Page 44 of Mafia King’s Broken Vow (New York Bratva #5)

SOFT EDGES IN A HARD WORLD

YAKOV

I wake to the sound of Mila’s steady breathing beside me, her body curled into mine as if seeking shelter even in sleep.

Early morning light filters through the curtains, casting her skin in a golden glow that makes my chest tighten with an emotion I’m still learning to name.

These quiet moments watching her sleep have become my sanctuary, the peaceful eye within the storm that constantly swirls around us.

My phone vibrates on the nightstand, and I reach for it carefully, not wanting to disturb her. Igor’s name flashes on the screen. Unusual for him to call this early.

“Yes?” I answer, keeping my voice low.

“Family meeting at Nikolai’s estate today. Security briefing disguised as a gathering,” Igor says without preamble. “Noon. Damien’s asking for you.”

The mention of my nephew sends a surge of warmth through me. “I’ll be there.”

“Bring Mila,” he adds, surprising me with the casual acceptance of what’s developed between us. “Katarina wants her there.”

When I end the call, I find Mila watching me with her sleepy gaze that sees too much. “Everything okay?” she asks, her voice husky from sleep.

“We’ve been summoned to a family gathering,” I tell her, brushing a strand of hair from her face. The simple touch sends electricity through my fingertips. “At Nikolai’s.”

She stretches beside me, the sheet slipping to reveal the curve of her breast. The sight makes my body respond instantly, desire pooling low in my belly. “A family gathering?” she repeats, noticing my reaction with a small smile. “That’s…significant.”

“It is.” I trace the line of her collarbone, marveling at how her skin feels beneath my touch—soft, warm, alive. “Are you ready for that?”

Her hand finds mine, fingers intertwining. “I’ve been part of their extended circle for years through Katarina. The question is, are you ready? This is a big step from reluctant ally to family member.”

The observation is shrewd, cutting to the heart of my hesitation. I’ve spent years planning the Bratva’s destruction, months negotiating a fragile truce, and now I’m being invited to break bread with them as if the past can be so easily set aside.

“I’m ready to face them. Having you there gives me an advantage I didn’t expect,” I admit, the honesty still unfamiliar on my tongue.

Her smile deepens, and she rises onto her elbow, pressing her lips to mine in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly ignites into urgency. I grip her hip, pulling her closer, feeling the heat of her body against mine. When we break apart, both breathing harder, I see the desire darkening her eyes.

“We have time before we need to get ready,” she whispers, her hand sliding down my chest, lazily tracing the ridges of my muscles.

I capture her wrist, bringing her fingers to my lips. “Careful,” I warn, my voice rough. “Start something now, and we might never leave this bed.”

“Would that be so terrible?” She shifts, throwing one leg over me and straddling me with confidence that makes my breath catch. The sight of her above me—hair tousled from sleep, gaze dark with desire, body bare and perfect in the morning light—nearly undoes me.

“Terrible? No.” I grip her hips, guiding her against my hardness, watching her eyes flutter closed at the contact. “But your absence would be noted.”

She leans down, her hair creating a curtain around our faces as she captures my mouth again. “Then we’ll have to be quick,” she murmurs against my lips.

I laugh, flipping our positions in one fluid movement that leaves her beneath me, eyes wide with surprise and arousal. “I’m never quick with you,” I tell her, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand. “Not when each sound you make, each expression on your face, is something I want to savor.”

Her body arches beneath mine, seeking contact I deliberately withhold. “Yakov,” she breathes, my name a plea on her lips.

“Patience, milaya ,” I whisper, trailing kisses down her throat, feeling her pulse race beneath my lips. “We have this moment. In our world, that’s all anyone can ask for.”

Nikolai’s estate sprawls across several acres, the main house visible from the long driveway as we approach.

Security personnel nod respectfully as we pass, a recognition of my new status that still feels strange after being their prisoner.

I note the increased patrols, the subtle bulges of concealed weapons.

Even family gatherings require military-level security in our world.

“Nervous?” Mila asks beside me, reaching for me across the console.

I glance at her, taking in the simple elegance of her summer dress, the way the color brings out the warmth in her eyes. “Cautious,” I correct. “This is new territory for all of us.”

The get together is already in progress when we arrive; low conversations and careful laughter drift from the secured gardens where tables are positioned with clear sightlines to all exits. Damien spots me first, his small face lighting up as he breaks away from a game with Lev to race toward us.

“Uncle Yakov!” he calls, excitement making his voice higher than usual. He barrels into me with the unrestrained enthusiasm only children possess, arms wrapping around my waist.

I kneel to his level, my chest expanding painfully at his easy affection. “You’ve grown taller,” I tell him, noting the changes in his face, so much like Ana’s that it steals my breath.

“A whole inch,” he informs me solemnly. “Father measured this morning.”

The mention of Igor brings my gaze up, finding him watching us from across the lawn. His expression is unreadable, but he offers a slight nod, which I return. Progress, of a sort.

Mila kneels beside me, her smile bright as she addresses Damien. “I hear you’re quite the chess player,” she says. “Your uncle’s been teaching you?”

Damien’s chest puffs with pride. “I beat him again last time!”

