Page 50 of Mafia King's Broken Vow
By the time I’m dressed and heading downstairs, I’ve layered myself in professionalism like armor. Crisp, detached, clinical. But it doesn’t settle right. It doesn’t feel like enough.
The mansion feels off. Thinner somehow. The way air gets right before a storm. Fewer guards. Quiet conversations behind heavy doors. The kind of calm that comes before the walls fall in.
I find Igor in the study, Nikolai beside him. Both serious. Both silent.
I know that look.
“What’s up?” I ask, keeping my voice even.
Nikolai gestures me closer. “We confirmed the break-in was Pablo. “
Igor turns the laptop toward me. Surveillance footage. My building. My floor. My apartment.
Time-stamped to the exact hour I was with Yakov.
“He knew you’d be gone,” Igor says. His voice is steel. “He wasn’t guessing. This was planned.”
“He went through your things. Clothes. Personal drawers,” Nikolai adds, his face a mask. “Moved things just enough for you to notice.”
It’s worse than theft. It was a message. A warning. A claim.
“There’s more,” Igor adds. “He’s not just Diaz’s nephew. He’s the cartel’s point of contact. Officially. You weren’t just targeted for proximity, you were leverage.”
The bottom drops out of me.
This wasn’t about attraction. It was strategy. I wasn’t just vulnerable. I was a pressure point. A pawn.
“We’ve added extra security to your building,” Nikolai says, his tone calm and final. “But until this is over, you stay here.”
In this house. With Yakov. Under the same roof as the man who has become the most unpredictable variable in my life.
My thighs clench involuntarily. Last night proved walls mean nothing. Locks mean nothing. If he wants to find me again, hewill. My nipples tighten at the thought, and I cross my arms to hide the evidence.
I’m already wet. Have been since I woke up from dreams of him finishing what we started. My panties are soaked, and I shift uncomfortably, trying to ease the ache between my legs. This is pathetic. I’m pathetic.
The words “under the same roof as Yakov”thunder through my skull before I can stop them. Dread knots with something worse. Anticipation. Sharp and unwanted.
“That’s not necessary,” I start automatically.
Igor cuts me off. “It’s not a request. Diaz escalates. And if anything happens to you, Katarina won’t forgive me. Neither will I.”
Checkmate. I nod. “How long?”
“A few days. A week, maybe,” Nikolai says.
But his eyes give him away. It’ll be longer. It always is. In Bratva time,a weekmeansindefinitely until it’s no longer a liability.
“I should call my patients to rearrange their sessions for this week,” I say, clinging to the nearest exit.
Igor stops me. “About your patients…” His voice is neutral. Too neutral.
My stomach drops. “What about them?”
“Maybe it’s time we suspend the sessions with Gagarin.”
The words hit harder than they should. “Why?”
“Security,” Igor says smoothly. “You staying in the same house changes the parameters.”
