Page 111 of Mafia Prince's Secret Baby

41

IGOR

“Is everyone packed?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder to make sure all the suitcases are in the car.

Katya nods, the sunlight streaming through her dark strands, making her hair glow like it’s caught fire. It’s been less than a week since the incident, and while her bruises are fading fast, the sight of them still makes my jaw clench. Every time I see the faint shadows on her skin, a quiet fury rises inside me. I can’t change what happened—I can only make sure she and Sofiya never face anything like that again.

I’ve been treating Katya like a porcelain doll ever since, as if any wrong move could break her. And yet, every night when I hold her, we’re anything but fragile. I’ve made love to her in ways that leave me dizzy with how much I need her—so many times, in so many positions that theKama Sutrawould blush.

Across the yard, Sofiya runs around my parents’ house, chasing imaginary butterflies, while Damien sits on the porch steps, staring wide-eyed at the newest addition to the family—a tiny gecko they’ve named Arnold. The sight is absurdly domestic and strangely perfect.

“Are you sure you don’t want to return to your apartment?” Katya asks, her voice drawing my attention back to her.

“We’re starting something new.” My words are steady despite the storm of emotions churning inside me. I take her hands in mine, my grip firm but careful, as if holding on too tightly might shatter this fragile moment.

There’s a weight between us, heavy and unavoidable—the unspoken conversation about her job in Russia and the possibility of her leaving. I’ve thought about it a hundred different ways, all the ways I could force her to stay.

She and Sofiya belong here. With me and Damien.

But none of that feels right anymore.

It’s not who I want to be. Not with her.

I swallow hard, my thumb brushing across her knuckles. I’ve always been a man who takes what he wants, who shapes the world to his will. But with her, I am different.

She has to see it for herself—how much she means to me, how much this life I’ve built is incomplete without her and Sofiya in it.

“It’s only right that we start from scratch.”

She chuckles, shaking her head in amusement, but the light in her eyes tells me she’s happy with the change. And how could she not be? Her first experience in my old condo wasn’t exactly warm and welcoming.

“Where is this new apartment?” she asks as I put the last of our things in the car.

I grin, unable to keep my pride in check. “Upper East Side’s one and only Fifth Avenue.”

Her eyebrows shoot up, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “We can afford that?”

“Ohvolchitsa,” I chuckle, shaking my head at her disbelief. “We can afford it several times over.”

With the recovered shipment and the paycheck that came with it, everything’s fallen back into place. And as a suitable punishment for Olenko, I made sure he paid for every ounce of damage his family inflicted on mine. After the numbers were settled, I walked away as the proud owner of The Velvet Echo and three other clubs just like it.

“Okay, kids, it’s time to leave,” I call out, gesturing toward the car. Sofiya is looking at me, and I wink at her. While I’m still learning sign language, she and I have gotten better at understanding each other. She smiles, a silent, sweet promise of trust, and climbs into her seat. Damien follows suit, gently cradling Arnold in his little hands.

Once the kids are buckled in, I slide into the driver’s seat, Katya beside me.

“Tomorrow’s implant day,” Katya reminds me as I start the engine, her eyes scanning the agenda on her phone. “I know the initial results were good, but I’m still nervous.”

Her voice wavers slightly, betraying the worry she tries so hard to suppress. Katya’s always meticulous and careful when it comes to Sofiya’s health, and the implant feels like a leap into the unknown. But I have faith—faith in the doctors, faith in the technology, and most of all, faith in Sofiya’s resilience.

“There’s nothing to worry about.” I reach over to squeeze her hand.

“Igor,” she starts, her voice dropping low enough that the Damien won’t hear. “You keep saying that, and I want to believe you, but what if it doesn’t work? What if things don’t get better?”

I glance at her, frowning as her words sink in. “What do you mean? Are we still talking about Sofiya?”

“Yes. No. I mean...” She exhales a shaky breath, running her fingers through her hair. “After everything that happened—that day at the apartment...” She falters. “Galina’s still alive.”

“She’s in a hospital,” I remind her firmly. “Vasiliy’s men are watching her around the clock. They’ll transport her to Russia as soon as her condition stabilizes. She’ll never set foot outside a prison cell. Vasiliy has enough authority in the FSB to make sure of that.”

---