Page 22 of Mafia Prince's Secret Baby

Katya breaks the silence, her voice trembling but resolute. “You’re not taking her, Igor.”

“I already told you,” I say, my patience wearing thin. “This isn’t up for debate.”

“You’ll have to go through both of us,” Vasiliy says, his voice a low growl.

“Fine,” I snap, my anger flaring. “If that’s what it takes, so be it.”

The tension in the room reaches its breaking point, and for a moment, none of us move.

Then Sofiya shifts again, her small hands moving in quick, deliberate gestures. Katya’s breath hitches, and her expression crumbles as she watches her daughter.

Vasiliy looks at Katya, then at me. The room is heavy with unspoken words, but I don’t wait for permission.

“Katya,” I say quietly. “She shouldn’t watch us while we talk.”

Her shoulders slump in defeat, and she nods once, her movements stiff and mechanical as she carries Sofiya to her room.

Vasiliy watches her go, then turns back to me, his gray eyes burning with cold fury.

8

KATYA

With Sofiya safely in her room, the showdown begins. Vasiliy sits beside me, his calm demeanor a mask for the storm brewing beneath. His gray eyes are locked on Igor, cold and calculating, a panther waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He doesn’t fidget, doesn’t so much as twitch. Vasiliy never wastes movement.

Igor, on the other hand, is all fire and sharp edges, his blue eyes blazing as they shift between me and my brother. Every part of him radiates frustration, anger, and the kind of stubbornness that terrifies me because I know he won’t back down.

I sink into the couch, keeping my hands folded in my lap, trying not to reveal the pounding of my heart. Vasiliy’s presence beside me is a comfort, his quiet strength something I’ve relied on my whole life. He’s not just my brother—he’s my shield. But even with him here, I can feel the weight of Igor’s presence pressing down on me like a threat that’s impossible to ignore.

“What the fuck is this anyways?” Igor demands, his voice hard as steel. He glares at Vasiliy, then at me, before his gaze locks back onto my brother. “Why is he even here?”

I stay silent, letting Vasiliy take the lead. This is what he does best—keeping his cool while making his opponent feel like they’re being dragged into quicksand.

Vasiliy doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out his gun. The movement is casual, like he’s grabbing a pack of gum. He holds it loosely in his hand, the gesture calm but loaded with unspoken warning.

“If you don’t want to spend the rest of your life in the coldest cell of the Black Dolphin prison, you’ll only speak when I ask you to,” Vasiliy says, his voice low and even.

“You don’t scare me,” Igor snarls, his lip curling. “You’re forgetting that out of the three of us, I’m the only one who doesn’t play by the rules.”

“Fair enough,” Vasiliy replies, his tone cold as ice. “But I still suggest you keep your cool. We’re going to have a conversation, and in the end, we’ll come up with a solution. Together.”

“You don’t belong here,” Igor shoots back. “This is between me and Katya.”

I keep my head down, my gaze fixed on my hands. I can feel Igor’s fury, his energy crackling in the room like an exposed wire. And yet, I stay silent. Not because I agree with him, but because I don’t know how much longer I can hold it together.

“Katya is my sister,”Vasiliy says, his voice slow and deliberate, as if he’s explaining something to a child. “I’m here to make sure you don’t threaten her. This conversation will be calm and fair.”

Igor’s jaw clenches, his hatred for my brother practically radiating off him. “Is that what they teach you in the SRV?”

The tension spikes. It’s not common knowledge that Vasiliy works for Russian Foreign Intelligence, but I’m not surprised that Igor knows of it. The Bratva have long memories and an even longer reach.

“I thought you wanted to talk about the kid,” Vasiliy counters coolly. “Not your criminal activities. Unless, of course, you’d prefer we skip the talking altogether. Your death would save us all a lot of gray hair.”

Igor rubs his jaw, his muscles tensing. If Vasiliy weren’t surrounded by extra men stationed outside and on the balcony, I think Igor might’ve already made a move. Instead, he stays seated, though his frustration is palpable.

“Sofiya is my daughter,” Igor growls, his voice like a warning shot.

“Drop the fatherly act,” Vasiliy dismisses him, his tone sharp. “I’m not in the mood for games. From now on, you’ll forget about Katya and Sofiya. Do you hear me? They don’t exist. If you come anywhere near them again, I’ll cut your dick off.”

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