“He’s exaggerating,” I tell her, though pride warms my voice. “But not by much.”

Damien’s curious gaze shifts between Mila and me, and I see the exact moment realization dawns in his eight-year-old mind. His eyes widen slightly.

“Are you Uncle Yakov’s girlfriend?” he asks Mila.

Mila glances at me, a soft smile playing at her lips. “I am,” she says simply.

“Good,” Damien declares with surprising solemnity. “He needs someone to make him smile more. Father says Uncle Yakov used to be too serious all the time.”

“Did he now?” Mila’s eyes sparkle with amusement, and something tight in my chest loosens at how easily they’re connecting.

“Are you going to marry him?” Damien continues, completely unaware of the bomb he’s just dropped into our peaceful afternoon.

Mila’s cheeks flush pink, but she doesn’t fumble. “That’s a very important question,” she tells him seriously. “What do you think? Should I?”

Damien considers this with the gravity of a judge. “Do you make him happy?”

“I try to.”

“Does he make you happy?”

“Very much.”

“Then yes,” Damien says with eight-year-old logic. “But you have to promise to come to chess games too. Uncle Yakov is teaching me to be patient, but sometimes I forget.”

“I promise,” Mila says, and I see she means it.

Damien grins and impulsively hugs her around the waist, the same enthusiastic embrace he gave me. Mila’s surprise quickly melts into warmth as she returns the hug, and I watch my nephew’s easy acceptance of the woman who’s changed everything for me.

When Damien pulls back, he looks up at me with Ana’s eyes. “I like her, Uncle Yakov. She has kind eyes like Mother does in the pictures.”

The observation hits me like a physical blow, not painful, but overwhelming in its simple truth. I kneel beside them both, one hand on Damien’s shoulder, the other finding Mila’s.

“Your mother would have liked Mila too,” I tell him, meaning every word.

As Damien races off to rejoin Lev, Mila and I are left standing together, the weight of his innocent question hanging between us.

“Well,” Mila says, a slight tremor in her voice. “That was…”

“Direct,” I finish, studying her face for any sign of panic or retreat. Instead, I find something that looks like hope. “He has a tendency toward that. Ana was the same way as a kid.”

“Are you okay with what I told him?” she asks quietly. “I know we haven’t talked about…the future. About anything that permanent.”

I step closer, framing her face with my hands. “I’m okay with it because it’s true,” I say simply. “Soon, when the dust settles and the threats are neutralized…I want that with you. All of it.”

Her breath catches. “Yakov?—”

“Not today,” I clarify quickly. “Not until I can promise you complete safety as well as love. But soon.” I brush my thumb across her cheek. “If you’ll have me.”

“Yes,” she whispers without hesitation. “Soon.”

We join the others, and the afternoon unfolds with surprising ease. Nikolai mans the grill with the serious attention he brings to everything, Katarina orchestrates conversations with diplomatic skill, and even Igor seems to relax as the day progresses.

Aleksander engages me in discussion about security protocols for the upcoming Bratva event, his approach professional rather than suspicious.

“The Colombian situation requires immediate attention,” he says quietly. “Pablo’s uncle is making moves. We need contingency plans.”

I watch Mila throughout the day—the way she laughs with Katarina, the gentle way she helps Katya and Igor’s daughter, Sofiya, make a flower crown, the animated conversation she has with Galina about her new baby.

She fits naturally into this dangerous family, but I see how Igor’s men maintain perimeter watch, how conversations shift when children approach.

Even our moments of peace exist within a fortress.

“She’s good with children,” Vasiliy observes, appearing beside me with a beer extended in offering.

I accept the bottle, though alcohol has never been my preference. “She’s good with people,” I correct. “Understands them in ways I never will.”

Vasiliy follows my gaze to where Mila now sits with Damien, watching him play chess with Lev. “You love her,” he observes. “Dangerous in our world, but powerful. Use it wisely; it can be your greatest strength.”

The word still feels volatile, exposing a vulnerability I’ve spent years eliminating. Yet I can’t deny its truth. “I do,” I admit simply.

“Good.” Vasiliy claps my shoulder once, the friendly gesture unexpected. “She deserves that. And perhaps, after everything, you do too.”

Before I can respond, Damien calls me over to settle a chess dispute, fitting, since strategy games are preparation for the real thing in our world.

As I walk toward them, I notice Mila watching me, her smile softening in a way that makes heat spread through my chest. There’s a rightness to this moment that I never thought possible for someone like me—surrounded by children’s laughter, the scent of grilled food in the air, the woman I love looking at me as if I’m worthy of her.

As we rejoin the others, her hand in mine, I find myself noticing details I might once have dismissed as tactical weaknesses—the way Nikolai looks at Katarina when she isn’t watching, the protective stance Vasiliy maintains near Galina and their child, the genuine affection in Igor’s eyes when Sofiya climbs into his lap.

They’ve built something I once thought impossible in our world, connections that transcend Bratva obligations, love that survives despite the violence surrounding it.

Perhaps we can build something lasting…if we make it through what’s coming. The Colombians won’t wait long.

The irony isn’t lost on me, planning a future while assassins circle like vultures. But perhaps that’s what makes it precious: love stolen from a world that doesn’t believe in second chances.