Page 44 of Mafia Prince's Secret Baby

As the conversation shifts to logistics and strategies, I listen intently but notice my focus drifting.

I glance around the room, watching the interplay of power and tension between the men, and one thing becomes crystal clear.

This isn’t a dinner. It’s a battlefield.

And I’m sitting right in the crossfire.

15

IGOR

Another fight is about to break out, and if I’m not careful, it’ll be my fault. As much as I want to put Montoya’s smug face through the nearest wall for dropping those bloody boxes at my doorstep—or for even being involved in this mess—I know I can’t. Not yet. Too much is at stake, and if I play this wrong, we’re all getting out of here in body bags. For all I know, Montoya could be the one behind the theft.

I force myself to breathe and pick up the bottle of wine, offering a carefully controlled smile as I swirl the crimson liquid. “More wine?” I ask, glancing around the table. Empty plates stare back at me, the brief reprieve of dinner now nothing but a prelude to the real reason we’re all here.

“Why not?” Timur replies, raising his glass with a casualness that catches me off guard. He’s calm—too calm—and it takes everything in me not to read into it. He knows exactly how heated this conversation is about to get, so his indifference is either a calculated move or a way to provoke someone else into losing theirs.

I refill his glass, then glance at Katya. Her wine sits untouched. She glares back at me like I’m something she scraped off the bottom of her shoe.

Then, with a sharpness that turns all heads her way, she breaks the brief silence. “Not to point out the obvious, but it’s getting late, and there’s still plenty to discuss.”

“Well noted, señorita,” Montoya cuts in with a sly smile, his hazel eyes flicking to her with more interest than I’d like. “I’ve been waiting all night for a somewhat reasonable explanation as to where our shipment has disappeared to—and why I haven’t seen a single dollar of my money yet.”

His voice is a ticking bomb, every syllable shaving seconds off the fuse. The silence that follows feels like the moment right before a blade strikes.

My jaw clenches, and my hands tighten around the neck of the wine bottle. Aleks and I exchange a glance. He looks calm, but I know better. The tension in his shoulders matches my own, and even Mikhail—usually oblivious to his surroundings—is nervously tapping his fingers against the table. If it weren’t for the fact that his fuck up put us all in this position, I might even pity him.

Katya speaks again, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “Since I’m new to all this,” she says, her tone measured, “I’d appreciate it if we started from the beginning. Let’s talk through the basics. What happened, and who did what?”

I bite the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to stay composed. She sounds like a lawyer interrogating a hostile witness, and I hate how much that’s turning me on. She doesn’t seem to give a damn how powerful the men at this table are.

Montoya raises an eyebrow, his smirk returning. “So, you’re more than just eye candy. Are you the one in charge now?”

“Only when I have questions,” Katya retorts, her tone dripping with confidence. “Who’s going to volunteer to give me some straight answers?”

It takes everything in me not to laugh. She’s playing this brilliantly, exuding just enough fire to keep Montoya intrigued without outright challenging him. Even Timur hides a flicker of amusement behind his glass.

Montoya leans back in his chair, now openly entertained. “Your brother-in-law over there,” he says, nodding at Mikhail, “was in charge of receiving the biggest shipment from Colombia to date.”

“Yeah?” Katya replies, her sharp gaze locking onto Mikhail, who shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I’m going to assume something didn’t go as planned.”

I swear I hear Timur stifle a laugh, though he quickly masks it. Mikhail’s face tightens, his discomfort growing. He knows what’s on the line here. It seems to be dawning on him that this mistake could cost him his life. And the worst part? I can’t reassure him. Because if this meeting doesn’t end with questions answered, he might be in deep trouble.

“Our cargo has disappeared under his watch,” Montoya says dryly. “That’s the gist of it.”

“We’ve been robbed,” Mikhail blurts, his voice defensive and weak.

“Youclaimyou’ve been robbed,” Montoya corrects, his tone sharp with warning. “Unfortunately, you don’t have any proof, which means my boss has no choice but to holdyouaccountable for the missing shipment.”

My blood boils. “This has never happened before,” I argue, my anger getting the better of me.

“That’s because no one was stupid enough to try,” my father snaps, his cold voice slicing through the tension like a whip. “So either you and Aleks find out who did it, or?—”

“Or you’ll pay the price,” Montoya finishes, his hazel eyes gleaming with barely veiled menace. He doesn’t elaborate, but the meaning is clear: money isn’t the only thing they’ll demand. And I’d bet everything that blood is what they’re after.

“We’ll recover the shipment,” I promise, my arms crossing over my chest.

“You better,” Montoya says, his tone light but deadly. “Good business partners are hard to find, especially ones I like.”

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