Page 25 of Mafia King’s Broken Vow (New York Bratva #5)

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MILA

D r. 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?”

“Barely a month.” My legs are shaking. I curl them under me, but it doesn’t help. The trembling is internal now, bone-deep. “It started professional. He’s fascinating from a clinical standpoint—complex trauma, sophisticated defense mechanisms. But somewhere along the way…”

The words stick in my throat like broken glass.

“You developed feelings.”

“Yes.” The confession tears out of me, raw and shameful. Heat floods my face, and I can feel sweat beading along my hairline despite the office’s cool temperature. “And it’s not just attraction, Elena. It’s—Christ, this sounds insane—but he sees me. Really sees me.”

My hands won’t stop shaking. I clasp them together in my lap, but Elena notices anyway. She always notices everything.

“The dreams are back,” she observes quietly.

I nod, not trusting my voice. My chest feels tight, like I’m drowning in this office, in my confession, in the weight of what I’ve done.

“The drowning ones? 3:17 a.m.?”

“Every night. They started after I agreed to treat him.” I press my palms against my eyes again, harder this time. “But Elena, there’s something else. Something I—” My breath hitches. “God, this is so much worse than just developing feelings.”

She waits, patient as always, while I fall apart in front of her.

“He hacked into your computer system,” I whisper, the words burning my throat. “Read my files. Knows about the dreams, about my mother, about everything we’ve discussed.”

Elena goes completely still. The silence stretches until I want to scream.

“He accessed my patient files?”

“He told me directly. Said you need to change your passwords.” Nausea rolls through me in waves. “He’s been using that information, Elena. Knows exactly how to get under my skin, exactly which buttons to push, and I—” My voice breaks. “I let him.”

“How does that make you feel, knowing your privacy was violated that way?”

The question should be simple. It’s not.

“Angry,” I manage, then immediately shake my head. “No, that’s not— I was angry at first. But then…” I take a shuddering breath. “Then I felt understood. He wasn’t using it to hurt me. He was trying to connect with someone who might understand his pain.”

Elena’s expression doesn’t change, but I see something flicker in her eyes. Concern. Maybe disappointment.

“Mila.” Her voice is gentle but firm. “That’s a textbook trauma response. Finding connection in violation, romanticizing someone who’s shown they’re willing to cross fundamental boundaries.”

The words hit like a slap. My face burns with shame because I know she’s right. Every clinical instinct I have screams that she’s right.

“I know how it sounds,” I say desperately, my voice rising. “I know all the terms, all the red flags. I’ve diagnosed this exact pattern in other people, Elena. But you didn’t see him when he talked about his sister. The way his whole body changes when he’s with his nephew.”

My throat closes up. I’m defending him. Defending a man who disregarded my privacy, who’s killed people, who’s dangerous in ways I can barely comprehend.

“And the brutality? His history?”

The question makes my stomach clench. “He’s capable of terrible things.” The admission tastes like copper in my mouth. “I’m not naive about that. I know what he’s done, what he could do. But Elena, he chooses not to. Every single day, he chooses to be better.”

Even as I say it, I can hear how desperate I sound. How far I’ve fallen.

Elena makes a note, and the scratch of her pen feels like fingernails on glass. “You mentioned he makes you feel seen. Tell me about that.”

“Like I’m not just going through the motions anymore.

” The words pour out, unstoppable now. “Like I’m not just trying to make up for not being there when my mother died.

Growing up around Katarina’s family, around the Bratva, I learned to read danger, to stay invisible around powerful men. But Yakov…”

I swallow hard, tasting salt. Am I crying? When did I start crying?

“He makes me feel alive, Elena. For the first time since my mother died, I feel like I’m living instead of just surviving.”

“Alive how?”

“Like fire,” I whisper, hating myself for the admission. “Like electricity under my skin. Like I matter as more than just a useful tool.”

The silence that follows is deafening. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, can feel my pulse jumping in my throat.

“You said you need to request a transfer. Have you already decided?”

“I have to.” The words feel like ripping off a bandage. “I can’t be his therapist anymore. Not when I’ve already?—”

I can’t finish the sentence. Can’t say it out loud.

“Go on, Mila.”

The words hang in the air like a blade. My mouth goes dry.

“I kissed him.” The confession feels like vomiting up glass. “He kissed me. It doesn’t matter who started it. It happened multiple times, and—” I stop, my whole body shaking now. There’s more. So much worse. “Elena, I?—”

The words stick in my throat like razors. I press my hands against my mouth, trying to hold back the worst of it.

“What else, Mila?”

“We slept together.” The admission rips out of me like a cry, doubling me over with the force of it. “I slept with my patient, Elena. I’ve destroyed my career.”

The shame is suffocating, crushing. I’ve breached every principle I’ve ever held, betrayed every standard of my profession. I’m not just a therapist who lost her way, I’m a therapist who committed one of the most serious ethical transgressions possible.

Elena is quiet for a long moment, processing the magnitude of what I’ve just confessed. When she speaks, her voice is careful and measured.

“Mila, this is…this is a very serious ethical violation.”

“I know.” The words come out broken. “I know exactly what I’ve done. My career is over, isn’t it?”

“Not necessarily,” Elena says gently, but I can hear the gravity in her voice. “But it will require very careful handling. Full disclosure, immediate case transfer, ethics review.”

My stomach plummets. “Ethics review means?—”

“It means facing a professional board and accepting whatever consequences they deem appropriate.” She leans forward slightly. “But Mila, you’re here, being completely honest about what happened. That voluntary disclosure counts for something.”

I want to believe her, but my chest feels crushed by the weight of what I’ve done.

“The question is: what do you want? Not what you think you should want, but what you actually want.”

The answer terrifies me.

“I want him,” I whisper, the confession scraping my throat raw. “I want to see where this goes, even knowing I will never practice again. Even knowing he’s dangerous.”

“Then that’s your answer.”

I look up at her, vision blurry with tears. “You think I’m insane.”

“I think you’re a woman who’s found something rare and is willing to pay the price for it.” Elena’s voice is steady. “But can you live with the consequences?”

The answer terrifies and frees me at the same time.

“I can,” I say, surprised by the steel in my voice despite my tears. “Whatever the cost, I can live with choosing him.”

“Then we’ll work on crisis management. Immediate case transfer, legal consultation if needed.

” Elena’s tone is steady. “This won’t be easy, Mila.

You’re facing potential license suspension, maybe worse.

But if you handle it with complete honesty and accept responsibility, you might survive professionally.

” She sighs and leans back in her chair. “And I’ll change my passwords tonight.”

The relief is so sharp it makes me dizzy. “Thank you,” I breathe. “For not…for not judging me.”

“I’m worried about you,” Elena says quietly. “But you’re not the first therapist to face this choice, and you won’t be the last.”

I think about Yakov’s hands, gentle despite their capability for violence. The way he whispers my name like it’s sacred. The future we might build if I’m brave enough to reach for it.

After the session, I sit in my car with the engine running, hands still trembling on the steering wheel. My professional life is about to implode. My reputation will never fully recover.

But as I drive home through the busy Manhattan streets, I realize I’m not afraid anymore.

For the first time in months, I know exactly what I want.