Page 38 of Mafia King’s Broken Vow (New York Bratva #5)

THE MAN BENEATH THE MONSTER

YAKOV

I stand at the window of the mansion, watching the night sky stretch endlessly above us.

The moon casts pale light across the grounds, illuminating the security personnel who patrol the perimeter with heightened vigilance.

My shoulder throbs dully where Pablo’s bullet grazed me—a small price to pay for keeping Mila safe.

She sits on the leather sofa behind me, her fingers absently tracing the bandage a medic applied to her arm—a minor injury from debris when Pablo’s men opened fire.

The elegant dress she wore for her dinner is torn and stained, a stark reminder of how quickly things deteriorated.

She’s alive. Safe. Here with me when she could have been lost. That thought alone makes my chest tighten with an emotion I’m still learning to name.

“They should be here soon,” she says, breaking the silence between us. Her voice carries that blend of professional calm and personal concern that’s become so familiar to me. So necessary.

I turn from the window to look at her. Even disheveled from the night’s violence, with her hair falling loose around her shoulders and her expensive dress torn and bloodstained, she’s beautiful in a way that makes my breath catch.

Not the polished, professional doctor who first entered my prison, but a woman who’s fought alongside me, who’s seen the monster and still chooses to remain.

“Are you worried?” I ask, studying her face for signs of the fear she hides so well.

She meets my gaze directly, those perceptive eyes missing nothing. “Should I be?”

“Abandoning my assigned post to chase after you wasn’t part of my rehabilitation plan,” I reply, a ghost of a smile touching my lips despite the gravity of our situation. “Igor will demand accountability.”

She rises from the sofa, moving toward me with that graceful confidence I’ve come to crave. “You saved my life, Yakov. Even Igor can’t ignore that.”

When she reaches me, her hand finds mine, our fingers intertwining. The simple contact sends heat rushing through my body, a reaction I still can’t control around her. Her skin carries the scent of fresh air and that subtle perfume I’ve memorized, amber and vanilla notes that linger in my dreams.

“You broke protocol and risked your standing with the Bratva,” she says softly, her thumb tracing patterns on my palm. “For me.”

“I’d risk more,” I admit, the words emerging before I can censor them. The raw honesty between us is still new, still dangerous, yet increasingly essential.

Her eyes darken at my words, pupils dilating with desire that mirrors my own. Before I can stop myself, I’m pulling her closer, one hand sliding to her lower back, pressing her against me in a way that leaves no doubt about what I want. What I need.

“Yakov,” she breathes, my name a question and permission in one word.

I answer by claiming her mouth, tasting adrenaline and fear and relief on her lips.

She responds immediately, arms winding around my neck, body arching into mine as if seeking to eliminate any space between us.

The kiss deepens, growing urgent and desperate, tongues sliding against each other in a dance we’ve perfected in the stolen moments of the past weeks.

My hand slides lower, cupping her hips, pulling her tighter against me where she can feel how much I burn for her. Her soft moan vibrates against my lips, sending a surge of heat straight to my cock, already hard and aching for her.

“We shouldn’t,” she whispers against my mouth, even as her fingers thread through my hair, holding me closer. “They’ll be here any minute.”

I growl, trailing kisses down her throat, feeling her pulse race beneath my lips.

The sound of footsteps approaching pierces through the haze of desire. We break apart reluctantly, both breathing harder, eyes locked in silent promises.

“Later,” I promise, my voice rough with need. “When we’re alone.”

Her flush deepens, eyes still dark with wanting. “I’ll hold you to that.”

The front door opens, voices echoing through the mansion as Nikolai enters first, his expression unreadable as always, followed closely by Igor, whose face darkens when he sees me standing free, unrestrained, with Mila too close for professional propriety.

Aleksander follows behind them, still wearing tactical gear from the operation, his ice-blue eyes taking in the scene.

“What the hell is this?” Igor demands, hand drifting toward where I know he carries a weapon. “You abandoned your position during an active operation! Left the team exposed!”

“He saved my life,” Mila says, stepping forward, her voice steady despite the tension crackling in the air. “Pablo would’ve killed me if Yakov hadn’t found me.”

“After breaking security protocols,” Igor counters. “After compromising the whole operation.”

“After doing what none of your men managed to do,” I reply, unable to keep the edge from my voice. “I reached her before Pablo could take her.”

Aleksander steps forward, his voice measured but carrying authority. “He alerted me before he left. Gave us his position and intent.” His gaze shifts to Igor. “The overwatch functioned without him.”

“That’s not the point,” Igor snaps. “Chain of command exists for a reason. You follow orders, not your personal feelings.”

Nikolai raises a hand, silencing whatever retort Igor was preparing. “Let’s discuss this rationally.” His eyes move between Mila and me, missing nothing of our proximity, the lingering tension between us. “Mila, perhaps you could give us your account of tonight’s events.”

Mila straightens her spine, professional composure slipping back into place even as her eyes flash momentarily to mine.

“Pablo had me cornered in the alley behind West Eighth Street. His men had already neutralized my security detail. He overpowered me and was about to hurt me or worse when Yakov appeared.”

