Page 23 of Mafia King’s Broken Vow (New York Bratva #5)

UNARMED

YAKOV

S even minutes past midnight. Three minutes until she might appear.

I should be calculating odds, but all I can think about is whether she’ll show. Whether she wants this as much as the heat in her eyes suggested.

Smart money says she’ll stay away. The ethical Dr. Agapova, with her professional boundaries and moral certitudes, choosing safety over the dangerous pull she’s been fighting for weeks.

Twelve minutes past midnight.

Three soft knocks.

My pulse kicks, a reaction I haven’t felt in years. When I open the door, she’s there in jeans and a simple blouse, hair cascading down her back, trying to look composed, but I notice her hands trembling. The flush on her cheeks. The way her eyes dart to my mouth before snapping back up.

“You came.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” Her voice is quiet, steady despite the nerves flickering beneath the surface.

“I thought you might do the smart thing and stay in your room.” I step aside, letting her enter, then lock the door behind her with deliberate finality. “But we both know you stopped making smart choices weeks ago.”

“That obvious?”

A low chuckle escapes me.

“It’s the way you look at me. Imagining me stripping you bare and fucking you against the wall.”

Color floods her face, but she doesn’t deny it.

“I thought about it,” she admits, her eyes locked on mine. “A lot. What it would feel like to be with you.”

“And now you will find out,” I say, moving closer. Her breath hitches as the space between us narrows.

“Pablo’s no longer a threat,” she says, changing the subject. Deflecting. “I’ve been cleared to return to my apartment tomorrow.”

The words hit like ice water. She’ll be gone.

The daily proximity, the careful dance we’ve been doing, all of it ending.

The thought of losing access to her, of going back to empty sessions with some other therapist who doesn’t see past my walls, it’s unacceptable.

She’s mine now, whether she realizes it or not.

“Then tonight matters more than I thought.”

“I can’t be your therapist anymore,” she says finally.

“Good.” The word comes out raw. “I don’t want Dr. Agapova. I want you.”

“I broke every professional code, wanting things from you I shouldn’t.”

“What things?” I ask, voice dropping to that low register I know affects her.

She tries to look away, but I catch her chin, tilting her face back to mine. “Eyes on me, little doctor. What things?”

“You,” she breathes. “I want you.”

“Want me to what?”

The question hangs between us. She knows what I’m doing, making her say it, own it, commit to it. Making it impossible to pretend this is something that just happened.

She shivers at my tone, and I see it, the way danger calls to her, the way my intensity makes her pupils dilate instead of making her run. She needs this. Needs me to be exactly what I am.

“Say it.” I reach up, fingers barely grazing her cheek. “I want to hear the words.”

“I want you to kiss me.” The confession spills out breathless. “I want you to touch me. Make me forget every rule I’ve ever followed.”

The honesty in her voice, the trust, it does something to me. Something I’m not prepared for. This brilliant, composed woman is offering herself to me completely, seeing the monster and wanting it anyway.

“And after?” I ask, thumb tracing her lower lip. “When you remember who I am? What I’ve done?”

“I already know who you are.” Her hand comes up to cover mine, warm and sure. “The man who protected a child. Who chose mercy over revenge. Who looks at me like I’m precious.”

The words hit deep. She sees past every wall I’ve built, every mask I wear. Sees the man I’ve been trying to become instead of the monster I was.

“I’m dangerous, Mila.” But even as I say it, I’m leaning closer, drawn by her gravity. “You should be afraid.”

“I am afraid.” Her eyes never leave mine. “But not of you. Of how much I want you.”

The admission breaks something loose in my chest. She’s not just offering her body. She’s offering trust I don’t deserve but desperately want to keep.

“I won’t be able to let you go,” I warn, my control fraying at the edges.

“Then don’t.”

Two words. Simple. Devastating.

She’s choosing this. Choosing me. The broken, dangerous man who should be the last person she trusts with her heart. But she’s here anyway, offering herself with a courage that humbles me.

I frame her face in my hands, studying every feature like I’m memorizing her. This woman who walked into my controlled world and turned it upside down. Who makes me want to be more than I am while accepting exactly what I’ve been.

I slide my hand into her hair, fingers tangling in the silky strands as I tilt her head back.

“You like when I take control, don’t you?” I murmur against her ear.

