Page 80 of Mafia King's Broken Vow

“Yes.” The truth tastes like blood. “More than I should.”

Aleksander’s lips curve.

“I thought so,” he murmurs, turning toward the door. “So did Igor.”

“He should understand why I need to be involved in her protection.” The words leave my mouth too sharp, but I don’t pull them back. Let Aleksander hear the threat beneath the frustration. “I know Pablo. I know how he thinks. That makes me more valuable than half your armed guards.”

Aleksander’s brow lifts, a subtle arch that lacks amusement. “You’re offering to join her security detail?”

“I’m telling you Ihaveto.” I turn away before he can read too much in my eyes, before he sees just how deep this obsession cuts. The window offers no answers, only my reflection staring back, jaw tight with restraint. “Montoya isn’t some street thug. He’s a surgeon, cuts you apart piece by piece until you’re bleeding out and don’t know why. He won’t come at her directly. He’ll find her pressure points first.”

Silence stretches between us.

“How do you know?” Aleksander’s voice is quiet, but there’s steel beneath it.

I pivot, meeting his gaze head-on. “Jersey ports, ten years ago. Pablo took down a rival crew without firing a shot. Got inside their heads, turned them against each other. Made them destroy themselves while he watched.” I meet his gaze. “He’s patient. Methodical. Effective.”

For the first time, real interest flashes across Aleksander’s face. He doesn’t care who speaks if the words are useful.

“What should we be expecting?” he asks.

A bitter laugh escapes before I can stop it. “He’s been mapping her for weeks. Her schedule, her routes, who she trusts. The office visit wasn’t intimidation, it was reconnaissance. He’s building a profile.” My hands clench.

I pace, the burn of helplessness igniting into something far darker. If I were Pablo, where would I strike next?

“He’ll find someone close. Someone she trusts—outside Bratva reach. A colleague. A patient. Anyone who can get near without raising alarms.”

I stop cold.

“Does she have family?” My voice is rough, already dreading the answer.

Aleksander shakes his head, clinical as ever. “Mother’s dead. No siblings. Father’s a ghost.”

It should be a relief. It isn’t. “Then it’s her professional circle. That’s where he’ll press.”

My hand drags over my face, trying to smother the fury clawing its way up my spine. “I need to see her. You know I’m right. Your men can guard doors, but I know how to guardher.”

Aleksander doesn’t move. He just watches, like he’s waiting for me to crack.

“You want access to a marked target,” he says finally. “The same woman whose life you’ve already complicated enough.”

I step closer, letting the storm inside bleed into my voice. “I know exactly what I’m asking.” My voice drops to something barely human. “And I know what happens if she dies because you played it safe. When I get out of here—and I will get out—I’ll remember who made that choice.”

The air shifts, thick with the promise of violence. Aleksander’s hand drifts toward his weapon, slow and deliberate.

“There he is,” he murmurs. “The Yakov we were warned about. The one who doesn’t protect, he destroys.”

I force my voice level, banking the fire. “You’re not wrong. But this isn’t about what I used to be. It’s about what happens to her if I’m not there.”

For a moment, neither of us speaks. Then Aleksander nods. A concession. A calculation.

“I’ll take it to Igor,” he says, voice clipped. “No promises.”

It’s more than I expected.

“Spasibo,” I mutter, the word foreign on my tongue.

“Don’t thank me yet.” Aleksander moves to the door, his hand on the handle before he glances back. “She asked about you. Wanted to know if you’d been told she won’t be able to see you today.”