Page 46 of Mafia Prince's Secret Baby

Timur exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose, while Aleks shoots Mikhail a glare that could set him on fire. I fight the urge to bury my face in my hands.

Montoya doesn’t look away from me. If anything, his gaze sharpens, his lips curling into a smile that’s anything but friendly. “It’s such an intriguing way to die,” he says, his tone dropping to a whisper. “IfClan del Golfowanted you to pay,that’s how we’d do it. Cut the throat, pull the tongue through the slit. It sends a message. A clear one.” His expression softens, almost fondly. “I don’t know about my friends,amigos,” he adds, glancing around the table. “But I certainly wouldn’t waste my time on a dog. They’re too pure for our world.”

“As I said,” I reply carefully, forcing my tone to remain even, “we thought it was you. But clearly, after this… lovely dinner conversation,” I gesture slightly, trying to keep my irritation in check, “we now know we were wrong.”

“You were,” Montoya agrees, his glare icy.

“Okay then,” Katya interjects, clearing her throat to break the tension. “Any ideas who itwas?”

She draws everyone’s attention, her words cutting through the silence like a lifeline. I glance at her, a sharp pang of frustration shooting through me. She’s playing a dangerous game by speaking up, but the way she holds her ground—composed, unwavering—commands the room in a way even I can’t deny.

Montoya’s gaze shifts to her, his expression unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes—a flicker of curiosity, maybe even respect.

Then it hits me, and from the look on Montoya’s face, I can tell he’s come to the same conclusion.

“It was the same fuckers that stole the shipment,” I state darkly, the realization settling like a storm cloud over the table.

Montoya’s lips curve into a slow, humorless smile. He rises to his feet, smoothing the lapels of his suit jacket as he towers over the table. “That doesn’t mean you’re off the hook,” he says, his voice soft but carrying the weight of a sledgehammer. “Find the cargo or pay the price.” His eyes meet mine, holding my gaze with chilling intensity. “Tick. Tock.”

With that, he turns on his heel and strides toward the door, Timur following closely behind.

The tension in the room doesn’t ease once they’re gone. If anything, it settles even heavier, like a noose tightening around my neck. My father leans back in his chair, the wheels turning in his head. Aleks exhales quietly beside me, his gaze flicking to Mikhail, who looks like he’s about to vomit.

Katya remains seated, her hands tightly clasped in her lap. She doesn’t look at me, but I can feel the anger radiating off her in waves.

I take a deep breath, forcing my fists to unclench. “Aleks,” I say finally. “Get the men ready. We have work to do.”

He nods silently, rising from his seat and motioning for Mikhail to follow him.

As they leave, I turn to Katya, who’s still staring at the table like she’s trying to burn a hole through it.

“You,” I say sharply, leaning closer. “Don’tevertake over a conversation like that again.”

Her head snaps up, her green eyes blazing with defiance. “You’re welcome,” she snaps back with a scoff.

I clench my jaw, leaning in until my face is inches from hers. “I don’t need you to save me.”

She leans forward, refusing to back down. “Good. Because I didn’t do it for you.”

We lock eyes, the tension between us electric and crackling. For a moment, I can’t tell if I want to strangle her or throw her against the nearest wall and rail her so good that the only thing she can do is scream my name.

But there’s no time for that now. Not while our enemies are circling like vultures.

I stand abruptly, pushing away from the table. “Let’s get to bed,” I say gruffly, holding out my hand for her. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

16

KATYA

“Stop it!” I hiss, yanking my wrist out of his grip. “You’re hurting me.”

Igor’s hand drops immediately, but the frustration in his icy blue eyes burns hotter. His jaw tightens, and he exhales sharply, as if trying to keep his temper in check.

“Get in the room,” he growls, his voice low and clipped.

We’ve been butting heads since we reached the second floor, and he’s been on edge the entire time. What went on downstairs doesn’t warrant this level of hostility. I’ve been on his side, whether he’s willing to admit it or not. But why should I be surprised? He’s proven himself to be an unbearable prick at every opportunity.

I fold my arms and stand firm, glaring at him. “Don’t tell me what to do,” I snap, rubbing the red mark blooming on my wrist. “And don’t ever touch me without my permission again, or you’ll regret it.”

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