Page 118 of Mafia King's Broken Vow

“When does this start?” I ask, fighting to keep my voice steady.

“Immediately,” Nikolai answers. “Your quarters here will remain, but you’ll be permitted supervised movement within predefined parameters. The job begins next week.”

My father’s hand lands on my shoulder, squeezing with emotion he rarely displays. “This is what we’ve been working toward, Yakov. A new beginning.”

I should feel triumphant. This is what I’ve wanted since waking up in that hospital bed months ago—freedom, or at least the first steps toward it. Yet a strange conflict twists inside me, an uncertainty I can’t immediately identify.

“We’ll leave you to consider the details,” Nikolai says, rising. He places a folder on the table between us. “Review these. We’ll discuss specifics tomorrow.”

They file out one by one, my father lingering last, silently pleading for me to accept. I nod once, and relief floods his features.

When the door closes, I’m left alone with the folder and the tumultuous thoughts racing through my mind. I cross to the window, my preferred thinking spot in this luxurious prison, staring out at the grounds beyond.

Freedom. Purpose. A path forward that doesn’t end in blood or vengeance.

My reflection stares back at me from the window glass, features I hardly recognize anymore. The cold strategist who orchestrated kidnappings and planned the Bratva’s downfall seems like someone else entirely. Not gone—I’m not naive enough to believe in such complete transformation—but altered, evolving into a man I don’t yet understand.

I turn back to the folder, opening it to review the terms of my conditional freedom. The details are exactly what I expected: monitored movement, regular check-ins, restricted access tocertain locations. A leash rather than prison bars, but still a constraint.

Yet constraint is preferable to captivity. And perhaps necessary, given who I’ve been. Who I still could be under the right circumstances.

My phone vibrates. Mila’s name on the screen makes my pulse quicken.

I reach for it with unsettling eagerness, warmth unfurling in my chest at the simple text message:

Mila:Will I see you tonight?

My body responds instantlyto the innocent question, knowing there’s nothing innocent about what happens when we’re alone together. I type a quick reply:

Me:Yes. 9 p.m. I have news.

Her response comes seconds later:

Mila:Good or bad?

I stare at the screen,considering how to answer. Freedom should be unequivocally good news. Purpose, likewise. The chance to see Damien more often—definitely positive.

Yet the uncertainty remains, centered around the woman who’s become more essential to me than oxygen. What will these changes mean for us? For the fragile, forbidden connection we’ve been nurturing in secrecy?

Me:Complicated

Me: I’ll tell you tonight

I set the phone down,returning to the window. The grounds stretch before me, sun glinting off newly bloomed spring flowers. Soon, I’ll be able to walk those paths without armed escorts, breathe air that doesn’t taste of captivity.

But it’s not the promise of relative freedom that makes my pulse quicken. It’s the thought of tonight, of Mila in my arms again, her body responding to mine with that perfect combination of surrender and demand that drives me to the edge of control.

The way she makes me feel like a man rather than a monster.

Every minute until nine feels like an eternity.

33

LETTING GO

MILA

Istand outside Yakov’s door at nine in the evening, my heart thundering against my ribs. I know Nikolai and Igor visited him earlier today, and the anticipation of what they have decided has left me on edge all day.