“And how exactly did you manage that?” Nikolai asks, turning his calculating gaze to me.

I consider lying, offering a sanitized version that might preserve whatever trust I’ve built. Instead, I choose truth, the path Mila’s been encouraging since our first session. “I abandoned my assigned overwatch position and pursued her without authorization.”

“You made a tactical decision to prioritize one person over the mission,” Igor states coldly. “That’s not how we operate.”

“No,” I correct him. “I’ve been mapping vulnerabilities in your security since I arrived. It’s what I do. But I only acted on that knowledge when Mila was in danger.”

“In any military organization, leaving your position is grounds for severe punishment. Why did you do it?” Nikolai asks, his voice carrying quiet authority.

The question hangs between us, demanding the truth I’m still learning to articulate. I could offer a strategic explanation, that Mila’s value as my therapist made her protection a logical priority. I could claim calculation rather than emotion drove my actions.

Instead, my eyes find Mila’s, drawing strength from what I see there. “Because she matters,” I say simply. “Because I couldn’t stand by while Pablo took her. I—” I stop myself before completing that thought, the word too raw, too new to speak aloud. “She is important to me.”

The admission settles in the room, weighty with implications none of us can ignore. Igor makes a disgusted sound, but Nikolai’s expression shifts subtly—reassessment rather than rejection.

“You killed Pablo’s thug,” he observes. “Without hesitation.”

“I did what was necessary.”

“You let Pablo live,” Igor interjects, suspicion evident in his tone. “Why?”

I consider my answer carefully. “Killing him would’ve escalated things beyond repair with his uncle’s organization. Wounding him sends a different message, that we’re capable of mercy but shouldn’t be tested further. Besides, Aleksander had his men secure him before I could change my mind.”

Nikolai’s eyebrow raises slightly. “Strategic thinking even in the heat of combat. Interesting.”

“I’m always strategic,” I reply. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not capable of other considerations.”

My eyes drift to Mila again, unable to help myself. The look we exchange says everything words cannot, that whatever’s developing between us has become something neither of us expected. Something neither of us can deny any longer.

“We’ll discuss appropriate disciplinary measures tomorrow,” Nikolai finally says. “Abandoning your post during operations cannot be overlooked, regardless of the outcome.”

“And his privileges?” Mila asks, a slight edge to her voice that makes warmth unfurl in my chest. She’s fighting for me, this remarkable woman who shouldn’t care for a man with my history.

Nikolai studies her for a long moment, then turns those calculating eyes to me.

“Maintained, for now. Perhaps even expanded, given tonight’s outcome.

” He glances at Igor, whose jaw tightens visibly.

“We can’t ignore that his actions, while against protocol, ultimately protected Mila and prevented a potential war with the cartel. ”

Igor looks like he wants to argue but subsides under Nikolai’s steady gaze. “Fine,” he grinds out. “But security gets doubled. No more incidents.”

The guards enter to escort me back to my quarters, and I allow them to lead me without resistance.

As I pass Mila, our eyes lock one final time, communication passing between us that needs no words.

I’ll get back to her. No matter the security, no matter the consequences.

What’s begun between us is too powerful to be contained by locks and guards.

Hours later, after the debriefings and medical checks, I stand alone in my room, the silence heavy around me. The adrenaline of the night has faded, leaving me strangely hollowed out, contemplative in a way I haven’t been since before Ana died.

Who am I becoming?

The question echoes in the emptiness. For years, revenge defined me, cold calculation aimed at the Bratva’s downfall. That purpose shaped every decision. Even in captivity, I maintained that identity, the monster they feared, the strategist always three moves ahead.

But tonight, I broke my own rules. Risked the advances I made for someone else’s safety. For Mila.

I move to the window, watching the night sky outside, stars scattered across the darkness.

The world sleeps while I stand here contemplating who I’ve become.

I’m shifting, changing from one state to another entirely.

Not peace—I’m not naive enough to believe in that—but perhaps purpose.

A different kind of purpose than the one that’s driven me since Ana bled out in my arms.

In the glass, my reflection stares back at me, familiar features that seem somehow changed. The cruel soldier is still there in the cold of my eyes, the hardness around my mouth. But there’s something else now, too, that I barely recognize.

The man underneath all that callousness. The man Mila somehow sees, despite everything.

I press my palm against the cool glass, a strange ache in my chest that has nothing to do with physical pain. For the first time in years, I’m allowing myself to want something beyond revenge or survival, something I have no right to claim but find myself reaching for anyway.

Her. Us. A future.

The realization should terrify me, trigger the retreat I’ve perfected over years of isolation. Instead, I am embracing the uncertainty, the vulnerability, the impossible hope that perhaps redemption isn’t just a fairy tale told to comfort the guilty.

Perhaps it’s a choice made daily, moment by moment, a path walked with someone who believes in the man I could become.

I turn from the window, the decision crystallizing within me with sudden clarity. I don’t know exactly who I am anymore, or who I am becoming in this strange transformation Mila has catalyzed. But for the first time since Ana died, I want to find out.

Not just for her. For myself. That might be the most revolutionary change of all.