Page 45 of Mafia King’s Broken Vow (New York Bratva #5)
FRACTURED GROUND
MILA
T he afternoon sun across the Volkov estate leaves the gardens and pool glowing with light. Summer has always been my favorite season, and with our personal circumstances stabilizing, I’m finally beginning to feel relaxed, a state of being that’s so unfamiliar it almost feels foreign.
I watch Yakov and Damien. They’re hunched over a chess board, Yakov patiently explaining strategy while Damien takes everything in with rapt attention. Even from here, I see the gentleness he shows only Damien—the man beneath the soldier.
But then, no one sees him the way I do.
This moment of normalcy feels almost surreal after everything we’ve been through—the cartel’s threats, our forbidden relationship, the constant danger. For a brief afternoon, surrounded by the Bratva families at this barbecue, we’ve pretended to be normal people enjoying the summer day.
The shift happens gradually. Families begin gathering their things, and I see Yakov’s expression change, the relaxed man disappearing behind the strategist.
As we get ready to leave, his posture shifts, and as he walks toward Nikolai and Igor, a look of calculated determination settles over his features. Despite the sudden tightness in my chest, I follow.
“Before we head out,” Yakov says, carrying quiet authority that still sends tingles racing down my spine, “I’d like to discuss my official reintegration into Bratva operations.”
Conversations fade around us. Igor’s expression hardens while Nikolai’s remains neutral. Vasiliy, who’s been keeping his distance from Bratva business these days, focuses intently on his son.
“Reintegration?” Igor repeats, challenge evident in his tone. “You’ve been given privileges just recently, Gagarin. Don’t push your luck.”
“It’s not about luck,” Yakov counters with infuriating calm. “It’s about strategic advantage. You know what I bring to the table.”
I watch the calculation in Nikolai’s eyes as he studies Yakov. “We’ll discuss it,” he says finally. “Your contributions during the Pablo situation were…significant.”
Igor seems ready to say something, but Aleksander puts a subtle hand on his brother’s shoulder. The silent communication between them fascinates me, this language of power and restraint that runs through Bratva interactions.
The drive back to the mansion is tense with unspoken words. I stare out the window at passing trees, trying to organize my thoughts. When we’re finally alone in the car, I can’t contain it anymore.
“Officially rejoin Bratva operations?” I turn to face him. “After everything we’ve built? You’re just going to throw it away?”
Yakov’s eyes remain fixed on the road, his profile carved from stone. “It’s the logical next step, Mila.”
“Logical for whom?” I ask, frustration building. “For the man who’s been fighting to prove he’s more than a weapon they can aim at their enemies? Or for the Bratva that wants to use your skills without granting you real freedom?”
His knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. “I don’t expect you to understand the complexities of my position.”
“Don’t you dare patronize me,” I snap, anger flaring hot beneath my breastbone. “I understand perfectly. I just thought you wanted more than returning to the life that nearly destroyed you.”
“What I want doesn’t matter if I can’t protect it. This is necessary.”
“Necessary for what?” I demand. “Your revenge? Your pride? Your need to control everything and everyone around you?”
His jaw tightens visibly. “My protection of what matters.”
“And what matters to you, Yakov?” I press, leaning closer. “Really matters, beyond strategy and survival and power games?”
He takes a curve too fast, the car hugging the road with dangerous accuracy. “You know the answer to that.”
“Do I?” My voice wavers slightly, betraying the emotion I’m fighting to contain. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re choosing to go back to exactly what you were before we met.”
The words hang between us, razor-sharp. For several moments, there’s only the sound of tires on asphalt and our too-quick breaths filling the space.
“You think I’m regressing to the killer I was,” he says finally, his voice dangerously soft. “That I’ve learned nothing.”
“I think you’re making a choice,” I counter, “and I’m terrified you’ll disappear back into that world and never come back to me.”
The silence stretches between us. He pulls over suddenly, gravel spraying as we stop on the shoulder. When he turns to face me, his gaze burns with intensity that steals my breath.
“Do you want to know why?” He unbuckles his seatbelt, leaning closer. “Why I’m willing to put myself back under their control when every instinct I have rejects it?”
The heat of his body reaches me across the console, magnetic and familiar. Even angry, even arguing, the connection between us remains undeniable.
“Tell me,” I whisper.
He cups my face, fingers threading into my hair with possessive gentleness that makes my pulse race.
“Because it’s the only way to keep you safe.
To ensure that what happened with Pablo never happens again.
I want to build a future where you don’t have to look over your shoulder.
