Page 107 of Mafia Prince's Secret Baby

“Did you really think it was going to be that easy?” she snarls, her lip curling in disdain.

I don’t respond. My throat is tight, and my jaw aches too much to form words. Instead, I just watch her, my pulse pounding in my ears, louder than her words.

She takes a step closer, her hands trembling as she points an accusatory finger at me. “I’ll keep you alive for weeks—months, even. You’ll suffer slowly. Intensely. I’m here tocollecton your family’s debt.”

My stomach clenches, and I have to swallow hard to keep the bile from rising in my throat. Her words drip with malice, but there’s something else too. She’s unraveling. That mask of control she wore when she first walked in—it’s slipping.

Her arms twitch, but then she lowers them, her lips pressing into a thin, angry line. She glares down at me like she’s searching for something—fear, maybe? Despair?

I won’t give her the satisfaction.

The lump in my throat feels like it might choke me, but I swallow it down. I lock my gaze on hers, letting every ounce of hatred, defiance, and raw courage I can muster shine through. But instead of striking me again, she turns on her heel with a hateful snarl and storms out of the room. The door slams behind her, and the sound of the lock clicking into place sends another wave of dread washing over me.

I’m alone again.

A sob pushes its way up, unstoppable, as my head falls back against the chair. The nausea swirls in my stomach, twisting and churning, and my ribs scream with every shallow breath I take. I don’t know if they’re cracked or just bruised, but the pain is unrelenting, sharp and hot like needles stabbing with every movement.

I don’t know how much time passes. Minutes? Hours? There are no windows here, no clocks, no way to mark the moments as they drag endlessly forward. The fluorescent light overhead hums, casting harsh shadows on the bare walls.

My hands burn where the ropes bite into my skin, and my legs feel like lead weights, useless and numb. If I could just stand, if I couldmove,maybe I’d have a chance. But my body isn’t cooperating. It’s as if the fight has drained out of me, leaving behind nothing but pain and exhaustion.

The despair settles over me like a heavy blanket, suffocating and inescapable. Galina’s voice echoes in my mind, her words like daggers stabbing at my hope.

39

IGOR

“Are you sure she’s there?” My tone wavers, hard and brittle with barely contained panic. I’m resisting the urge to grab Vasiliy by the collar and shake him. “Time is of the fucking essence. So get the fuck going already.”

“I’m aware,” he snaps back, his tone clipped and unforgiving. “And don’t talk to me about time, Igor.You’rethe one who fucked up. I swear to God, if something happened to my little sister?—”

“You’ll wish you’d never been born,” Nikolai finishes his sentence, his glare sharp enough to cut steel. Thunder rumbles overhead, a deep, ominous growl, as if the storm itself is agreeing with their threats.

We’re all on edge, the stress in the air thick enough to choke on. Over the years, both Vasiliy and Nikolai have taken on this pseudo-parental role when it comes to Katya. It’s not just protective; it’s possessive and overbearing. And right now, the weight of their judgment presses down on me, heavy and suffocating.

But I deserve it. Every ounce.

“What are we waiting for?” I snap, unable to stand the tension any longer. “Let’s get moving.”

My hands are trembling as I climb behind the wheel of the car. Aleks, Mikhail, Konstantin, and Dominik follow without hesitation, forming an unspoken barrier between me and the Volkovs. It’s clear they don’t trust Nikolai and Vasiliy any more than I do.

The image of Katya tied up and bleeding—the one Maksim had on his phone—sears itself into my mind every time I blink. I can barely see the road through the fog of my rage, fear clawing at my chest.

“Alright. Let’s do this,” I mutter,gripping the steering wheel, my knuckles white. My stomach churns with nausea, but there’s no time for weakness.

I peel out of the parking lot, tires screeching against the wet pavement, and race down the road behind the car Vasiliy and Nikolai have commandeered. The rain lashes against the windshield, the wipers working overtime to keep up, but even the storm can’t drown out the deafening roar of my thoughts.

According to Vasiliy, Katya’s being held in a rundown apartment building in a shady part of Queens. The streets are practically deserted, the storm driving people indoors, but the emptiness only makes the journey feel longer. With every passing second, my mind conjures worse and worse scenarios.

What if Galina’s already killed her? What if they’ve tortured her beyond recognition? What if I’m too late?

“Relax,” Aleks says from the passenger seat, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I focus on the road, the tension in my chest coiling tighter with every passing second. The building finally comes into view, a decrepit structure standing like a grim sentinel against the storm. I park behind Vasiliy’s car and kill the engine in one swift motion.

There’s no time for subtlety or second-guessing.

“Igor, wait!” Vasiliy calls out as I storm toward the entrance, but his words fall on deaf ears.

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