just respect. You protected what mattered. Now you get to build something of your own.”

I slide the papers into my pocket without blinking. “I’ll take it.”

He turns, motioning to Helena and the other girl. “Leave.”

They vanish instantly—like prey scenting a shift in the wind.

The door clicks shut. We’re alone now, just two wolves in a den soaked with old blood and new power.

Igor pours vodka but doesn’t sit. He stays standing—a classic play for dominance. Let the ex-con feel small while the Bratva boss holds court.

Doesn’t work on me.

“There’s one thing,” he says, tone cooling.

Of course there is.

“What?” I ask, already done with the games.

He lifts the glass but doesn’t drink. “When I got the club, I found something. Boris Olenko built tunnels under the place—secret ones. Used them to move product. People. Deals too dirty for the front door.”

Figures.

“What do you want from me, Igor?” My voice is flat.

He meets my eyes. “I want you to keep the tunnels operational. Quietly. Selectively. They’re part of the ecosystem now.”

My blood simmers. “If this is about selling women, I’ll burn the whole place to the ground.”

His jaw tightens. “I’m not asking you to traffic bodies. I’m asking you to understand the tools we’ve inherited. If you run the Echo, you run all of it. That includes the shadows.”

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