Page 6 of Mafia Prince's Secret Baby

It’s a warning, loud and clear.

But warnings don’t mean shit to me.

As the courtroom empties, I stay in my seat, watching as she gathers her things at the bench, pretending not to notice me. But I know better. She feels my eyes on her, just as she felt my hands on her all those years ago.

Katya might think she’s in control, but the moment our paths crossed again, this game became mine to play.

And I intend to win.

2

KATYA

The entire time I’m tearing through my wardrobe, I’m trying to find something that says exactly what I need it to:Yeah, we fucked six years ago. It was incredible. I’m willing to do it again, but that’s as far as it goes.

The black dress I settle on fits the message perfectly. Simple, tight, and just provocative enough to remind him of exactly what he had—and what he’ll be having again tonight.

When Igor’s eyes met mine in the courtroom earlier today, I had every chance to ignore him. To pretend we didn’t know each other and act like that hot, messy hookup against the fountain never happened. But the second he smiled—that slow, confident curve of his lips—I knew I was a goner.

I should’ve drawn the line right then, for the sake of the case, for the sake of everything I’ve worked so hard to build.

But I didn’t.

Because if I were someone who always followed the rules, I wouldn’t be standing here right now, pulling into the Four Seasons parking lot and trying not to think about how wet I am just thinking about him.

The simple truth is, Igor Sokolov is impossible to ignore. He was intense back then, the kind of man who pinned you to the wall with nothing more than a look. And the way he carried himself—the dark hunger in his eyes, the raw, untamed energy in his touch—made it clear he wasn’t just a random hookup. No, Igor made an impression. One I couldn’t shake, no matter how much time passed.

Even now, my body remembers him.

It doesn’t matter that we barely spoke that day. It doesn’t matter that six years have passed. The memory of what we did together still lingers in the darkest corners of my mind, a secret I keep even from myself.

And that’s exactly what this will be: another secret. Another night I’ll bury deep down and never think of again.

The plan is simple.

Meet him. Have him. Leave.

Nothing changes. Nothing gets complicated. Just like riding a bike, I tell myself. A one-night stand isn’t hard to navigate, especially when you’ve mastered the art of cutting ties afterward.

It’ll be my secret. One more on the ever-growing pile.

I take a deep breath as I step out of my car, the evening air crisp against my skin. The excitement bubbling in my chest feels foreign, something I haven’t felt in what feels like forever. I should feel guilty. I should be turning around, heading home, and burying myself in my work.

But I don’t.

For once, I’m not the judge. I’m not the arbiter of justice or the enforcer of rules. Tonight, I’m just a woman chasing a thrill, chasing a memory that refuses to fade.

I stride into the hotel with my head held high, the dress clinging to me. My heels click against the polished floor as I walk straight past the front desk, barely sparing it a glance.

When the elevator doors slide open, I step inside and lean back against the mirrored wall, forcing myself to take another deep breath.

What am I doing?

This is insane. I should leave before anyone catches a glimpse of me. Before anyone sees me walking into Igor Sokolov’s room and ruins the reputation I’ve spent years building.

But I don’t leave.

The elevator dings softly as it reaches the top floor, the hallway stretching out empty before me. I step out, my heels sinking into the plush carpet, and glance around. No one. Good.

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