Alle Kapitel von The Disgraced Biker Princess as His Mafia Pet : Kapitel 61 – Kapitel 70

Lena's POV A loud, metallic crack ripped through the cavernous casino floor, tearing through the suffocating silence like a lightning bolt.Don Vance had snapped. Driven to absolute, unhinged madness by the public humiliation, the loss of his empire, and Nikolai’s total, dismissive contempt, the southern Capo had broken the sacred, ancient code. He had drawn a concealed snub-nosed revolver from his jacket lining and aimed it directly at Nikolai’s turned back."Volkov!" Vance roared, his voice a distorted, desperate shriek.It happened in a fraction of a second.Instinct, honed by a decade of assassination attempts and tactical warfare, took over before my brain could even register the sound. Nikolai didn't draw a weapon. He didn't duck for cover. Instead, his massive left arm lashed out, wrapping around my waist with crushing, immovable force. He spun his broad frame around, throwing his entire body directly over mine, using his massive torso as an impenetrable shield.A searing wh

Lena's POV The violet laser beams sliced through the rising haze of smoke, but the hypnotic atmosphere of the Katfish Klub had turned toxic in an instant.My skin still prickled where Yaroslav Dnipro had invaded my space, the lingering scent of his harsh cologne mingling with the metallic reek of cordite. Nikolai stood beside me like an iron statue, his eyes fixed on the dark mezzanine corridor where the Ukrainian boss had vanished. His hand remained wrapped securely around the nape of my neck, his pulse heavy and thumping against my collarbone.A shadow glided into my peripheral vision.Irina stepped up to the edge of the marble bar, her tactical vest settled tightly over her chest, her hand still resting near the grip of her sidearm. The red laser sights from her security detail had finally vanished, but the tense, hyper-vigilant posture of her Spetsnaz training hadn't relaxed for a second. Her pale eyes drifted from Nikolai’s icy, unblinking face down to mine, her expression ho

Lena's POV The bass vibrated straight through the soles of my heels, a heavy, rhythmic thrum that echoed the erratic pounding in my chest.Above us, towering arches of polished chrome and frosted glass swept up into high, cavernous ceilings where jagged streaks of violet and electric-cyan neon crisscrossed the darkness. The Katfish Klub wasn't just a venue; it was a cathedral of decadent power. Built into a converted industrial complex in the heart of the city's waterfront district, the club was the crown jewel of the Volkov syndicate’s public footprint, a playground for politicians, corrupt judges, and high-ranking mobsters designed to broadcast one clear message: Nikolai Volkov owned the night.Following our tense, quiet standoff in the subterranean garage earlier that morning, I had hoped to spend the evening hidden away in my quarters. But Nikolai had other plans. He insisted on bringing me out into the light once more, parading his victory and proving to every faction in the c

Lena's POV The heavy, bulletproof glass of the town car’s rear passenger cabin sealed out the muffled roar of the city, trapping us in a tomb of absolute, suffocating silence.Outside, the rain had turned into a steady, relentless downpour. Jagged streaks of violet, crimson, and harsh sodium yellow blurred across the water-beaded windows like melting oil paint. We were speeding through the waterfront district, flanked front and rear by blacked-out tactical SUVs, our convoy cutting through the dark streets like a funeral procession.Inside, the air was thick, heavy, and laced with the sharp, metallic tang of cold sweat, cordite, and the subtle scent of my own fear.Nikolai sat beside me on the leather bench, his broad frame motionless, rigid as cast iron. He hadn't spoken a single word since we cleared the emergency exit of the Katfish Klub. He sat with his hands resting on his knees, his massive knuckles pale and bloodless. His face was carved from dark marble, his jaw clenched so

Lena's POV The silence in the master suite was thick enough to bleed.I lay facedown in the dark, my face buried in the silk pillows, my body still trembling with leftover tremors. The sharp sting on my skin had softened into a deep, throbbing heat, and the heavy scent of rain, sweat, and cordite hung trapped between the bedsheets. I was exhausted, physically drained, emotionally bruised, and floating in a strange, heavy haze of absolute vulnerability.I closed my eyes, desperately courting sleep, wanting nothing more than to slip into the dark where the faces of Don Vance, Yaroslav Dnipro, and the masked stranger couldn't reach me.Then, the mattress shifted.A heavy, warm shadow moved over my back once more. Nikolai’s chest flattened against my spine, his massive weight settling over me with a quiet, unrelenting pressure that instantly shattered my fragile attempt at rest.He wasn't done.It was a terrifying, intoxicating realization. He moved over me like a man consumed by a dark