Page 115 of Mafia King's Ruthless Obsession

He hauls me to my feet. My legs buckle, half real, half performance.

“This wasn’t the deal,” Yakov says. His voice is quiet, but the kind that silences rooms. “We agreed—no unnecessary casualties. These women are leverage, not fucking trophies.”

His words slice through the tension like steel, and for the first time since waking, I feel something dangerous but not entirely bleak.

Boundaries. Rules.

He may be a monster, but he’s not Matvei.

Matvei scoffs, tightening his grip on my arm until I wince. “I’m not going to touch her. Much. And I want to see Volkov’s face when I put a bullet through her head.”

Yakov’s eyes don’t move, but his jaw clenches—just a flicker. Barely there.

Enough for me to see it.

Whatever this is between them, it’s not equal. Matvei acts like he’s in control, but Yakov is the one with the leash. Whether he yanks it or not…that remains to be seen.

My heart pounds, but I force myself to look—not panic, not shut down, but observe. Catalog. Survive.

Two women are huddled near the far wall, flanked by guards with dead eyes and heavy rifles. My breath catches.

Katya.Vasiliy’s sister, her blonde hair a tangled mess, eyes wide but focused. And next to her, Katarina.Nikolai’s wife. Even bruised and dirt-smudged, she radiates command. Regal under fire.

They both meet my gaze. Recognition flickers. Calculation tightens their features. We don’t scream. We don’t fall apart. We assess. Plot. We’re all fluent in survival, raised in this world where weakness is expensive.

Movement near the back wall catches my eye.

Jaromir.

Still standing. Still here. And looking like he regrets every second of it.

He doesn’t meet my eyes, but I see it—the unease in the line of his shoulders, the way his gaze jumps between Matvei and Yakov like a man watching two bombs ticking down at different speeds.

He didn’t expect this. Or maybe he did and just didn’t think it would go this far.

“Take her to the others,” Yakov says, voice clipped. Matvei wastes no time, shoving me toward the corner like I’m furniture.

I stagger, exaggerating the stumble, and nearly collapse at Katya and Katarina’s feet. Katarina catches me with surprising strength, guiding me down without breaking her stare from the guards.

“You’re hurt,” she murmurs, her voice barely more than a breath.

I touch my temple. It grounds me. Reminds me I’m still here. Still alive.

“It’s nothing.”

Katya leans in, green eyes searching. “Why did they bring you?”

I don’t get a chance to answer.

Matvei’s shadow falls over us like a storm cloud. “Reunion’s over, ladies. Keep your mouths shut unless you want to lose something vital.”

He strides back to Yakov, and the two of them fall into a heated exchange near the center of the warehouse. Their voices bounce off the metal beams and high ceilings, sharp and unfiltered.

“This complicates things,” Yakov hisses, flicking a glance toward us. “Vladimir will lose his shit if anything happens to her.”

“Vladimir isn’t in charge anymore,” Matvei snaps. “Neither are you. Don’t forget who handed you the manpower to pull this off.”

Yakov’s jaw tics. His control doesn’t crack, but the shadows deepen around his eyes.

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