Page 98 of Mafia King's Broken Vow
Back in my room, I pull the burgundy dress from my suitcase and lay it across the bed. Rich fabric that remembers the shape of my body, the weight of his gaze.
When I put it on tonight, it won’t be for therapy.
It will be for him.
And for the first time in years, the choice feels exactly right.
25
THUNDER
MILA
Istand at the window of my temporary room, watching moonlight pour over the garden below. Bare-limbed trees cast skeletal shadows across the manicured lawn, their branches swaying gently in the late March wind. Pale patches of crocuses and early daffodils press up through the thawing soil, catching silver light in their petals. The mansion’s grounds stretch quiet and still, save for the occasional rustle of dry leaves and the slow pacing of security guards along the gravel path. It’s nearly midnight, and my pulse quickens.
My body hums with awareness, with memory and anticipation. The fabric of the dress Yakov requested whispers against my skin as I pace, counting minutes, watching the clock.
I should be trying to find a solution to return to my apartment, my normal life, my professional boundaries. Instead, I’m waiting for Yakov, the man who has broken through every wall I’ve ever built.
My phone buzzes with a text from Katarina—her third today, checking that I’m alright, that Pablo hasn’t made another appearance. I respond with reassurance I’m not sure I believemyself. Yes, I’m fine. No, there’s been no sign of him. Yes, I’ll be careful.
What I don’t tell her is how my heart races at the thought of what I’ve arranged for tonight. How I whispered the invitation to Yakov earlier today, watching his eyes darken with hunger and promise.
“Midnight. My room. Don’t be late.”
The clock ticks over to 12:03. One minute until the loop. Two minutes until he’s at my door. I smooth my hands over the dress, wondering if this is madness. He’s a dangerous man with a complicated past. I’m a psychologist who should know better. And yet…I’m drawn to his darkness as much as I’m afraid of it.
I’ve officially transferred his case, citing emotional countertransference in my report. The clinical term feels so inadequate for whatever this is between us, this pull that defies professional ethics and common sense alike. It doesn’t help that thanks to Aleksander, unofficially, I’m still his therapist.
12:04. One minute.
I move away from the window, dimming the lights to reduce visibility from outside. My last act of precaution before surrendering to something I can no longer deny. I check my appearance one final time in the mirror—hair loose around my shoulders the way he seems to prefer it, lips slightly reddened from nervous biting.
The clock glows 12:05, and I hold my breath.
Exactly on the dot, I hear it—three soft knocks, precisely as we arranged. I cross the room in seconds, pausing with my hand on the knob, giving myself one last chance to make the professional choice.
I open the door.
Yakov stands in the shadowed hallway, expression controlled but eyes burning with an intensity that makes my skin burn.He also planned this carefully, timed his movements with the precision I’ve come to expect from him.
“This was risky,” he says softly, even as his eyes devour me. I nod and step back, and he enters silently, bringing the now-familiar scent of his skin with him. I close the door, turning the lock with a quiet click that seems to echo in the stillness between us.
“Always surprising me,” he murmurs, moving closer. “The cautious doctor taking tactical risks.”
“I learned from the best,” I reply, unable to keep the smile from my voice. “Someone’s been showing me how to assess security patterns.”
His lips curve slightly. “And using that knowledge to arrange clandestine meetings. I should be concerned about what else you’ve learned.”
“Only what you’ve chosen to teach me.” I step closer, drawn by the magnetic pull between us that grows stronger with each encounter. “Though I’m a good observer, as you know already.”
He reaches out, fingers tracing the curve of my jaw with exquisite gentleness. “Indeed you are. In all the most dangerous ways.”
Electricity skitters across my skin, a reaction I can’t control despite my professional training, despite knowing better. I lean into his hand, craving more contact.
“You’re here to stay,” he says, not a question but a statement of fact.
“Yes.” I meet his gaze directly. “Igor and Nikolai don’t want to risk my safety. Apparently no security protocols are enough when it comes to Pablo.”
