Page 86 of Mafia Prince's Secret Baby

The tightness in my chest eases, but only slightly. Relief is short-lived when there’s still a threat out there. “Secure the house,” I order. “I want everyone accounted for.”

Aleks nods and takes off without another word, leaving me to check on Katya. She’s already pulling herself out from under the bed, her hair a mess, her face streaked with soot, but her eyes—those eyes are steady. Terrified but steady.

“I’m okay,” she says softly, brushing glass off her shoulder. She exudes calm, as if she’s trying to convince herself as much as me. “We need to get the kids.”

“They’re safe,” I assure her. My focus sharpens on the slight tremor in her hands as she adjusts the blanket still wrapped around her shoulders. I reach for her, gripping her chin gently between my fingers, forcing her to look at me. “Stay close,” I murmur.

We get dressed quickly, Katya coughing every few seconds but still moving fast. Once we’re out of the bedroom, I lead her downstairs, my gun gripped tightly in my hand. My mind’s racing, half-focused on the steps ahead and half on the fact that whoever did this—whoever had the audacity to come into my home—is still out there.

The moment Katya spots Sofiya and Damien in the living room, she breaks away from me, running straight to them. She drops to her knees and pulls them into a fierce hug, her arms wrapping around them like she’s trying to absorb every bit of their fear into herself. Watching them, something inside me unwinds—just a little.

I stride toward them, needing to feel their presence. “We’re okay,” I say firmly, crouching down beside them. My voice is loud and confident—because they need to believe it. “It’s over.”

“Are you sure?” Katya’s voice cracks, her eyes darting toward the stairwell like she’s waiting for another explosion.

“Aleks and Mikhail are securing the perimeter,” my mother interjects, her voice calm but her face pale. “Your father’s on the phone with Timur. He’s checking to make sure it wasn’t the Colombians.”

Sofiya whimpers, trembling in Katya’s arms. Her small hands clutch wildly at Katya’s shirt, her face buried in her chest. It makes my blood boil, seeing her scared. I reach out, cupping the back of her head and pulling her gently against me instead. “You’re safe,” I murmur. “I’ve got you.”

She clings to me as if she knows what I said, her fingers curling into my shirt. It hits me harder than it should—the weight of her trust in this moment—but I don’t have time to dwell on it.

“Stay with the kids,” I tell Katya, brushing a kiss against her forehead before she can protest. “I’m going to check the room.”

“Igor,” she starts, her voice heavy with worry.

“I won’t take long,” I promise, my hand lingering on her shoulder. Then I turn and head back.

Aleks meets me at the base of the stairs, his expression grim. “Timur claims it wasn’t the Colombians,” he says without preamble.

“Figured as much.” My grip tightens on the gun. “This doesn’t smell of them.”

Aleks nods in agreement. “Fireworks instead of bombs. Whoever it was, they didn’t want to kill—they wanted to send a message.”

My jaw clenches. “It’s the same bastard who left the boxes at my apartment,” I mutter. “I’ll check the room, see if there’s anything we can use to identify them.”

“I’m coming with you,” Aleks says. He jerks his head toward Mikhail. “Stay with the kids.”

Mikhail nods, already moving.

Aleks and I rush upstairs, the stench of smoke still hanging thick in the air. When I push open the door, my chest tightens. The destruction is worse than I’d let myself imagine—craters scorched into the floor, blackened burn marks crawling up the walls, shards of glass scattered like confetti across every surface.

The sight of it makes my stomach churn. This was a room I never imagined would feel unsafe. And the kids—fuck—the kids were just a wall away.

“Fuck,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair as I crouch to grab a piece of charred cardboard from one of the fireworks. The edges crumble in my hands, the faint scent of gunpowder still clinging to it. “They never got close enough to really hurt us, but still…” My voice drops lower, the weight of what could’ve happened settling hard on my shoulders. “Katya was here. The kids were in the room next door. If they’d used something worse than fireworks?—”

“We were lucky,” Aleks cuts in firmly, like he’s trying to anchor me. “Very, very lucky. That’s for sure.”

I exhale sharply through my nose, nodding but not fully agreeing. Luck shouldn’t be the reason my family’s alive.

Aleks straightens, pulling a small flashlight from his pocket and scanning the space. “I’ll see if there’s anything left of the fireworks. Maybe we can track down the manufacturer and figure out where they were bought.”

“Just knowing where they’re sold could help,” I agree, standing and brushing glass off my hands. “We can pull security footage from the usual places. Look for familiar faces.”

He nods, already focused on the task. Together, we comb through the wreckage, working silently but methodically. My mind is racing, jumping between possibilities, enemies, threats.

At some point, Aleks kneels by the window and holds up what looks like a cylindrical cardboard tube. “Got something.”

The casing is half-charred but intact enough. Aleks turns it over, inspecting it with care before slipping it into his jacket pocket. “If there’s any residue left inside, our guys in the lab might be able to trace it. Maybe even pinpoint the seller.”

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