Page 90 of Mafia King's Ruthless Obsession

I bring the gun up, but he knocks it away. It clatters out of reach.

Fine. Let’s do this the old-fashioned way.

He swings. I duck. But before I can strike back, Vasiliy barrels into him, slamming him against the wall. The fight devolves fast—grappling, fists, blood. Snarls and impact and rage.

I scan the hallway. More shadows. More men.

We’re out of time.

“Vasiliy!” I shout, edging toward the stairwell—barefoot on broken glass. “We have to go!”

He hears me. Lands one final punch that sends Matvei crumpling, then turns—just as Matvei surges to his feet and tackles him. They stumble toward the open window, teetering at the edge.

With a vicious twist, Vasiliy breaks free, lands a bone-snapping left hook, and sprints for me. I dive first into the emergency stairwell just beyond the shattered wall, heart in my throat. The steel staircase spirals downward, slick with blood and dust. Vasiliy lands beside me a heartbeat later, limping, blood dripping down his thigh.

We run. Forty stories. Bare feet pounding over steel steps and concrete platforms, the sound of sirens growing louder with every floor we descend. We finally reach the bottom.

“Over here,” he barks, cutting through the alley to an old van. He reaches under the wheel well, grabs a key, and throws open the door. We climb in, breathing hard and rattled but alive.

He jams the key into the ignition.

“Where are we going?” I ask, still gripping the pistol.

“The club.” His jaw tightens. “Jaromir’s calling in the men. We’re in Code Black.”

My stomach knots. Total war. Total chaos.

But we’re still here.

And we’re not going down easy.

Sitting back, I force my heartbeat to slow as I set the gun on the floor. I don’t need it right now. When Vasiliy reaches out, I take his hand. That seems to calm him a little, though it does nothing to soothe the fury still burning in my chest—a slow, righteous fire that won’t go out until every last threat to us is ash.

“Check the back,” he says, nodding toward the hatch in the partition. “See if there’s a jacket or something.”

I glance down at my borrowed shirt, damp with sweat and adrenaline. “I’m not exactly naked.”

“No, but you’re still distracting,” he mutters, eyes on the road. “And we’re trying not to get pulled over. So unless you want to explain your current state of undress to a nosy patrol car…”

I huff, twisting around despite the ache in my muscles. There’s not much in the back, but I eventually find a hoodie that smells faintly of leather and Vasiliy. I pull it over my head, the weight of it oddly comforting, the warmth seeping into my chilled skin.

The city blurs past as we weave through traffic. My adrenaline slowly fades, leaving me shaky but clearheaded. We just survived an assassination attempt.

“Your uncle won’t stop,” Vasiliy says after a while, his voice grim. “Not until he gets what he’s after.”

“I know.” I stare out at the passing streets, my hand still resting protectively over my stomach. “But neither will we.”

He takes my free hand, bringing it to his lips. The gesture is surprisingly tender given the blood still drying on both our skins. “No, we won’t. This is war now.”

“It’s always been war.” I turn to face him fully. “But now we’re fighting on the same side.”

His eyes meet mine briefly before returning to the road. In that moment, I see everything we’ve become to each other—partners, lovers, warriors. Whatever comes next, we’ll face it together.

The club comes into view, its familiar facade a welcome sight. Vasiliy pulls around to the private entrance. Instead of going through the club, we go for the tunnel to avoid attracting unnecessary attention. He takes me straight to his office.

As soon as the door shuts behind us, my legs give out. Vasiliy holds me up, supporting my weight as I tremble and sob. No tears come, but I can’t contain the emotions. The wave of terror and pent-up adrenaline is overwhelming.

“It’s okay,lisichka,” he soothes. “We’re okay.”

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