Page 37 of Mafia King's Ruthless Obsession

“Good evening, detectives,” I greet them with a measured smile.”How may I assist you tonight? A drink, perhaps? Or a complimentary table?”

“Mr. Volkov,” the male detective’s tone carries that blend of authority and condescension typical of law enforcement, “I’mDetective Lawson, and this is Detective Rong. We have a few questions regarding your establishment.”

I gesture to the chairs across from my desk, noting how Detective Rong’s eyes sweep the room like she’s cataloging every inch. Her gaze lingers on the new security cameras. Smart. She’s not just here to ask questions—she’s looking for the story behind the walls.

“Of course,” I say smoothly, settling into my seat. “Though I was under the impression all our permits are in order.”

“Oh, they are.” Rong’s smile is all precision, no warmth, no humor. “Impressively so, considering how recently you acquired the property. Almost like someone wanted everything to look perfectly legitimate.”

There it is. The blade beneath the silk.

Before I can respond, Galina steps forward, her presence cutting through the tension like a scalpel. She’s dressed in that simple black dress hugging her like armor. The soft smile she offers Rong is all charm and strategy.

“I’m afraid we haven’t been properly introduced.” Her voice is calm, just the right amount of professional. “Galina Olenko. I helped manage the club under the previous ownership.”

My jaw tightens at the name. Olenko. She drops it like a grenade. She knows what it means. So do they, even if they don’t yet understand why.

She positions herself perfectly—close enough to appear cooperative, far enough to signal independence. The move is elegant and tactical, setting my teeth on edge.

Rong shakes her hand, polite but already recalibrating. Lawson’s brow furrows, the name clearly setting off something in the back of his mind. Good. Let them dig.

“Ms. Olenko,” Rong says, and I can hear the shift in her tone—interest sharpening. “Actually, we’d love to hear your perspective on the club’s…transition of ownership.”

Galina’s brow arches, the faintest flicker of mischief dancing behind her expression. She perches on the edge of my desk like it belongs to her. The move is disarming, yet calculated. She’s drawing the spotlight to herself, buying me time to gauge our guests.

“Transition is one word for it,” she declares lightly. But I see the tremor in her hand as she smooths her skirt. A tell. She’s not as calm as she looks. Only I would know that.

“I’m not a lawyer,” she continues, feigning innocence, “so I’m not sure how much insight I can offer into the legal side of things.”

Bullshit. Her understanding of power dynamics is razor-sharp. She was raised in the middle of this world—trained for it. She’s walking a tightrope now and doing it damn well.

Rong mirrors her posture, easing back in her chair. But that glint in her eye? It’s all threat.

“Let’s start simple then,” Rong says. “Mr. Volkov, how exactly did you acquire the Velvet Echo?”

Lawson pulls out a notepad with theatrical flair, clicks his pen. Galina plants her hands on the desk, bracing herself.

The question is bait—barbed and waiting to catch.

I lean back slowly, composing my answer with the same precision I used to dismantle enemies in interrogation rooms. “As far as public records go, the previous owner transferred the title to me,” I say evenly. “If your investigation suggests otherwise, I’d be very interested to hear it.”

“No,” Rong says, her mouth pressing into a line. “But we were hoping you could explain the reasoning behind the acquisition.”

Before I can answer, Galina cuts in. “Mr. Volkov keeps meticulous business records,” she says smoothly, throwing her gaze my way. “He’s here to answer your questions. Not to offer insight into his private affairs.”

There’s something in her eyes, a fire I haven’t seen in weeks. Not defiance. Not rebellion. Something closer to loyalty. Or maybe just survival instinct. Either way, it holds weight.

Lawson’s frown deepens. “What about the renovations? The security system? The change in clientele?”

“The club needed a facelift,” Galina replies without missing a beat. “Mr. Volkov has simply been modernizing the business.”

I glance at her, just for a second. And I know we’re thinking the same thing. This isn’t just about damage control. It’s about keeping our stories aligned long enough to survive this.

I offer her a short nod; one she returns with practiced subtlety.

But the truth presses against the back of my mind. The renovations were meant to elevate the operation, not draw heat. Unless they know something I don’t. Unless this whole performance is just cover for a deeper move.

And if that’s the case, then the detectives aren’t the only ones playing a dangerous game.

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