Page 99 of Mafia King's Ruthless Obsession

And right now, it’s telling me to go.

To run.

To save what matters before it’s too late.

I turn back to the graves and lay a hand on each headstone. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “But I have to break another promise.”

The first raindrops hit as I cross the cemetery gates, cold and sharp against my skin. I don’t look back. Every step puts distance between me and the ghosts of my past, but Sergey’s words echo with every footfall.

Instead of heading back to the club, I redirect the cab to Penn Station. The driver doesn’t ask questions. Why would he? Still, I catch the flicker of his eyes in the rearview mirror—just curious enough to clock the tension in my shoulders, the way I keep glancing behind us like I’m being followed. Maybe he thinks I’ve had a fight with a lover or just left a funeral. He wouldn’t be wrong. Not entirely.

The moment I step inside the station, the air changes. It’s heavy with transit and tension, thick with the smell of wet concrete, cheap coffee, and too many people crammed into a place no one really wants to be. Fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting a harsh, unnatural glow that makes every shadow seem deeper, every figure more suspicious.

People shuffle past in rain coats and damp shoes, eyes cast downward, too wrapped in their own escapes to notice me. But I see everything. The shriek of a distant train. The garbled intercom announcing departures. The low hum of anxiety that pulses just beneath the surface of this overcrowded space.

I move like I’ve done this before—because I have. Old habits don’t just die hard; they go dormant, waiting for moments like this. There’s cash in my jacket pocket. A go-bag tucked into locker C117. I stashed it here months ago, back when I still believed escape was a real possibility instead of a last resort.

I buy a ticket to Boston, not because I’m going there, but because it’s far enough to be convincing and common enough not to raise flags. It’s just the first breadcrumb. A lie I tell the world while I figure out the truth of where I’m really going. If anywhere.

As I wait at the terminal, everything around me blurs. My nerves are fraying, heart thudding in time with the rhythmic clatter of announcements and the clank of suitcase wheels. But I keep my head down and my body still, because in this moment, invisibility means survival.

My phone buzzes.

Vasiliy.

I silence it and press the phone to my chest, forcing back the tears. He’ll be furious. He’ll come looking. But better his anger than a bullet in our baby’s spine. Better heartbreak than history repeating itself.

I move toward the boarding line—just one more step, one more breath—when a hand clamps down on my shoulder.

I freeze.

“Going somewhere,lisichka?”

His voice is low and deadly calm, but I can feel the fury radiating off him. I turn slowly, meeting those steel-gray eyes I know better than my own.

“How did you?—”

“Find you?” His grip tightens. “Did you really think I wouldn’t have someone watching the cemetery? After everything, you thought I’d leave you unguarded?”

“I can’t stay.” The words come out hoarse. “They’re coming, Vasiliy. All of them. My uncle. Yakov. They won’t stop.”

“Let them come,” he growls, pulling me flush against his chest. “No one touches you. Not your uncle. Not Matvei. Not Yakov fucking Gagarin.”

His arms are iron around me, his voice thunder. And something inside me—the fight, maybe—shudders and falters. Maybe I’m weak. Or maybe I’m just tired of pretending I’m not.

“You can’t lock me up forever,” I whisper.

“No,” he agrees, brushing wet hair from my cheek. “But for now, you’re mine. And I intend to make full use of that.”

His threat curls heat in my belly. I feel his arousal pressing against me, and I hate how easily I respond.

“You’re a bastard,” I mutter.

“Guilty.” His mouth crushes mine, and I kiss him back like I’m drowning.

The world disappears, drenched in rain, in fury, in the kind of twisted devotion that lives somewhere between cruelty and salvation.

His hand stays on my lower back as he leads me to the waiting car. I slide in beside him, drenched and shivering and burning all at once. The city blurs outside the window, a smear of headlights and shadows.

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