Page 136 of Mafia King's Broken Vow

She reads my unspoken vow and does the impossible. She starts talking—loud, insistent, pulling Pablo’s focus from my approach. My brilliant, fearless Mila, creating chaos when terror should have rendered her mute.

I advance in increments, mapping exits and angles. Six men positioned throughout the space. Aleksander unconscious but breathing near the far wall.

Pablo’s voice rises, accent thickening with rage as he yanks her hair tighter. “Don’t test me, Doctor. When he arrives, you’ll watch him die. Then we’ll discuss your future with the cartel in great detail.”

Ice floods my veins at his words. In this moment, I shed every pretense of redemption Mila sees in me. I am the nightmare that haunted Bratva strongholds, the tactician who toppled empires, the killer who never faltered.

And I have never been more certain of my calling.

“Let her go, Pablo,” I cut through the tension.

Every weapon swivels toward me, their shock gifting me precious seconds. I’ve chosen well—wall at my back, clear shots on all threats, direct path to Pablo.

The bastard recovers quickly, hauling Mila upright as armor, blade steady at her throat. “Yakov, my old friend. Predictable as always, rushing in for your woman instead of thinking.”

“You miscalculated,” I answer with deadly calm, hands raised and apparently empty. “You touched my woman.”

“Drop everything,” Pablo commands. “Every weapon. Or I paint these walls with her blood.”

I comply with deliberate theater, placing my Glock on the floor. The boot knife follows. Then the blade from my sleeve. All visible sacrifices while his men creep closer, believing themselves in control.

They don’t understand that the deadliest weapon here isn’t carried; it’s who I am.

“Now we negotiate,” Pablo says, tension easing. “You shattered our arrangement, Yakov. Chose this woman over business. Do you understand what that cost me? My reputation? My standing?”

I edge forward incrementally. “The arrangement died when you made this personal.”

“Personal?” His laughter cuts sharp and cold. “This is commerce. Pure economics. She’s simply a variable in a larger calculation.”

Another step. His men track my movement but ignore the darkness where death waits.

“You’re correct about one thing,” I concede, holding his stare. “I am predictable in specific ways.”

“Elaborate.”

“I always stack the deck in my favor.”

The explosive charge I set on the transformer during my approach detonates in the distance. Backup power will engage soon, but these seconds belong to me.

Darkness swallows the room.

I’m familiar with every inch of this space. In absolute darkness, I become unstoppable. Three calculated steps close the distance to Pablo. Mila’s sharp intake of breath cuts through the chaos as I tear her from his grip, pushing her toward the floor harder than I want, but she needs to be clear of what’s coming.

Pablo’s blade slices air where I stood seconds before. My fist drives into his kidney, folding him in half. His counterstrike catches my shoulder, igniting fire through old scar tissue. The pain sharpens my focus to a razor’s edge.

Emergency lighting floods the room in hellish red as his men grasp the situation. Gunfire explodes around us, but they can’t risk hitting their boss while we’re locked together.

My elbow crushes Pablo’s windpipe, cartilage collapsing under the impact. He retaliates by burying his knife in my ribs, shallow but enough to wound.

“She dies next,” he rasps, crimson foam on his lips. “I’ll gut her while you bleed out on this floor.”

His words detonate something primal. The civilized facade Mila sees in me disintegrates. Only the savage remains—merciless, calculating, hungry for destruction.

I trap his knife hand, bending fingers backward until tendons pop and bones splinter. His agonized scream feeds the darkness in my chest as I drive him against the wall.

“You made a fatal error,” I growl, fingers closing around his throat, feeling his frantic pulse. “You assumed she makes me weak.”

I slam his skull against the wall once, twice, blood coating my knuckles. The wet sound of impact drowns out his gasping.