Page 81 of Mafia King's Broken Vow
The words hit hard.
“Igor’s not blind,” Aleksander adds, his tone brutally direct. “He sees what’s happening between you two.”
I arch a brow, studying him. “And you? What do you see?”
For a moment, Aleksander’s mask slips, just enough to show the man beneath the soldier.
“I see a weapon we might still need,” he admits. “But I also see why Igor’s worried. You were dangerous when you felt nothing. You’re even more dangerous now that you care.”
I don’t deny it. There’s no point.
“When will I have your answer?” I press, unwilling to let this devolve into a conversation about my demons.
“Tomorrow.” He opens the door but pauses, his eyes locked on me. “You realize this is a test, don’t you? Every move you make, how far you’ll bend for her. Whether you’re truly under control…or just waiting to snap.”
“I’m aware.”
A faint, almost amused exhale escapes him. “You still asked anyway. Either you’re reckless or you’re playing a game none of us can see.”
The door clicks shut behind him, leaving silence in his wake.
But there’s no peace in it. Only the pulse of something dark and inevitable.
I drag a hand through my hair, the tension coiled so tightly in my chest it feels like I might shatter from the inside out. Aleksander thinks I’m either a pawn reformed or a predator lying in wait.
He’s wrong.
I’m something worse.
Not the man I was, the monster who dealt in fear and blood. Not the puppet they hope to reshape.
No…I’m a man with something to lose now.
I cross to the window, eyes scanning the grounds like I might catch a glimpse of her, like I could tether myself to the proof that she’s still breathing, stillmineto protect.
My palm presses to the cold glass, useless against the distance that feels like a blade to my throat.
My reflection stares back from the window—scarred, dangerous, barely contained. For the first time in years, I have something worth protecting that isn’t revenge.
Pablo thinks he’s hunting prey.
And he’s about to find out what happens when you threaten the one thing a monster can’t afford to lose.
21
TO BE BOTH BAIT AND TARGET
MILA
Rain streaks down the bulletproof windows in endless patterns. I trace one with my finger until it disappears—temporary, like everything else these days.
Three days since I referred out every one of my patients. Three days of hiding behind bulletproof glass while my life sits on pause.
I told myself this was strategy, not surrender.
But the truth is sharper than any threat Pablo Montoya poses; it’s not the cartel keeping me awake at night. It’s the absence of the one man who made me feel alive instead of just safe.
Three days without Yakov’s voice. Without his presence filling a room like controlled lightning.
