Page 101 of Mafia Prince's Secret Baby

“Alright.” Some noises drift through the receiver. “Can you hand the phone to my brother?”

“Sure,” I reply quickly, obeying his order without thinking. “Here.”

Aleks takes the device, exchanging his own words with Igor. While he talks, my whole world crumbles into pieces. The danger is more real than ever before.

I wait silently until Aleks returns my phone. His icy blue eyes scan me from top to bottom.

“Will you please get Sofiya so I can take both of you home?” His smooth voice wraps around me, reminding me of all the sacrifices and reassurances he’s provided up until now.

With a curt nod, I spin around to go down the familiar hallway. When we reach the bathroom, I pause.

“Wait. One second,” I say and lift a hand. “I’ll be right back.”

He rolls his shoulders. “I’m going in with you.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “No way in hell.”

He returns the stare, but I refuse to back down. At last, he sighs and nods. “Hurry, please,” he mutters reluctantly.

“Give a girl a minute.” My voice is sharper than I mean it to be, and I squeeze Aleks’s wrist as though that alone will make him listen. “I’ll hurry.”

His eyes narrow, jaw ticking, but he nods in agreement. It’s not like he’s really giving me permission—it’s more like he’scalculating how far away he’ll let me get before he intervenes. I don’t wait to test his limits.

Inside the ladies room, the weight of everything crashes down on me. My legs feel like they’re made of lead as I shuffle to the sink and grip the porcelain so hard my knuckles ache. It’s the only thing keeping me upright.

I stare at my trembling hands, watching them as if they belong to someone else. My reflection in the mirror looks worse—pale, haunted, my eyes too wide and my pupils blown like I’ve already accepted defeat.

“Calm down, Katya,” I whisper harshly, my voice shaking as badly as my limbs. “Sofiya needs you. You have to be strong.”

I suck in a breath through my nose, willing myself to believe it, willing my mind to stop splintering under the pressure. A deep inhale. A slow exhale. One step at a time. It’s going to be fine.

But the lie cracks the second I open the door and step back into the hallway.

As I pass the men’s restroom, the door swings open, and before I can even process the movement, a hand clamps over my mouth, yanking me backward. The scent of sweat and leather fills my nose as a gruff voice hisses in my ear: “Quiet.”

Panic explodes in my chest, a wildfire racing through my veins. I struggle, kicking back against my assailant’s legs, but his grip is unyielding. His other hand clamps around my waist, pinning me tight to his chest as he drags me into the men’s room. My heart pounds so hard it feels like it might shatter my ribs.

Through the crack in the door, I catch a glimpse of Aleks—still watching the hallway, his back turned to me.

He doesn’t see me.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” the man growls, his voice low and filled with menace. His hand shifts to my neck, roughfingers wrapping around my throat like a steel collar. Another man materializes from behind me, grabbing my wrists and forcing my hands above my head.

“No more games, princess,” the first man purrs, his words as sharp as the edge of a blade.

I thrash wildly, refusing to go quietly. My heels scrape against the tiles as I kick and twist, desperate to free myself. My captors clearly weren’t expecting a fight. My foot connects with one man’s shin, and he curses, but they’re still stronger.

“Stop fighting,” the man holding my neck orders, his grip tightening. His free hand moves to the open bathroom window.

A third figure crouches on the other side of the window, masked and waiting. He stretches a gloved hand through the opening. “Give her to me,” he says, calm and composed.

“Don’t resist.” My captor brushes his mouth over my ear. “And not a sound. We know your daughter is just a few doors down. You want her to live, don’t you?”

The words hit like a bullet, slamming into me and leaving nothing but cold, hollow dread in their wake. I freeze.

The man behind me uses the hesitation to shove me forward. My knees scrape against the windowsill as the masked man grabs my arms, pulling me roughly through the opening. My scream dies in my throat as he twists my wrist hard enough to make pain shoot up my arm.

The first man climbs out behind me, landing in the dark alley where a white van idles, engine rumbling. Its windows are blacked out, the whole vehicle a faceless threat.

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