Page 23 of Mafia Prince's Secret Baby

“Save your threats,” Igor snaps, his voice steady despite the venom in it. Ignoring Vasiliy entirely, his piercing gaze shifts to me instead.

“Again, Sofiya is my blood,” he repeats, his voice low but commanding. “I’m not just her father—I can give her what she needs. Proper treatment. A real chance at a better life. Would you seriously deny her that?”

Vasiliy’s eyes narrow, his calculating expression shifting slightly. My stomach churns as I watch him.

He’s considering it.

Igor presses on, sensing the crack in my brother’s resolve. “New York has some of the best doctors in the world. You know how it works. Russia is still behind in treating rare conditions. Are you going to stand in the way of giving her a fighting chance?”

“Igor,” Vasiliy starts, his tone carefully measured, “you’re forgetting something. Just because you’ve got the money and the doctors doesn’t mean you’re fit to raise her.”

“I’m more than fit,” Igor fires back, his voice rising. “You think keeping her here, hidden away, is what’s best for her? Letting her suffer under subpar care while you sit around pretending you know what’s best?”

“You know damn well I’m not talking about doctors,” Vasiliy replies, his tone sharp, his grip tightening on the gun. “I’m talking aboutyou. You don’t get to just waltz in, declare yourself the father, and expect us to hand her over.”

“I’m Bratva,” Igor admits, his voice hardening, “and I know how to protect her. If Sofiya comes with me, she’ll be safe. In New York, she’ll have access to the best treatment. No strings. Or would you rather she grow up surrounded by your secret service puppets?”

Vasiliy leans back, his fingers drumming against the armrest. He’s thinking.

“Vasiliy!” I blurt out, panic surging through me. “You can’t seriously be considering this! He just found out about her, and now you’re?—”

Vasiliy raises a hand to silence me, his gaze still locked on Igor. “Let’s say,” he begins slowly, “I entertain the idea. What guarantees do I have that you won’t use her as a bargaining chip or parade her around like a trophy for your Bratva friends?”

Igor’s smirk fades, replaced by a cold, unyielding stare. “You have my word.”

“Your word?” Vasiliy chuckles darkly. “And what is the word of a dark prince worth these days?”

“More than the word of an SRV puppet,” Igor snaps, leaning forward. His voice drops, low and deadly. “You want guarantees? Fine. She’ll have full protection. The best medical care. Everything she needs. In New York, she’ll have the life she deserves. Not one of fear, not one of hiding.”

“Please,” I say desperately, my voice cracking. “You can’t trust him!”

Vasiliy glances at me, then back at Igor. “You make a compelling case. But you’re still asking me to put my sister’s child in the hands of a man who built his empire on blood and violence.”

Igor straightens, his jaw tight. “And you built yours on secrets and lies. Let’s not pretend either of us are saints, Vasiliy. But at least I’m honest about who I am.”

The tension in the room is suffocating. Vasiliy’s resolve is cracking, and I can see it in the way he’s weighing Igor’s words.

I feel the ground beneath me slipping, dragging me toward a future I don’t want. A future Ican’taccept.

“She’s five years old, Vasiliy!” I shout, my voice breaking with desperation. “You can’t just?—”

“Katya,” Vasiliy cuts me off with a heavy sigh. “I’m not saying yes. I’m saying we have to be practical. Sofiya’s condition is serious. You know that without proper care, she’ll be completely deaf within a few years.”

My chest tightens and my hands ball into fists at my sides.

Igor leans back, his smirk inching its way onto his face. He looks too satisfied for my liking. “You’re finally thinking with your head.”

Vasiliy ignores the dig, but I don’t miss the flicker of hesitation in his eyes. He’s weighing options, balancing consequences, and I’m terrified of which way he’ll tip.

“This isn’t over!” I snap, rising from the couch. My heart pounds furiously, my voice trembling with both rage and panic. “You think you can just take her away from me? You’re both delusional.”

Vasiliy remains calm, though a trace of regret softens his otherwise stoic demeanor. “Katya,” he says, his tone surprisingly gentle, “we’re just talking.”

But I know better. I see it now. The way Igor’s smirk grows ever so slightly at the corners, the way Vasiliy’s hard edges seem to ease. They’re not just talking—they’re negotiating.

“We need to find an arrangement that works for everyone,” my brother says, his voice deliberate and measured.

Igor presses his hands to his temples, feigning exhaustion as he leans back into the couch. “What kind of arrangement are we talking about?”

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