Page 105 of Mafia King's Broken Vow

Glass shattered, screams erupted. Bratva security moved instantly, but Colombian reinforcements were already swarming through multiple entry points.

“Mila!” Katarina grabbed my hand as screams erupted around us. Security moved instantly, but Pablo’s men were ready, overwhelming our protection.

As panic erupted, someone grabbed Katarina, pulling her toward the main exit while Pablo’s hand locked around my wrist, dragging me in the opposite direction.

“Kata!” I screamed, but she was already gone, swept away by the Bratva protocols designed to protect Nikolai’s family. Pablo grabbed me in the confusion, dragging me toward a service exit while Bratva soldiers engaged his men.

I fought.

Yakov’s training snapped into muscle memory: the heel of my palm driving into his solar plexus, the twist to break his grip, the sharp kick to create space. It worked…for a moment.

But Pablo recovered fast.

Too fast.

Now I’m here, cornered and freezing in a back alley, pulse hammering, alone and breathing like I’m drowning on dry land.

The footsteps stop.

I freeze, spine flush against the brick wall, praying to vanish into it.

“I admire your fire,” Pablo calls out, his voice closer now, tone almost conversational. “It’s what drew me to you, you know. That brilliant mind buried under all that control.”

My fingers curl around the neck of a discarded bottle near a dumpster. Not ideal. But something. Yakov’s voice again, crisp and steady in my memory, “When cornered, attack. Surprise is survival.”

“Most women would be paralyzed by now,” Pablo says, his steps resuming—slower, hunting. “But not you. You’re thinking. Calculating. Looking for an edge.”

My heartbeat roars in my ears. This isn’t a drill. This isn’t controlled. But the lessons stick.

“Use their assumptions. Use their arrogance. They never expect a strike.”

I adjust my hold on the bottle, waiting, timing, baiting.

“Your Bratva friends are busy,” Pablo says, his shadow stretching across the slick pavement. “And your lover? He chose protecting Nikolai’s wife over protecting you.”

That one word—lover—cuts colder than the wind. He knows. He’s been watching.

The shadow halts. Then moves faster.

“There you are.” Pablo rounds the corner, his smile feral, victorious. “Tired of running?”

He closes in, arrogant in his control, sure of my helplessness. I let him believe it. Let him step within range.

Then I move.

But he’s faster.

His hand snaps out, seizing my wrist with bruising force. The bottle slips from my hand and shatters on the pavement.

“Did he teach you that?” he sneers, twisting my arm until pain shoots up my shoulder. “Your precious Yakov? Trained you to fight like a cornered animal?”

Fear surges through me, jagged and electric. I twist, instinct and training kicking in, but Pablo anticipates the move. He slams me back against the wall—hard. The impact knocks the breath from my lungs, stealing everything but panic and fury.

“I’ve been watching you,” he whispers, his mouth too close, rain dripping from his perfect hair onto my cheeks like poison. “The sessions. The training. The nights in his bed. Did you really think no one noticed?”

A fresh wave of dread rolls through me.

“You’re wrong,” I say, voice strained but level, clinging to the lie with a white-knuckled grip.