Page 73 of Mafia King's Broken Vow

“What did you expect would happen? That everything would be simple?”

I see the words land harder than I meant them to. Her face closes off.

“I suppose I didn’t think past tonight,” she says quietly.

Planning too far ahead is a luxury most can’t afford in my world anyway.

“I should go,” she says, already moving to sit up.

I catch her wrist. Not roughly, but firm enough to make my point. “Not yet.”

“I have to.”

“The guards change shifts in two hours. And…” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “I’m not done with you yet.” The words are a demand, carrying a weight that has nothing to do with tonight and everything to do with forever.

It’s possessive. Territorial. A claim I have no right to make, but I can’t stop myself.

Something flickers in her eyes that looks like relief.

“A little bit longer,” I say, pulling her back down against me. “Then we figure out what comes next.”

She settles against my side, tension slowly leaving her body. But I can feel her thinking, processing, analyzing what just happened between us.

Let her. She’ll come to the same conclusion I have, that there is no going back from here.

As her breathing evens out against my chest, I stare at the ceiling and do what I do best. Plan. Calculate angles. Consider variables.

Because whatever this is between us, it’s not over. Not even close.

Despite every rational calculation, every strategic consideration, every survival instinct screaming warnings…

I need her.

Not just want—need. And that terrifies me more than any enemy I’ve ever faced.

The question isn’t what I’m willing to risk to keep her.

It’s what I’m willing to become.

18

NO PROTOCOL FOR THIS

MILA

Dr. Elena Reyes looks up from her notes as I enter, her silver-streaked auburn hair catching the lamplight. In her early fifties, she has the kind of understated elegance that comes from confidence rather than effort—simple black blazer, minimal jewelry, sharp green eyes that have seen it all. Her office feels smaller tonight, the familiar warmth suffocating rather than comforting. I perch on the edge of my usual spot on the cream-colored sofa, my hands clenched so tightly my knuckles ache.

“You sounded distressed on the phone,” Dr. Reyes says gently, settling into her chair. “It’s not like you to need an emergency session, Mila.”

My throat feels raw, like I’ve been screaming. “I need to request a case transfer.” The words scrape out, barely audible. I swallow hard, tasting bile. “Actually, that’s not— Elena, I think I’m in love with a patient.”

The admission hits the air like a physical blow. My chest constricts, breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Three years of sessions with Elena, and I’m about to destroy her faith in me.

She doesn’t react with shock, just that steady presence that normally calms me. Tonight it makes my skin crawl with guilt. “Tell me about him.”

“Yakov Gagarin.” My voice cracks on his name. I watch Elena’s eyebrows rise slightly, see the recognition flicker across her face. My stomach lurches. “He’s…God, Elena, he’s dangerous. Brilliant and manipulative, and I can’t—” I press my palms against my eyes, trying to stop the room from spinning. “I can’t stop thinking about him.”

“How long have you been treating him?”