Page 48 of Mafia King's Broken Vow
I hear her slide off the counter. When I turn back, she’s composed again. Except for her eyes. They’re dark with want.
“We should be careful,” I say, voice low, hands steady even when nothing else is. “They’ll check the cameras.”
She blinks and nods, the flush in her cheeks slowly fading as composure claws its way back into place. “You’re right. This is?—”
“Complicated,” I finish, tone clipped. “And dangerous. For both of us.”
Another step back. Distance reestablished. My body resists it, the muscle memory of her so close still buzzing on my skin. I want…too much. I want her pressed against me. I want herbeneath me. I want to hear what she sounds like when she comes wrapped around me.
I want.
And that’s the problem.
“Go back to your room, Dr. Agapova.” The cold edge in my voice is deliberate. Armor. “Lock your door.”
Her eyes narrow, sharp despite the softness still clinging to her lips. “Is that what you want?”
Want is weakness. Wanting her—needingher—is something I cannot afford.
“What I want doesn’t matter,” I say, forcing steel into every word. “What matters is focus. Survival.”
She flinches, barely. Just a flicker in her gaze. “So I’m a distraction.”
“No,” I say. Quiet. Honest. “You’re more.”
I turn before I can betray myself further, every step toward the door a test of restraint. But just before I cross the threshold, her voice stops me.
“Yakov.”
I pause, back to her, every muscle taut.
“Sometimes the endgame changes,” she says softly. “Sometimes we find something worth more than winning.”
I don’t respond, but her words follow me down the hall, sinking deeper with every step. I slip past the guards, re-engage the lock on my door, and sit in the dark like a man who’s just come back from the edge of ruin.
Worth more than winning.
More than vengeance.
A dangerous thought.
I lie down, staring up at the ceiling as rain patters against the windows. And I wonder, if what I felt in that kitchen was real…or just another crack in the armor I thought would not fail.
I close my eyes, but all I see is her. All I feel is the warmth of her hand in mine. All I hear is her voice wrapped around my name like it belongs to someone who could still be saved.
And for the first time in years, I wonder if that man is still somewhere inside me, buried beneath the blood, the grief, the fury.
The man I used to be.
My phone buzzes.
Her number.
Mila:I can still taste you
I groan,pressing my palm against my aching cock and type back.
Me:Go to bed little doctor
