Page 130 of Mafia King's Broken Vow

“I love you too.”

We fall asleep wrapped around each other, and for a few hours, the world feels safe again.

I wake graduallyto sunlight streaming through the windows and the comfort of Yakov’s arms around me. He’s still deeply asleep, exhaustion evident in the relaxed lines of his face. I decide to let him rest. After the intensity of last night’s meeting, he needs it.

But then his phone starts buzzing insistently on the nightstand. I glance at the screen and see Igor’s name flashing. Nothing good ever comes from Igor calling this early.

“Yakov,” I murmur, shaking his shoulder gently. “Igor’s calling.”

He comes awake instantly, that soldier’s alertness that never fully leaves him. One glance at his phone, and his expression shifts to grim efficiency as he answers.

“What is it?” His voice is sharp, all business.

I can’t hear Igor’s words, but I can make out the urgency in his tone through the speaker. Yakov’s jaw tightens as he listens.

“When? …How long ago? …Understood. Twenty minutes.”

He ends the call and is already moving to get dressed.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Pablo made contact with one of our shipping operations,” he explains, quickly pulling on clothes. “We think we’ve found his location.”

My stomach drops. “Yakov?—”

He’s already reaching for his holster. “I have to go, but I’ll be back by noon. You’ll be safe here. Aleksander has his instructions.” He leans down to kiss me, hard and quick. “Stay close to him until I get back.”

And then he’s gone, leaving only the scent of his cologne and a growing sense of unease.

I shower and dress, then head downstairs for breakfast. The mansion feels different this morning—more guards posted, more tension in the air. Aleksander is waiting in the kitchen with coffee and a plate of fruit, but his usual calm demeanor seems strained.

“Everything alright?” I ask, settling at the kitchen island.

He nods, but something in his posture suggests there’s more to it.

I’m halfway through my coffee when my new phone rings, the secure line that only Yakov and key Bratva members have the number for.

Unknown Number.

We stare at it for three rings before Aleksander motions for me to answer. “Keep him talking while we trace the call.”

My hand trembles slightly as I swipe to accept, putting the call on speaker. “Hello?”

“Dr. Agapova.” Pablo’s voice is cultured, accented, terrifyingly familiar. “I hope you slept well.”

Ice floods my veins. Aleksander’s face goes pale as he recognizes the voice too, his hand already moving to his weapon.

“What do you want?” I manage, fighting to keep my voice steady.

“To chat, of course.” His laugh is soft, amused. “I trust Yakov is enjoying his little reconnaissance mission at the docks?”

The implication hits me like a physical blow. He knows exactly where Yakov is, what he’s doing. This was all orchestrated—a trap.

“I have a message for your boyfriend,” Pablo continues conversationally. “Tell him I’ll call his phone in exactly ninety minutes. He’ll want to take that call if he hopes to see you breathing again.”

“You’re making a mistake,” I say, surprised by the strength in my own voice. “The Bratva won’t?—”

“The Bratva sent their best weapon away from their most valuable asset,” he interrupts. “Poor strategy, don’t you think? Almost like someone wanted you vulnerable.”