Page 129 of Mafia King's Broken Vow
“Go,” I tell him, squeezing his hand back. “I’ll be fine here.”
His jaw tightens. “Mila?—”
“Look around,” I gesture to the fortress surrounding us. “Short of a military invasion, I’m probably safer here than anywhere else. And they need you.”
The truth is, I understand the politics at play. This emergency meeting isn’t just about Pablo; it’s about Yakov’s reinstatement, his value to the organization, his future with them. Our future.
Aleksander appears at my shoulder, his presence both comforting and commanding. “I’ll personally oversee her security while you’re in the meeting.”
Yakov studies his face for a long moment, some silent communication passing between them. Finally, he nods.
“I’ll be back as soon as possible,” he says, cupping my face in his hands.
The kiss he gives me is fierce, possessive, a promise and a claiming all at once. When he pulls away, his eyes burn with intensity that makes my pulse race.
“Be careful,” I whisper.
“Always am.” The lie sits easily on his lips, but the small smile that accompanies it is genuine.
I watch him disappear into the mansion with the other men, then follow Aleksander to the main living area. The domestic warmth has been stripped away, replaced by tactical efficiency. Maps cover the coffee table, laptops display security feeds, and communication equipment hums quietly in the background.
“This is more than standard precaution,” I observe.
Aleksander nods grimly. “Pablo’s network is more extensive than we initially assessed. His escape suggests coordination we didn’t anticipate.”
The hours crawl by with agonizing slowness. I try to read, but concentration proves impossible. Every sound makes me jump—footsteps in the hall, car engines outside, the crackle of radio communications. The weight of being watched, protected, and trapped presses down on me until I feel like I can’t breathe.
Aleksander keeps me updated with fragments of information. The meeting is intense. They’ve uncovered disturbing intelligence about Pablo’s resources. Yakov’s input is proving valuable. But the specifics remain locked away in that room where men like Yakov make decisions about life and death.
I must have dozed off on the couch because I wake to the soft sound of footsteps. The room is dimmer now, evening shadows stretching across the floor. Most of the tactical equipment has been cleared away, and the mansion feels marginally more like a home again.
“Any word?” I ask Aleksander, who’s monitoring security feeds from a laptop.
“They’re wrapping up. Should be finished soon.”
The hours continue to drag. By ten o’clock, exhaustion weighs heavy on my shoulders, but I don’t want to go upstairs without Yakov. Aleksander tries to convince me to rest, but I shake my head.
“I’ll wait a little longer.”
But by eleven-thirty, my eyelids feel like lead. I finally give in and head to my room. I change into sleep clothes and climb into bed, determined to stay awake until he comes back.
I try to fight the pull of sleep, but the emotional exhaustion of the day finally wins. I drift off, still listening for his footsteps.
I wake to the bed dipping beside me and familiar warmth sliding under the covers. Strong arms pull me against a solid chest, and I breathe in Yakov’s scent.
“You’re back,” I murmur drowsily, turning in his arms to face him.
“Mm.” He sounds tired as he settles me more securely against him. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“How did it go?” I ask, my hand finding his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.
“Long. Complicated.” His fingers stroke through my hair, the gentle touch at odds with the tension I can feel in his body. “But we have a path forward now.”
I want to ask more, but the exhaustion in his voice and the way he holds me—like he needs this peace as much as I do—stop me. Instead, I press closer to him, offering comfort through presence rather than words.
“Sleep,” I whisper. “I’m here.”
His arms tighten around me, and I feel some of the tension leave his body. “I love you,” he murmurs against my hair, the words soft and unguarded in the darkness.