I want to send a message to everyone who even thinks about using you as leverage against me. ”
My breath catches at the raw honesty in his voice. “Yakov?—”
“I need enough power to protect what matters, Mila,” he continues, his thumb tracing my lower lip in a way that makes heat pool low in my belly despite our argument. “And what matters is you. Us. The future I never thought I’d want until you came along.”
The confession steals whatever fight remains in me. I lean into his touch, eyes closing briefly as his forehead comes to rest against mine.
“I don’t want to lose you to that world,” I admit, voicing my deepest fear. “Though I didn’t grow up in it myself, I was a part of it in my own way, and I’ve seen what it does to people, Yakov. How it twists and changes them until they can’t find their way back.”
“Look at me,” he commands softly.
I open my eyes to find his gaze steady on mine, closer than before. The fight drains out of me at his words.
“I found my way back from darker places than this,” he says. “Because of you. Because you saw the man when everyone else saw only the executioner.”
His lips brush mine, a ghost of a kiss that still makes me tremble. “Trust me to remember who I am with you. To remember what matters when the lines blur.”
The kiss deepens as his mouth claims mine. I answer right away, tangle my fingers in his hair, and draw him closer to the console. This need in me that ignites whenever he touches me keeps getting stronger, more powerful, and demanding.
His hand slides beneath my sundress, fingers tracing a path up my thigh that leaves goosebumps in their wake. I gasp against his mouth as he reaches the edge of my underwear, teasing.
“I need you to believe in me,” he murmurs against my throat, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. “To believe in us enough to let me do what’s necessary.”
“I do,” I whisper as his fingers slip beneath the fabric, finding me ready for him. “It’s them I don’t trust.”
His touch grows bolder, circling the bundle of nerves that makes my hips buck involuntarily.
“Just remember what happens when I touch you. When you come apart in my hands. The truth that exists between us when everything else falls away.”
I can barely think as his skilled fingers work their magic, building pressure that threatens to shatter me completely. “Yakov, please?—”
“Shh,” he whispers, catching my mouth in a hard, brief kiss. “Let go, milaya . I’ve got you.”
With another circling of his thumb, the pleasure rises in me, crashing through every part of my body. He watches with a mix of triumph and something deeper as I shamelessly grind against his hand, whimpering against his shoulder. Slipping my panties aside, he guides his fingers to my entrance.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“Don’t you dare.”
The rumble of approval from his chest sets my skin aflame as he enters me, first one finger, then two, stretching and filling and knowing my body like no one else ever has.
Before I can catch my breath, he works that magical rhythm that always has me shaking and gasping, pinned beneath his careful ministrations.
A climax builds, an intense pressure in my core.
“Come for me,” he urges, his breath against my skin more persuasive than the coaxing command. “Scream for me, little doctor. Now.”
With an expert movement of his fingers, he stretches and fills me while his thumb works that sensitive bundle of nerves.
The sharp edges of his teeth on my throat are the final push I need—an explosion that reverberates through my entire body, stealing air and strength.
The sound that escapes me is somewhere between a shout and a whimper, half muffled against his shoulder as his fingers continue their relentless pace, prolonging the orgasm in a way that makes my vision go white.
Before I can recover, my phone rings shrilly, the sound jarring in the heightened atmosphere. His hand stills, but he doesn’t pull out his fingers as I fumble for my purse, breathless and flushed.
Yakov’s phone rings a second later, and the matching ringtones tell us something’s wrong before we even answer. His expression shifts instantly from desire to tactical assessment as he reaches for his phone.
Igor’s voice crackles through the speaker, loud enough that I can hear every word: “Pablo’s escaped custody. Twenty minutes ago. Get back to the mansion now.”
The world seems to tilt beneath me as Yakov’s eyes lock with mine, his expression hardening into something I recognize from that night in the alley. Cold calculation. Lethal focus. The warrior emerging from beneath the man.
“We’re fifteen minutes out,” he says, already putting the car in drive.
As we race back, he reaches for my hand, an anchor in the storm about to break. Whatever comes next, we’ll face it together—the psychologist who chose to love the beast and the beast who found his humanity in her arms.
The road stretches before us, and I try not to think about Pablo’s twisted smile, about the way he threatened to break me, about what his escape means for our fragile peace. Instead, I focus on Yakov’s hand in mine.
“We’ll be ready for him this time,” Yakov says, reading my thoughts as he so often does.
I tighten my grip on his hand and nod, choosing to believe him. Choosing to see the future we’re fighting to create, even as danger circles ever closer.