Page 83 of Mafia King's Broken Vow
“He hasn’t disappeared.”
Yakov’s voice slices through the room, low, controlled, dangerous. A sound that makes my pulse skip for reasons no one here should ever guess.
All eyes snap to him, including mine. I force myself to look at him like he’s just another asset in this operation, not the man whose mouth was on my skin, whose name I whispered in the dark.
“Explain,” Igor bites out, every word dripping with contempt.
Yakov leans forward, elbows on the table like he owns the space, despite the guards hovering at his back. There’s a calm certainty in him that demands attention.
“Pablo’s not running scared. He’s regrouping.” His gaze finds mine briefly—deliberate, claiming. “He showed himself to gauge our response. Now he waits for us to get careless.”
A chill skates down my spine, but it’s not fear of Pablo that tightens my throat.
It’s how intimately Yakov understands this predator.
Because it takes one to know one.
Igor mutters something under his breath, but no one argues. Nikolai leans forward with grudging interest. Even Igor’s scowl softens into something like reluctant respect. But I see the calculation in their eyes, weighing Yakov’s value against their distrust. Because we all know Yakov’s right.
I keep my expression composed, my hands folded neatly on the table, but beneath the surface, my thoughts are anything but calm.
Pablo Montoya may be the threat outside these walls.
But Yakov Gagarin is the threat I let inside.
“And you know this how?” Igor challenges, his tone laced with suspicion.
“Because it’s exactly what I’d do,” Yakov replies, calm and unapologetic. “And because I’ve watched the cartel operate this way before.”
I can’t tear my eyes from him as he takes control of the room, not with force, but with precision. He speaks in measured tones, outlining Colombian tactics with such ruthless clarity that even Igor’s scowl begins to fade into something closer to begrudging attention.
Yakov moves to the maps, fingers trailing over streets and sectors like he’s rearranging a battlefield only he can fully see. He highlights surveillance points no one else considered, infiltration routes hidden in plain sight, vulnerabilities that make the Bratva’s so-called impenetrable security look amateur.
With every word, admiration coils tighter inside me, respect tangled with something far more unsettling.
This is Yakov unleashed. A man who doesn’t just anticipate his enemies, he dismantles them before they even realize they’re being hunted. It’s mesmerizing. And terrifying.
“They won’t strike head-on,” he says, tapping a cluster of locations near my apartment and office. “They’ll embed themselves here first. Businesses that seem harmless—restaurants, couriers, cleaning services. Access disguised as convenience.”
Nikolai leans forward, a flicker of realization crossing his face. “We’ve already flagged unusual interest in commercial leases in those areas.”
Yakov’s mouth curves, barely a smile, more a warning. “Then you’re already chasing shadows. Those inquiries are just noise. You need to look at high-end residential buys, condos with direct lines of sight to her movements.”
The conversation sharpens, shifting from skepticism to reluctant reliance as even the Bratva leaders can’t deny the value of what Yakov brings to the table. For two hours, strategies are redrawn, weaknesses exposed.
I stay composed, my voice steady as I offer insights from my encounters with Pablo—detached, efficient. But beneath the surface, every time Yakov’s gaze finds mine, a tremor runs through me. A reminder of the line we crossed. Of the line I want to cross again.
“We’ll start implementing these changes immediately,” Nikolai says at last, his tone signaling the end of the meeting. “Mila stays here until every gap is closed.”
As chairs scrape back and men begin to file out, I speak before I can second-guess myself.
“I need a moment alone with my patient. To assess his psychological state after today’s…events.”
Igor’s eyes narrow, suspicion radiating off him. But Aleksander steps in smoothly, his eyes snapping between Yakov and me. “Ten minutes. The guards will stay outside.”
The door shuts behind them, sealing us in heavy silence.
For the first time since that night, we’re alone.