“Yes,” she nods, her chest rising and falling. As my mouth finally crashes into hers, her vermilion lips part willingly. The kiss thrums deep in my bones. Soft in my arms, her hands slide up my chest, fist into my shirt, and I’m lost.

Wrapping my arms around her waist, I anchor her to me as I deepen the kiss, our mouths moving in sync like we’ve done this a thousand times in dreams we never admitted having.

I walk her backward until her spine hits the wall. She gasps into my mouth, and it’s the most devastating sound I’ve ever heard.

“Yakov,” she breathes, and hearing my name like that—like a need, like a prayer—undoes me completely.

I trail kisses along her jaw, down the elegant column of her throat, feeling her pulse race beneath my lips.

Her head falls back, giving me better access, a surrender I’ve been waiting for.

When my teeth graze the sensitive skin where her neck meets her shoulder, she makes a sound that’s half-gasp, half-moan, and I immediately want to hear it again.

“This is it, Mila,” I murmur against her skin. “You’re mine now.”

Her hands frame my face, pulling me back to meet her eyes. What I see there—desire, certainty, a reflection of my own hunger—obliterates any remaining doubts.

“I want that.”

My tongue ravages her mouth, a hand tangling in her hair while the other slides beneath her blouse, seeking the warmth of her skin.

When she tugs at the hem of my shirt, I straighten just long enough to pull it over my head, exposing the scars and muscle beneath. Her eyes darken as they trace over me, but it’s not just the scars that capture her attention.

Her fingers follow the path of her gaze, mapping each mark. Once she reaches the wolves curled beneath my ribs, her touch becomes feather light, tracing the jagged lines of ink.

“Wolves,” she murmurs, a small smile playing at her lips. “They suit you.”

“Do they?” My voice is rough.

“Dangerous when cornered. Protective of what’s theirs.” Her fingers flutter on my skin, sending a current through every cell of my body.

Her hand drifts lower, finding the Cyrillic script along my oblique. The letters are partially obscured by the scar tissue, but her fingers trace what remains with recognition.

“Bratva,” she whispers, reading the faded ink. “Brotherhood. Blood.”

I nod, watching her face as she deciphers the marks that tell my story. When her hands curve around me to trace the cross etched between my shoulder blades, her touch becomes feather light.

“And this?” she asks softly. “I’ve seen it in the gym.”

The words stick in my throat for a moment. “For my sister.” The words come out hoarse. “Anastasiya. So she’s always with me.”

Her expression shifts. It’s not pity but understanding. She leans down and presses her lips to the wolf tattoo, the gesture so tender it stops my breath.

“Beautiful,” she whispers against my skin.

The reverence in her voice catches me unprepared. No one has looked at me this way before, seeing past the damage to something she deems worthy of admiration.

Then her eyes drop to the outline of my rock-hard cock straining against the material of my pants, her hand trailing the bulge.

I am so hot for her that it takes all my control to keep myself from tearing her apart against the wall.

I gently take her hand and pull her up. She deserves more care, more attention.

“Do you like touching me, little doctor?” I growl, biting her earlobe, her back arching into me.

“Please, Yakov, I need to feel you. Can we do the teasing the second time around? After you’ve fucked me?”

“You are a greedy girl,” I scold softly.

With a wicked smile, I silence her with another bruising kiss, my hands working at the buttons of her blouse until it falls open.

The sight of her—skin flushed with desire, the delicate lace of her bra barely concealing her curves—sends a surge of possessiveness through me that I don’t even try to suppress.

Mine , a primal part of me roars. Mine to touch, to taste, to claim.

Unclasping and discarding her bra, my hand finds her breast, her tight little furls just begging to be sucked.

I lower my head and kiss and tug at each of her nipples, twirling my tongue around them.

A broken moan escapes her lips while I continue to play, licking and biting.

I want to unravel this perfectly composed woman until she’s a trembling, panting mess begging for release.

I return my mouth to her neck, tracing the smooth line with my tongue and teeth, while my hand slips lower, grazing the waistband of her jeans and popping the button. “Are you on protection, little doctor?”

“Yes.” The word is barely audible.

My hand trails lower, seeking the source of the heat I can feel radiating against my palm.

“Good. Because I want nothing between us.”

Her lace panties are damp when I slide my fingertips under the delicate material. Finally reaching her entrance, I swirl around her tight hole, letting her juices coat me. She gasps as I brush her clit, pressing into me, desperate for more contact.