Page 27 of Mafia King’s Broken Vow (New York Bratva #5)
NOT REFORMED, NOT CONTAINED
YAKOV
I prowl the limits of my cage—twenty-seven steps to the window, nineteen across, twelve down the hall. Numbers that used to mean control now feel like a countdown to madness.
My escort is eighteen minutes late.
I know she’s here. She sent me a message the moment she passed through the gates.
I check the window. The guards march in perfect formation, blind to the storm tearing me apart from the inside out.
This isn’t supposed to happen. Not to me. I buried this kind of weakness with Ana.
Caring makes you weak. Makes you stupid.
When the door finally opens, relief slams into me—sharp, brutal—before it curdles into something colder.
Aleksander Sokolov steps inside, all lethal grace and unreadable ice. The Bratva’s cleaner. They don’t send him for small matters.
I lock my spine, masking the punch to my gut with indifference I don’t feel.
“Aleksander.” His name is a warning.
“Gagarin.” He shuts the door, calm as a man delivering a death sentence.
“Where is she?” No pleasantries. No patience.
A flicker of awareness passes through his gaze.
“She’s here,” he says. “But your session’s been canceled.”
My jaw tightens. “Why?”
“She’s resting. Debriefing.” He moves closer, watching me like I’m a puzzle he’s already solved. “Montoya paid her a visit. At her office.”
“I know.” The words slice out, raw and dangerous. “She called me.”
His brow lifts, just enough to make my pulse hammer. “Yes. We know. Igor…didn’t appreciate her choice of lifeline.”
I don’t flinch, but the weight of that implication settles deep. Igor’s ‘disappointment’ is the kind that usually ends with bodies.
“She called the person who could actually save her,” I snap. “That’s not a betrayal. That’s survival.”
Aleksander nods slowly, like I’ve confirmed exactly what he wanted to hear.
“And yet,” he murmurs, “Igor wonders why Dr. Agapova trusts a man like you more than his protocols.”
The silence between us thickens, laced with unspoken accusations.
“I need to see her.” Not a request. A statement of fact. “Your men can watch perimeters. I can think like the enemy hunting her.”
Aleksander tilts his head, those glacier-blue eyes stripping me bare.
“You care,” he says.
I could lie. Should lie.
But her face flashes behind my eyes, the way she sounded when she gasped my name, falling apart around me.
“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 I have to.” 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 guard her .”
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.”
The words hit hard.
“Igor’s not blind,” Aleksander adds, his tone brutally direct. “He sees what’s happening between you two.”
I arch a brow, studying him. “And you? What do you see?”
For a moment, Aleksander’s mask slips, just enough to show the man beneath the soldier.
“I see a weapon we might still need,” he admits. “But I also see why Igor’s worried. You were dangerous when you felt nothing. You’re even more dangerous now that you care.”
I don’t deny it. There’s no point.
“When will I have your answer?” I press, unwilling to let this devolve into a conversation about my demons.
“Tomorrow.” He opens the door but pauses, his eyes locked on me. “You realize this is a test, don’t you? Every move you make, how far you’ll bend for her. Whether you’re truly under control…or just waiting to snap.”
“I’m aware.”
A faint, almost amused exhale escapes him. “You still asked anyway. Either you’re reckless or you’re playing a game none of us can see.”
The door clicks shut behind him, leaving silence in his wake.
But there’s no peace in it. Only the pulse of something dark and inevitable.
I drag a hand through my hair, the tension coiled so tightly in my chest it feels like I might shatter from the inside out. Aleksander thinks I’m either a pawn reformed or a predator lying in wait.
He’s wrong.
I’m something worse.
Not the man I was, the monster who dealt in fear and blood. Not the puppet they hope to reshape.
No…I’m a man with something to lose now.
I cross to the window, eyes scanning the grounds like I might catch a glimpse of her, like I could tether myself to the proof that she’s still breathing, still mine to protect.
My palm presses to the cold glass, useless against the distance that feels like a blade to my throat.
My reflection stares back from the window—scarred, dangerous, barely contained. For the first time in years, I have something worth protecting that isn’t revenge.
Pablo thinks he’s hunting prey.
And he’s about to find out what happens when you threaten the one thing a monster can’t afford to lose.