Page 39 of Mafia King's Broken Vow
She exhales, quiet but audible. And in that breath, everything sharpens. The room, the distance between us, the line we’re toeing. I think, just for a breath, she might cross it. Might come closer.
But she doesn’t.
She steps back.
Puts the mask back on with more elegance than most people put on coats.
“I think we should discuss your nephew,” she says. Her voice is steady again, but her hands are too still.
I let the subject pivot, grateful and resentful at the same time.
“Damien’s better off without me in his life,” I say, moving back to my chair. “Whatever I was to Ana, I’ll never be that for him. Igor…he’s not who I thought he was. He’s a better father than I ever expected.”
She sits too, the distance reinstated like a ceasefire line.
“That’s…a shift. Last time we discussed Igor, your view was less generous.”
I shrug. “Perspectives change. Even mine.”
“What caused it?”
“Seeing Damien smile. Watching him safe. Knowing that someone is doing what I swore I would. That matters more than my vendetta.”
She notes it down this time. No hesitation. No shaking hand.
“That sounds a lot like growth, Yakov.”
“Or strategy,” I say, offering her a crooked half smile. “You’re the one who said I adapt.”
She sees through the deflection, and I know it.
“Tell me about the visit with him,” she says, tone soft.
The memory is fresh. Not one I need to dig for.
Damien sitting at the table across from me, unpacking the marble chess set like it was something sacred. The careful placement of each piece. The quiet confidence in his movements.The way he sat there—composed, methodical—like he already knew how to command a room. He reminded me of Ana so sharply I had to look away more than once.
“We played chess,” I say. “He set up the board without needing instruction. Took his time. Didn’t speak unless he had something worth saying.”
“You were impressed,” Mila says.
“I was…unprepared,” I admit. “For how much of her I saw in him.”
“Her mind?” she asks.
“Her mind. Her quiet. Her precision. He sees the game, not just the pieces. And he smiles the way she used to when she was about to win.”
Mila doesn’t write. She just listens.
“I watched him move a pawn like it mattered more than the outcome. Like the act of doing it was the whole point. Ana used to say chess was about intention, not domination.”
A pause.
“She sounds like she was wise.”
“She was sharp,” I correct. “And intuitive. And completely impossible. And I failed her.”
Her head tilts, just slightly. “Because you didn’t stop her from loving Igor?”
