Claimed By The Mafia Don (Ariella and Asher) novel Chapter 191

Alex Volkov, Prince to the Russian Empire, the Bratva royalty—was dead.

Like dead, dead.

I still couldn’t swallow the word. I stood there, egg dripping between my fingers, the shell cracked and forgotten on the floor. The pan on the stove hissed and sizzled in the background, but it couldn’t compete with the pounding of my heart.

Shot.

In public.

In the street.

Alex Volkov. The man who haunted my nightmares ever since he walked into Asher’s cage for me....grinning like the devil himself, that smug, detached smirk that never reached his eyes, as if he knew something I didn’t.

The one who threatened Asher.

The one who said he was going to marry me.

The one who wanted me not because he loved me but because he wanted to take away whatever Asher loved. He wanted to play with Asher’s toy.

Or snuff it out.

Asher had told me the last time I left that he needed time. Just time. “Let me handle this,” he’d said.

And it seems like Alex Volkov’s time had just run out.

The screen on the TV shifted. Footage played on a loop: red and blue lights flashing, a bloodied sidewalk roped off with yellow tape, police giving statements in front of a buzzing crowd. A headline crawled across the bottom of the screen:

“Assailant Unknown. Mr. Volkov Declared Dead at the Scene. No Suspects in Custody.”

I knew the mafia world had enemies, plenty of them. But this wasn’t random. I just knew it. This was mafia cleanup. And something in my gut told me… Asher had a hand in it. Maybe even Luca.

Suddenly, the house felt cold.

Too still. Too quiet.

I backed away from the television, breathing shallow, body heavy. My fingers fumbled for the stove, switching it off as the smell of scorched butter crept into the air. My stomach churned.

No, I wasn’t mourning Alex.

He was a monster.

If I’d ended up in his clutches, I would’ve been broken beyond repair. I knew that. But the way it happened...so public, so precise....it felt like a message. One that was still echoing.

If someone like Alex Volkov, with all his arrogance, all his power, his money, his alliances, if he could be executed like that?

Then what about Alan?

Or me?

My knees gave way as I lowered myself slowly into a chair, pressing a hand to my stomach, trying to breathe. Trying to reason. Trying to steady the panic rising like a tide inside me. I couldn’t.....I wouldn’t have Alan’s blood on my hands. Especially not for me.

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