Page 41 of Mafia Prince's Secret Baby

The moment they’re gone, I grab Katya’s wrist and pull her toward me. My grip isn’t tight, but it’s firm enough to ensure she hears me.

“Don’t fuck this up,” I whisper, my voice low and full of warning.

Her gaze narrows, her green eyes burning with defiance. She yanks her arm free and rolls her eyes. “Whatever,” she snaps, turning on her heel.

I reach out instinctively, ready to grab her again, but Aleks steps in, catching my arm before I can.

“Now’s not the time,” he says quietly, his voice steady. “Take the win, Igor.”

I stare at him for a long moment, my anger simmering just below the surface. He’s right. Katya isn’t throwing a fit or demanding to go stay with Nikolai, and for now, that’s a good outcome.

I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Fine,” I mutter, stepping back.

Katya is already walking away, her head held high, her fiery defiance radiating from every step. I clench my fists, swallowing my frustration.

This isn’t over. After dinner, she and I will have a little talk.

It’s time for Sofiya to find out she has a father. Whether Katya likes it or not.

14

KATYA

Aknock at the door startles me, my heart leaping into my throat. My hand presses instinctively to my chest as I exhale sharply, trying to calm my racing pulse.

How am I still jumping at every sound in this house? You’d think I’d be used to it by now—the constant threat of something going wrong, the ever-present tension simmering just beneath the surface. But no one shouldeverget used to living like this.

“Come in,” I call, forcing my voice to remain steady.

The door opens, revealing Igor’s mother, Irina. She steps inside with the kind of graceful confidence that only someone who has spent their entire life navigating power and danger can exude. She’s tall and regal, her golden hair swept back, and on her wrist, she wears a bracelet of black gold with an engravedS. It must be a Sokolov family signature, though on her, it looks less like a mark of loyalty and more like a polished weapon.

Irina is the last person I expected to see. For a moment, I’m unsure whether I should be flattered by the visit or concerned about what she wants. Regardless, I keep my face neutral. Igor already knows I want out of here as soon as Sofiya’s treatment is done, and I’m not looking to charm anyone into liking me.

She studies me for a moment, waiting. “May I come in?”

I gesture toward the room. “Please.”

If she senses my reluctance, she doesn’t show it. She walks in with a hypnotic grace, closing the door softly behind her.

“Since tonight’s dinner came at such short notice, I took the liberty of helping you with your wardrobe,” she says smoothly, holding up two dresses. “You’re about the same size as Katarina. She left most of her clothes behind when she married Nikolai.”

At the mention of her daughter, something flickers in her expression—sadness, perhaps, though it’s fleeting. It must be hard, I imagine, being the only woman in this household of domineering men.

“Thank you,” I reply, managing a polite smile. She sets the dresses on the bed, smoothing them out with practiced ease. Before I have time to process either of them, she points to the silver one.

“It’s a bit short,” she says with a small smile, “but it will look stunning on you. If Igor’s behavior is any indication, you’ll have him on his knees with it.”

I can’t help the sharp laugh that escapes me.

“Thanks, I think,” I manage, unsure whether to feel flattered or irritated. “But I’m not exactly keen on having his attention.”

Her expression softens, the teasing slipping away. “I know it might not seem like it,” she says with a sigh, “but deep down, Igor is a good man.”

The laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. “That is such a mom thing to say,” I tell her, shaking my head. “But for Sofiya’s sake, I hope you’re right. If he insists on being in her life, I want to make sure she doesn’t get hurt.”

The mention of Sofiya transforms her completely. Her face lights up, her expression softening into something genuine. “I always wanted a granddaughter,” she says warmly. “Thecircumstances aren’t ideal, but I’m so glad Sofiya’s here. And you, too.”

Her sincerity throws me off. I don’t know what to make of it, so I simply mutter, “Thanks,” under my breath.

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