Page 65 of Mafia Prince's Secret Baby

“Are you driving, or shall I?” she asks, tilting her head with a grin.

Her hazel eyes gleam as she leans closer, her voice dropping. “Are you a top or a bottom?”

My body stiffens, every muscle coiling tight. “Jesus Christ,” I mutter under my breath.

Galina only laughs, oblivious to how desperate she sounds.

Her touch doesn’t spark anything in me. Not desire, nor any interest. My mind drifts to Katya—her sharp tongue, her fire, the way she invades my every waking thought. There’s no room for anyone else.

“Let’s go.” I sigh, exasperated.

The sooner I get through this, the sooner I can get back to what matters.

Galina opens the door, sliding into the passenger seat beside me.

“Front row seats,” she chirps, flashing me a grin that’s both dazzling and a little too wide. She barely waits for me to settle into the driver’s seat before turning to face me fully, her knees angled in my direction, one foot tapping against the floorboard. “Don’t want to miss a moment of the show.”

I sigh, pressing my thumb and forefinger to my temples as if that might stave off the headache pounding between my temples. She’s jittery—too much energy packed into that petite frame—and the air around her practically hums. Her movements are exaggerated, her laugh too loud, and there’s a faint glaze over her wide hazel eyes.

I clear my throat, gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary. “Buckle up,” I say.

She makes no move to reach for the seatbelt. Instead, she leans closer, her perfume filling the air between us. “I like it when you take charge,” she purrs, her voice low and syrupy.

“Galina,” I say flatly, ignoring the way she’s looking at me like I’m dessert. “Put your seatbelt on.”

“Fine,” she huffs, dragging the strap across her chest with exaggerated flair. As she clicks it into place, she tilts her head, watching me through her thick lashes. “You know, this could be fun if you’d just relax a little.”

“This is going to be a long fucking night,” I mutter under my breath, starting the engine.

“Don’t be such a buzzkill,” she teases, her hand brushing lightly against my forearm. “Besides, I’m starving. What’s the plan? Something romantic? Candlelight, wine, a little hand-holding?”

I keep my eyes fixed on the road ahead, ignoring the way her nails trace an idle pattern on my forearm. “I hope you’re hungry for actual food because that’s where we’re going. A restaurant.”

She pouts, her full lips pushing out in an expression that probably works wonders on men. Other men. “You sure you can control yourself until then?” she flirts, her voice dripping with false innocence.

I grunt, refusing to dignify the question with a response. She mistakes my silence for something else entirely and lets out a high, bubbling giggle.

The sound grates against my nerves. It’s not like Katya’s laugh—the one that’s always reluctant, like she’s fighting to hold it back even when something amuses her. No, Katya wouldn’t act like this. She wouldn’t throw herself at me, wouldn’t fill the silence with mindless chatter or desperate attempts to impressme. Katya would meet me nose to nose, an equal, but with that wild, untamed fire of hers sparking just beneath the surface.

I sigh, wishing for what feels like the hundredth time tonight that it was Katya sitting beside me. If it were her leaning closer, teasing me, I wouldn’t have to force myself to stay composed. I wouldn’t hold back. I’d have her pinned to the seat in seconds, my hands in her hair, my mouth on hers.

But it’s not Katya. It’s Galina.

And here I am, stuck going through the motions of a date I don’t want, with a woman I’ve never shown any interest in. A woman who, despite her beauty, doesn’t stir a damn thing in me.

Because the truth is, all I want is Katya. I want her to want me as desperately as I want her. To accept me for who I am, with blood on my hands. To let us be a family.

But that doesn’t matter right now. What matters is getting through this night without losing what little patience I have left.

Galina shifts in her seat, leaning over the console again, her lips parted to say something else. I’m not in the mood to hear it.

I slam my foot on the gas, the car lurching forward with a squeal of tires. The force throws her back against her seat, cutting off whatever inane comment she was about to make.

For the first time since this nightmare began, there’s blissful silence.

I grip the steering wheel tighter, focusing on the road, while Galina sits stunned and quiet beside me. If only I could figure out a way to keep her that way for the rest of the evening.

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