Page 57 of Mafia King's Broken Vow
“I’m looking at you.”
“No.” I reach out, fingers barely grazing her chin, tilting her face up. “Now you’re looking at me.”
The contact is electric. I watch her pupils dilate, see the way her lips part slightly. She’s fighting it, but losing.
“Tell me what you see,” I murmur, thumb brushing across her jawline.
“Someone who’s pushing boundaries. Someone resisting therapy.”
“Try again.”
The silence stretches. Her eyes search my face, and I notice the exact moment her careful control starts to fracture.
“Someone dangerous,” she whispers.
“And?”
“Someone who makes me forget why I became a therapist in the first place.”
The admission breaks the restraint between us. Before she can take it back, I lean closer, my other hand coming to rest on the back of her chair.
“Which is?”
“To help people heal. Not to—” She stops herself.
“Not to what?”
“Not to want things I shouldn’t want.”
“And what is it that you want, Mila?”
The question hangs between us. She could deflect. Could hide behind protocol. Could pretend her chest isn’t rising and falling like she’s been running.
Instead, she does something that surprises us both.
She stands abruptly, closing the distance between us and rising on her toes until her mouth is a breath away from mine.
“I want you to stop making me choose between being your doctor and being a woman,” she whispers against my lips.
“Then don’t choose.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It could be.” I slide one hand to the small of her back, feeling her arch into the touch. “For one hour. In this room.”
She glances toward the corner where the camera sits, its red light steady.
“They’re watching. The guards?—”
“Are seeing a therapy session from two weeks ago. Sixty minutes of productive conversation.” My smile is sharp, predatory.
Her eyes widen. “You tampered with the surveillance?”
“I prefer ‘optimized our privacy.’ The beauty of institutional security systems—so predictable, so easily circumvented.” I brush a strand of hair from her face. “No eyes on us today, Dr. Agapova. Just you and me.”
A sharp intake of breath. “And after?”
“After, we figure it out. The real feed resumes whenever I trigger it, or automatically in fifty-two minutes. Plenty of time for us to…both get what we need.” I check my watch. “Unless you’d prefer to discuss my childhood trauma instead?”
