Page 97 of Mafia King's Ruthless Obsession

“We’ll need a plan,” I say, already thinking through logistics. “A real one, not whatever half-baked scheme Igor and Nikolai cook up.”

“I might have some ideas.” She traces patterns on my chest, her touch both soothing and inflaming. “But first, let’s go back to bed.”

I can’t think straight anymore because her hands slide lower. Now there’s only this—her body against mine, our sharedbreath, and our shared future. No matter what comes next or the risks we face. No matter what happens, I’ll be by her side. I’ll protect her. I’ll love her.

I lift her in my arms and carry her to the makeshift bed. A possessive growl escapes my throat. This isn’t just her dance; this is her entire life. I won’t let her burn.

We’ll face our enemies soon enough. But this moment belongs to us alone.

Chapter 29

Chains We Choose

Galina

The cemetery is cloaked in early morning mist, the air damp with secrets and silence. Rows of headstones stretch into the fog like quiet sentinels, watching, remembering. My boots crunch softly over frostbitten grass as I follow the winding path I know by heart.

Vasiliy would’ve insisted on guards if I’d told him I was coming. Another show of protection. Another leash disguised as safety. I didn’t tell him. Couldn’t. Some things I need to do alone.

Besides, I had to get out. The club’s become a pressure cooker—guards at every door, whispered warnings, curfews, check-ins, layers of security that feel more like prison bars. I’ve been pacing like a caged animal since Matvei’s attack. Everyone keeps telling me I’m safe.

I don’t feel safe. I feel watched.

Beneath a weathered oak, three graves sit in a crooked row. Maksim. Grigoriy. Fedot. My brothers. My cousin. My ghosts. All buried because of choices I made, ambitions I chased that turned to ash. The polished granite gleams in the gray light, names etched deep like open wounds.

I kneel first by Maksim’s grave, setting down a bundle of white lilies. He would’ve rolled his eyes at the dramatics—then secretly appreciated the gesture.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, fingers brushing the cold stone. “I never meant for any of it to happen.”

The memories bite hard. His temper. His loyalty. The way he stood in front of me, not behind. He died protecting me from the fallout of a plan I thought I had under control.

If I’d just listened to him. Trusted him instead of trying to prove something.

At Grigoriy’s grave, I place a hand on my stomach without thinking. His kindness was the quiet kind, the rare kind. The kind that didn’t ask for anything in return. He had dreams—college, a clean life, an escape from the family legacy. But he stayed. For me.

“You should’ve run when you had the chance,” I murmur. “You were always the smart one.”

The ache is sharper with him. Maybe because he wanted something different. Maybe because he never got the chance.

Fedot’s grave is the last. Our wild cousin. Loyal to the end, reckless as hell. He didn’t start the war that killed him, just got caught in the crossfire of egos and old grudges. The kind of shit that festers between men who’d rather die than back down. The dirt’s fresh. Flowers too. Could be one of his girls—he never lacked company. Or someone trying to bury guilt with petals.

Or it might mean my uncle’s returned.

“I’m pregnant,” I tell the stones. The words sound too soft for a place like this. “And yeah, I know what you’d say. That I’ve lost my fucking mind. That Vasiliy’s a Volkov. Former FSB. Raised in blood, trained to kill, built for secrets. That I’ve seen how those stories end, and I’m still choosing him.”

My hand presses flat to my belly.

“But this baby…it’s something else. It feels like a chance to break the cycle. To build something different. Something that doesn’t bleed.”

A breeze stirs the oak’s brittle leaves. The wind smells like rain. I need to go before the storm hits—before Vasiliy realizes I’m gone.

“I wish you were still here,” I whisper. “You’d know what to do.”

A voice breaks the quiet.

“They can’t help you now,” it says, low and gravelly. “None of us can.”

I spin around.

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