Page 92 of Mafia King's Broken Vow
“Even though she never got to know me?”
The question breaks my heart. “Especially because she never got to know you. She spent nine months imagining who you’d become, what you’d look like, what your first words would be. She used to tell me stories about the man you’d grow up to be.”
“What kind of stories?”
I settle back against the mirror, and Damien climbs into my lap with the easy trust of childhood. For a moment, we’re just family. Uncle and nephew, sharing memories of someone we both miss.
“She said you’d be curious about everything, that you’d ask a thousand questions and actually listen to the answers. She said you’d be brave but not reckless, strong but not cruel.” I smooth his hair back from his forehead. “She was right about all of it.”
“Do you think she’d like who I am now?”
“I think she’d be proud of you every single day,” I tell him honestly. “And I think she’d want you to grow up knowing that being good is harder than being strong, but that it’s more important.”
He considers this with typical seriousness. “Is that why you got sick? Because being good is hard?”
The kid understands a whole lot. But maybe that’s what Ana would have wanted—a son who thinks beyond the surface, who grasps the complexity of the world he’s been born into.
“Partly,” I admit. “I forgot how to be good for a while. I let being angry matter more than being the person your mother would have wanted me to be.”
“But you remembered?”
“I’m remembering,” I correct. “Every day, I try a little harder.”
“Good,” he says with satisfaction. “Will you come back soon? I mean, I know you’re busy getting better, but…”
“I’ll come back,” I promise. “As often as I can.”
“And you’ll keep teaching me things? Not just basketball stuff, but other things too?”
“What other things did you have in mind?”
“I don’t know. Uncle things. Like how to be brave when you’re scared, or how to know if someone is lying, or how to make people laugh when they’re sad.”
The requests are so earnest, so specific, that I realize Damien wants me in his life. Wants me to matter, to be present, to be someone he can count on.
The responsibility should terrify me. Instead, it settles over me like armor, protective and purposeful.
“I can teach you those things,” I tell him. “But you have to promise me something in return.”
“What?”
“Promise me you’ll always try to be the person your mother imagined. Even when it’s hard. Even when being good feels impossible. Promise me you’ll choose to be light instead of darkness.”
He nods solemnly. “I promise, Uncle Yakov.”
“Good man.”
We practice a few more escapes, but the energy has shifted. We’re not just playing now; we’re building something. Trust, connection, the foundation of the relationship Ana dreamed of for us.
When Aleksander appears in the doorway to signal our time is up, Damien groans with disappointment.
“Already?” he protests.
“Time moves faster when you’re having fun,” I tell him, helping him to his feet.
Igor appears behind Aleksander, assessing the scene. “Did you guys have fun?”
“Uncle Yakov is the best teacher ever,” Damien announces. “Can he come back next week? Please?”
