Page 109 of Mafia Prince's Secret Baby

“Keep her alive,” Nikolai growls, his voice cold. “For now.” Galina spits at him, her face twisted with rage, but he ignores her, barking orders to his men to round up any remaining threats.

“It’s over,volchitsa,” I whisper as I cut through the ropes binding Katya.

Her eyes flutter open, and she offers me a weak smile. “That was cutting it close,” she croaks.

I scoop her into my arms, cradling her against my chest as her body goes limp. “Just breathe,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Everything’s going to be okay now.”

She buries her face in my neck, her voice trembling as she whispers, “Sofiya?”

“She’s safe,” I assure, holding her tighter. “And so are you.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, the weight lifts from my chest. She’s alive. She’s safe. And no matter what it takes, I’ll make sure she stays that way.

“When you’re ready,” I say, “I’ll take you home.”

40

KATYA

The night wraps itself around the house like a protective shield, cocooning us in silence. Only the faint hum of the heating system and the distant whoosh of cars passing outside break the stillness. By the time I finish my shower, the kids are asleep. I should be heading straight to bed, but I can’t resist the pull to check on them.

Cracking the door open just enough to slip inside, I pause. Sofiya clings to Damien’s teddy bear, her little fingers wrapped around it like a lifeline. The soft glow of a nightlight on the nightstand casts warm, golden shadows across their faces. Their peaceful expressions make my heart twist painfully with love and relief.

I bite my lip to stop the tears threatening to rise, only to feel Igor step in behind me. His presence fills the doorway, his broad frame shadowed by the moonlight streaming through the hallway window. I don’t have to look to feel the worry etched into his features.

His hand comes to rest on my back, the warmth of his palm spreading through my thin robe like a balm, calming thestorm that’s been raging inside me. He leans closer, and I inhale deeply, his intoxicating scent anchoring me in this moment.

I turn and wrap my arms around him. My fingers curl into his shirt as I press my face into his chest, breathing him in like he’s the air keeping me alive. My grip tightens, maybe too much, but Igor doesn’t flinch. He just holds me, his arms folding around me, strong and unyielding, pulling me closer until I can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my cheek.

“We should let them sleep,” he whispers, his lips brushing the top of my head.

I nod against his chest and pull back, reluctantly releasing him. Together, we step out of the room, closing the door softly behind us. I follow him as he leads me down the hall to the guest room where we’ve been staying temporarily.

The moment we step inside, the familiar scent of clean sheets and his cologne wraps around me. The moonlight streams through the window, casting soft silver shadows across the bed.

Igor’s eyes find mine, those piercing blue depths softening as they lock on me. His hand comes up, cupping my cheek. His thumb brushes away a tear I didn’t realize had fallen, and the tenderness in the gesture almost undoes me.

“You’re safe now,” he whispers. “You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

I swallow hard, my throat tightening as I fight back the instinct to argue. “I’ve never known how to be anything else,” I admit in barely more than a whisper. “Until you showed me there was another way.”

His hands move to my waist, gentle and firm at the same time, guiding me backward toward the bed. The mattress dips as I sink down onto it, and time seems to slow, each heartbeat stretching out into eternity.

Igor kneels in front of me, his fingers finding the tie of my robe. He hesitates for a fraction of a second, his eyes flicking upto meet mine. I give him a small nod, my pulse hammering as he pulls the knot loose. The fabric falls open, revealing the bruises and cuts that mar my skin.

The cool air kisses my exposed body, and for a moment, shame claws at me. The evidence of Galina’s cruelty is written all over me—purple bruises blooming along my ribs, raw marks on my wrists from the ropes. I fight the urge to pull the robe closed, to hide from him. But this is Igor.

He doesn’t flinch.

His gaze sweeps over me, not with pity, but with reverence. Slowly, he reaches out, his hand brushing lightly against my arm, and I lift my chin, daring him to look.

“Every mark is proof of your strength,” he murmurs, each syllable heavy with the rumble of a distant storm.

My breath catches as he leans forward, pressing a kiss to my forehead. Then, ever so gently, his lips trail downward, brushing against the bruises along my ribs. Each kiss is soft, careful, as if he’s trying to take the pain away with his touch.

The robe slips from my shoulders, pooling around me as his hands follow the path of his lips, pushing the fabric aside until it falls away completely.

I tilt my head back, staring at the ceiling as I let myself feel his hands, rough but gentle, glide over my skin.

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