Alle Kapitel von The Disgraced Biker Princess as His Mafia Pet : Kapitel 71 – Kapitel 80

Lena's POV Three days had passed since the blood and shattered glass of the nightclub confrontation, three days of living inside the gold-gilded cage of the Volkov estate.By the third morning, the quiet luxury of the mansion felt less like a sanctuary and more like a tomb. I needed air. I needed the smell of engine grease, the crisp clinking of socket wrenches, and the grounding reality of hard, physical labor, anything to remind me that I was still Lena, not just a high-value asset hidden behind bulletproof glass and armed guards.When I requested Nikolai’s permission to return to my mechanic shop in the lower industrial district, I expected an immediate, absolute refusal. Instead, he had studied me across his massive mahogany desk, his dark eyes searching my impassive face for any sign of flight."You may go," he had rumbled, his voice a low, heavy line of authority. "Two hours. But you do not step outside without an escort."It was a compromise, a fragile balance between my desp

Lena's POVThe heavy rear doors of the van flew open with a harsh, metallic screech, flooding the dark cargo hold with a sickly, yellow glow.Rough hands seized the collar of my canvas coveralls, yanking the coarse burlap hood from my head. The sudden, glare of overhead lights blinded me for a second, my eyes watering as I took in my new reality.I was inside a vast, subterranean warehouse. High above, rusting corrugated steel beams spanned a cavernous ceiling where sodium lamps flickered, casting long, grotesque shadows across the oil-stained concrete floor. The air was thick, suffocating, and rancid, a toxic cocktail of rotting dampness, high-grade engine oil, copper, and the unmistakable, sweet stench of human misery.Stack after stack of wooden shipping crates stamped with foreign armaments lined the perimeter, flanked by wrapped bricks of illicit narcotics stacked five feet high. But what made my blood run instantly cold were the support pillars running down the central aisle.

Nikolai's POV The satellite phone shattered into a hundred jagged pieces of plastic and circuit board as it slammed against the solid oak wall of the war room.The sharp, explosive crack echoed off the high mahogany panels, followed by the heavy, suffocating silence of absolute rage.I stood behind the massive tactical desk, my chest heaving, my heavy fists planted flat on the scarred wood. The leather of my holster strained against the corded muscles of my shoulders as I stared down at the scattered glass on the floor. The sound of her voice—scared, bruised, yet defying the bastard even with a gun to her head was burning through my blood like pure liquid fire."Assemble the strike teams," I snarled, my voice dropping into a low, terrifying rasp that didn't sound human. "Every soldier, every armored unit, every mercenary on the Volkov payroll. We tear through the Ukrainian sector block by block. We burn every warehouse, every port, every safehouse Yaroslav owns until I am holding hi

Lena's POV The heavy iron of the wrist shackle clicked softly against the concrete—a faint, metallic *pop* buried under the hum of the high-voltage sodium lamps above.My heart slammed against my ribs, but I forced my posture to remain hunched and broken, keeping my arms pinned behind my back so the guards standing fifty feet away by the vehicle bay wouldn't see the iron cuff fall open.Irina didn't break her rhythm. She stayed crouched in front of me, her body shielding me from the loading bay, her hands moving with terrifying, surgical speed behind my back as she slid the thin piece of steel toward the lock on my ankles."Listen to me very carefully, Lena," Irina whispered. Her voice was barely a thread of warm air against my ear, sharp, clinical, and impossibly calm. "When the shooting starts, you do not look back. You head straight down the eastern utility corridor behind this pillar. There is a secondary maintenance door at the far end. Outside in the alley, hidden behind the d

Nikolai's POV Two agonizing weeks of high-alert lockdown had turned the estate into a gilded pressure cooker.For fourteen days, the perimeter had remained sealed shut under level-five security protocols. Thermal sweeps droned every ten minutes, armed patrols marched the grounds in relentless shifts, and Lena had lived under the constant, hovering presence of Irina. I had felt her growing frustration, the quiet storm of her caged independence brewing beneath the surface, but I refused to yield. Not while Yaroslav Dnipro was still breathing out there in the dark.At 0200 hours on a moonless Tuesday, Dmitri finally walked into my war room with the coordinates.An abandoned industrial plating factory on the far eastern outskirts of the city. A rotting concrete carcass surrounded by rusted rail lines and swamp mist, powered by a single diesel generator—the perfect hole for a wounded animal to bleed ou