Page 98 of Mafia King's Ruthless Obsession

A man stands behind me, leaning heavily on an ornate cane. His hair is silver at the temples, his suit impeccable, but it’s his eyes that catch me—green, sharp, intelligent. Haunted. He carries a bouquet of red roses.

“Who are you?” I demand, shifting my weight onto the balls of my feet, my instincts already braced for a fight.

“Sergey Gargarin,” he replies, the name falling like a stone in the cold morning stillness.

He gestures to a grave I hadn’t noticed before—Anastasiya’s. Her headstone is surrounded by fresh flowers, small tokens left behind by someone who still remembers. My chest tightens.

“I come every week,” he says. “A father never stops mourning his children. As your parents know all too well.”

The jab lands, quiet but sharp. “I’m sorry about Ana. What happened?—”

“—was a tragedy,” he cuts me off. “One of many. But not the last.” His eyes rake over me with unsettling calm. “You’re carrying a Volkov child.”

It’s not a question. My fingers twitch, aching to shield my stomach.

“How did you?—?”

“News travels fast in our world.” His smile is as cold as the wind rolling in through the headstones. “Yakov was particularly interested in that piece of information.”

The chill that runs through me has nothing to do with the weather. “So it’s true. Yakov’s back.”

Sergey nods slowly. “He lived through what should’ve ended him. But the man who came out of that hospital wasn’t the same. Yakov left the man he used to be behind in that wreckage. Since then, he’s lived for two things—healing his body and settling old debts.”

My pulse stutters. “Debts against whom?”

He steps in, the cane tapping against hard earth, voice low and clipped. “Everyone. The Volkovs. The Sokolovs. Anyone who played a hand in what happened to Ana. Anyone who stood by while his sister bled out and was buried like she never mattered. He’s not coming back to make peace, girl. He’s coming to clean house. Burn every last root of your families from this city.”

“You have to stop him,” I say. “Please.”

“I could,” he muses, tapping the ground with his cane, “but I won’t. Igor kept Ana’s son from us. My grandson. That alone sealed his fate.”

“Vasiliy isn’t Igor,” I argue. “He hates him. He’s nothing like him.”

Sergey’s expression doesn’t change. “The wolf may change his coat, but never his nature. I’ve stepped back from this war. They forced my hand once; I won’t let them do it again.”

“Then Yakov will die,” I snap. “And the last of your family will die with him. Is that what you want? No future for your grandson?”

A flicker of something passes behind his eyes. Regret? Pain? But it vanishes as quickly as it came. His gaze returns to Ana’s grave.

“It’s too late,” he says quietly. “You’re as blind as she was. Just ask her where trust got her. Or what’s left of her.”

My throat tightens. “Why are you telling me this?”

He kneels, laying the roses on Ana’s grave with solemn precision. “Consider it a kindness. For old times’ sake.”

Then he stands, straightening with quiet power. “Leave New York, Galina. Take your child and disappear. Because once Yakov makes his move, there will be no mercy. Not for you. Not for the baby. And not for anyone bearing the Volkov or Sokolov name.”

“You’re threatening me?” I ask, trying to sound unshaken.

“No.” His voice softens, but it’s no less terrifying. “I’m offering you a warning. Yakov is not the man Ana knew. That man died the day they shattered his spine. What came back…is something far more dangerous.”

Thunder cracks somewhere in the distance, echoing through the trees. The sky darkens, storm clouds crawling over the horizon.

“Leave tonight,” he says, already turning away.

Sergey disappears into the fog like a ghost, just another specter from the past. But the weight of his warning doesn’t vanish with him. It settles into my chest like lead, every word louder than the thunder rolling overhead.

My heart pounds. My instincts scream. I should run straight to Vasiliy and tell him everything. But there’s another voice—the one that’s kept me alive this long. The one that always speaks the truth, no matter how brutal.

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