Page 102 of Mafia Prince's Secret Baby

“Move,” the man barks, shoving me forward. His hand clamps on my shoulder, steering me toward the van.

I dig my heels into the gravel, dragging my feet. Anything to slow them down. But the sharp poke of a knife at my ribs leaves me no choice. My heart races as I stumble closer to the vehicle, each step feeling like one more nail in my coffin.

My mind churns, frantic questions bombarding me.What do they want with me? Is this about revenge? Leverage? Are they going to hurt Sofiya?

Fear grips me so tightly I can barely breathe. A cold sweat breaks across my skin, but I force myself to focus. I can’t panic. Not when I still have a sliver of freedom, a chance to fight back.

The van’s back doors swing open. “Get in,” one of them barks.

When I hesitate, the man shoves me hard enough to send me stumbling forward. My knees slam against the metal floor, pain jolting up my legs.

“Stay down,” he orders, climbing in after me. The other man moves to the driver’s seat, slamming the door and revving the engine.

I curl into a ball, hugging my knees to my chest, my breath coming in short, shallow bursts. Something cold presses against the side of my head. A gun.

“Don’t move,” the man snarls.

Before I can react, a cloth is forced over my face, smothering me. The sharp, chemical scent of chloroform fills my nose, clawing its way into my brain. My limbs grow heavy, and my vision blurs as the darkness creeps in.

The last thing I feel is the cold, hard metal of the van’s floor against my cheek before the world disappears.

37

IGOR

It’s ironic, really. Out of all the bad decisions I’ve made in my life, riding in a car with Nikolai Volkov again should’ve been at the top of the list. But somehow, this one feels worse. Maybe because Vasiliy’s here too, along with Ivan and Konstantin, crammed into the car like it’s some fucked-up family reunion. Behind us, three more cars tail closely, filled with Nikolai’s men—his personal death squad.

The weight of what we’re about to do presses heavy on my chest. We’re rolling into a warzone, no illusions about it. But that’s fine by me. As long as this ends with Maksim Olenko dead and my family safe, I’ll burn the whole damn warehouse to the ground.

“We’re almost there,” Vasiliy says from the front seat as we roll deeper into Red Hook. The streets are quieter here, abandoned factories and warehouses standing like grave markers under the Brooklyn sky. “I’ll pinpoint the exact building once we’re closer.”

I sigh and scrub a hand over my face for the hundredth time. The bulletproof vest I’m wearing feels like it’s suffocating me, and the familiar weight of the gun at my hip isn’t offeringthe comfort it usually does. My thumb brushes over the safety switch, itching to flip it off, impatient to put an end to this nightmare.

Vasiliy barks directions to Ivan, who’s driving, and then Nikolai’s radio crackles to life. Static fizzles before one of his men reports, “We’re getting signal disruptions. Tech team recommends full blackout. Over.”

I pull out my phone to check, but it’s useless—zero signal bars. They’re right. Whatever Maksim’s crew is running, it’s scrambling communications. No wonder they’re resorting to the old-school radios.

“Do it,” Nikolai barks into the walkie-talkie. “Over and out.”

In the backseat, I groan, slumping against the leather and staring at the cracked ceiling. My nerves are coiled so tight I feel like I’m going to snap. Ivan catches my frustration in the rearview mirror, but he doesn’t comment, just keeps his eyes locked on the road ahead.

“Park here,” Vasiliy orders as we approach a cluster of warehouses. He points to one of the larger buildings, its windows dark and its metal exterior rusted to hell. “The target is on the far side. We’ll surround it.”

The car stops, and we climb out without a word. The air is cold, biting at my face, but I barely notice. The moment my boots hit the pavement, my focus narrows. The twenty men we brought with us are already getting their weapons ready, quiet and efficient. This isn’t their first raid, and judging by their expressions, it won’t be their last.

I tighten my grip on my gun and glance at Konstantin, who stands close. “Stay with me,” I whisper, not trusting anyone but him to have my back. The Volkovs wouldn’t hesitate to end me and blame Maksim for it.

Konstantin grins, adjusting his Kevlar vest. “Glued to your ass,Shef.”

I roll my eyes, then shift my attention to Vasiliy, who’s laying out the plan.

“We split into four groups,” Vasiliy says, his voice calm and authoritative. “Unit one will cut a direct path through the main entrance. Units two and three will hit the sides. Unit four takes the rear to block escape routes.”

“No,” I cut in, shaking my head.

Vasiliy’s eyes narrow. “What?”

“I’m not sneaking in through the back like a fucking coward,” I snap. My voice drops lower, venomous. “They came after me. I’m the one who’s going to make them regret it. Front entrance. Guns blazing.”

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