Page 126 of Mafia King's Broken Vow
“The Colombian situation requires immediate attention,” he says quietly. “Pablo’s uncle is making moves. We need contingency plans.”
I watch Mila throughout the day—the way she laughs with Katarina, the gentle way she helps Katya and Igor’s daughter, Sofiya, make a flower crown, the animated conversation she has with Galina about her new baby. She fits naturally into this dangerous family, but I see how Igor’s men maintain perimeter watch, how conversations shift when children approach. Even our moments of peace exist within a fortress.
“She’s good with children,” Vasiliy observes, appearing beside me with a beer extended in offering.
I accept the bottle, though alcohol has never been my preference. “She’s good with people,” I correct. “Understands them in ways I never will.”
Vasiliy follows my gaze to where Mila now sits with Damien, watching him play chess with Lev. “You love her,” he observes. “Dangerous in our world, but powerful. Use it wisely; it can be your greatest strength.”
The word still feels volatile, exposing a vulnerability I’ve spent years eliminating. Yet I can’t deny its truth. “I do,” I admit simply.
“Good.” Vasiliy claps my shoulder once, the friendly gesture unexpected. “She deserves that. And perhaps, after everything, you do too.”
Before I can respond, Damien calls me over to settle a chess dispute, fitting, since strategy games are preparation for the real thing in our world. As I walk toward them, I notice Mila watching me, her smile softening in a way that makes heat spread through my chest. There’s a rightness to this moment that I never thought possible for someone like me—surrounded by children’s laughter, the scent of grilled food in the air, the woman I love looking at me as if I’m worthy of her.
As we rejoin the others, her hand in mine, I find myself noticing details I might once have dismissed as tactical weaknesses—the way Nikolai looks at Katarina when she isn’t watching, the protective stance Vasiliy maintains near Galina and their child, the genuine affection in Igor’s eyes when Sofiya climbs into his lap. They’ve built something I once thought impossible in our world, connections that transcend Bratva obligations, love that survives despite the violence surrounding it.
Perhaps we can build something lasting…if we make it through what’s coming. The Colombians won’t wait long.
The irony isn’t lost on me, planning a future while assassins circle like vultures. But perhaps that’s what makes it precious: love stolen from a world that doesn’t believe in second chances.
36
FRACTURED GROUND
MILA
The afternoon sun across the Volkov estate leaves the gardens and pool glowing with light. Summer has always been my favorite season, and with our personal circumstances stabilizing, I’m finally beginning to feel relaxed, a state of being that’s so unfamiliar it almost feels foreign.
I watch Yakov and Damien. They’re hunched over a chess board, Yakov patiently explaining strategy while Damien takes everything in with rapt attention. Even from here, I see the gentleness he shows only Damien—the man beneath the soldier.
But then, no one sees him the way I do.
This moment of normalcy feels almost surreal after everything we’ve been through—the cartel’s threats, our forbidden relationship, the constant danger. For a brief afternoon, surrounded by the Bratva families at this barbecue, we’ve pretended to be normal people enjoying the summer day.
The shift happens gradually. Families begin gathering their things, and I see Yakov’s expression change, the relaxed man disappearing behind the strategist.
As we get ready to leave, his posture shifts, and as he walks toward Nikolai and Igor, a look of calculated determinationsettles over his features. Despite the sudden tightness in my chest, I follow.
“Before we head out,” Yakov says, carrying quiet authority that still sends tingles racing down my spine, “I’d like to discuss my official reintegration into Bratva operations.”
Conversations fade around us. Igor’s expression hardens while Nikolai’s remains neutral. Vasiliy, who’s been keeping his distance from Bratva business these days, focuses intently on his son.
“Reintegration?” Igor repeats, challenge evident in his tone. “You’ve been given privileges just recently, Gagarin. Don’t push your luck.”
“It’s not about luck,” Yakov counters with infuriating calm. “It’s about strategic advantage. You know what I bring to the table.”
I watch the calculation in Nikolai’s eyes as he studies Yakov. “We’ll discuss it,” he says finally. “Your contributions during the Pablo situation were…significant.”
Igor seems ready to say something, but Aleksander puts a subtle hand on his brother’s shoulder. The silent communication between them fascinates me, this language of power and restraint that runs through Bratva interactions.
The drive back to the mansion is tense with unspoken words. I stare out the window at passing trees, trying to organize my thoughts. When we’re finally alone in the car, I can’t contain it anymore.
“Officially rejoin Bratva operations?” I turn to face him. “After everything we’ve built? You’re just going to throw it away?”
Yakov’s eyes remain fixed on the road, his profile carved from stone. “It’s the logical next step, Mila.”
“Logical for whom?” I ask, frustration building. “For the man who’s been fighting to prove he’s more than a weapon they canaim at their enemies? Or for the Bratva that wants to use your skills without granting you real freedom?”
