Mafia Prince’s Secret Baby (New York Bratva)

1. Igor

1

IGOR

Six years later

M y entire body aches, every muscle stiff and sore from being crammed in this tin can for nine goddamn hours.

“Remind me again why we had to personally fly to Moscow?” I groan, rolling my neck to ease the tension building at the base of my skull.

Aleksander stretches beside me, his long limbs unfolding with the casual grace of someone who hasn’t spent the last several hours fantasizing about putting a bullet through the cockpit window just to end the boredom. “Father wants to remind the men that as long as they’re loyal, we’ll always show up when they need us.”

“Yeah? Well, next time, Father can haul his own ass across the Atlantic.” I extend my arm, cracking my shoulder as I stretch. “Nine hours is way too long to be cooped up with nothing to do but chat, stare at the clouds, and count the seconds to our inevitable deaths. You’re lucky I didn’t decide to speed that process up myself.”

Aleks rolls his eyes, ignoring me as usual. He’s heard worse.

Not that I didn’t find a few distractions along the way. The flight attendant was hot, but I should’ve waited until the last hour of the flight to fuck her in the bathroom. At least then I wouldn’t have had to deal with her trying to make conversation afterward. She’s sweet, sure, but she’s still clinging to the fantasy that I might be her knight in shining armor.

Sorry, sweetheart. I don’t wear the armor—I melt it down and turn it into bullets.

“We’re almost there,” Aleks says, as if I couldn’t see that for myself. The private plane dips lower, the runway stretching out below us. “The car will take us straight to the courthouse. The sooner we handle this, the sooner we’re back in New York.”

Great. Another thing to look forward to.

Every instinct in my body is screaming at me to stay as far away from Russian courts as humanly possible. But here I am, walking straight into the lion’s den with my father’s orders strung around my neck like a noose. As the heir to the Sokolov empire, it’s my responsibility to show our men that we’ll stand by them. That if they keep their mouths shut, we’ll clean up their messes—no matter how deep they’ve buried themselves.

This particular mess? An unfortunately timed police raid that caught a handful of our guys with guns, drugs, and a laundry list of crimes. They’re knee-deep in shit, but luckily, it’s nothing our expensive lawyers can’t dig them out of. The bogus terrorism charges the cops slapped on them will never stick. No Russian jury would dare convict anyone with ties to the Sokolov name.

I know all this. And yet, every fiber of my being is screaming at me to turn back.

But loyalty doesn’t come with conditions. My father is a bastard, but he’s our bastard, and I’ll stand by him no matter how many times the world tries to rip us apart. It’s not like this is anything new. With the vultures circling our family every other week, trouble is practically a monthly occurrence.

The plane lands, the seatbelt sign blinks off, and the cabin doors open with a hiss. I stand immediately, my limbs heavy and my eyes drooping thanks to the change in time zone. The smart thing to do would be to catch up on sleep.

Aleks is already off the plane, walking ahead of me with his usual calm, controlled demeanor. I follow, my leather gloves creaking as I clench my fists, trying to focus on anything other than the headache I’ve had since takeoff.

“Have a nice day, Mr. Sokolov,” the flight attendant purrs as I pass her. She flashes a smile wide enough to show off the dimples I saw up close just a few hours ago. She tries to slip a folded scrap of paper into my hand—her number, no doubt—but I walk past without sparing her a glance.

“Really?” Aleks drawls once we’re seated in the back of the black SUV waiting on the tarmac. “You could’ve at leastpretendednot to be an asshole. She seems like a good girl.”

“The only thing I’m good at,” I reply, adjusting my cuffs, “is making good girls act bad.”

Aleks shakes his head, his disapproval palpable. I see it in the tight set of his mouth, the way his icy blue eyes dart away as if he can’t even stand to look at me. But that’s not my problem. I do what I want, when I want, and there’s nothing anyone can say or do to stop me.

Some men chase ambition, trying to claw their way toward goals they think will make them whole. Not me. I’ve always known exactly who I am.

And I’m not looking to change.

The courthouse looms ahead, an imposing structure of steel and glass. My pulse kicks up as we approach. It’s not fear—fear and I don’t get along. But there’s something about this place, about the way the justice system pretends to hold power over men like me, that makes my temper rise.

Aleks notices. He always does. “Relax,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only I can hear it. “You don’t even blink when you’re cornered in a knife fight, but the second you see a courtroom, you act like you’re about to explode.”

“I’m fine,” I mutter, adjusting my stance as we step out of the car.

The security checkpoint is as humiliating as expected. I grit my teeth and let the guard pat me down, resisting the urge to snap his neck when his hand lingers a second too long in my pocket.

“Second floor, courtroom four,” Aleks says as we make our way through the marble lobby. “They’ve already started, but it doesn’t matter. We’re just here to show our faces.”

“Let’s get this over with,” I growl, striding ahead.

The doors to the courtroom swing open, and I step inside, my boots echoing against the polished floor. Whatever sarcastic comment I was about to make dies on my tongue the second I see her.

She’s sitting behind the bench, her posture confident, her head held high. Her dark hair spills over her shoulders, drawing my gaze like a magnet. She’s not just beautiful—she’s stunning , the kind of woman who commands attention without even trying.

She’s trouble.

And God help me, I’ve never wanted trouble more in my life.

Bright, intelligent green eyes.

I’d know them anywhere.

They’re the same eyes that stared up at me that afternoon, wide and wild, her lips bruised from my mouth and her thighs trembling against my hands. Those eyes belong to a memory I’ve carried in my back pocket, pulling it out whenever I need a little distraction. And now, that memory is staring back at me, attached to the woman in front of me wearing a goddamn black judge’s robe.

And fuck, she looks good in it.

“ Igor, ” Aleks mutters under his breath, his voice tight, urging me to move. I barely hear him.

Katya hasn’t seen me yet. She’s focused on the file in front of her, her delicate fingers flipping through pages like the fate of the universe is written on them. Her hair is pulled back in a neat ponytail, sleek and practical, but I know better. I’ve had those strands wrapped around my fist. I know how they feel spilling over my skin.

“ Igor, move. This is ridiculous,” Aleks hisses again.

Ridiculous? He’s got no idea. The woman whose body I pinned to a fountain six years ago is now standing at the head of a courtroom, ready to pass judgment on the Bratva lieutenants I’ve been charged with protecting. My pulse kicks up, heat flashing across my skin as I force myself to swallow the low growl rising in my throat.

Six years ago, I’d stripped her bare, held her down, and fucked her until neither of us could breathe. Now she’s untouchable. The very embodiment of power and authority.

And fuck me, that’s only making her hotter.

I manage to stumble to a seat in the back row, Aleks stiff as a board beside me. He’s doing his best impression of a dutiful citizen, spine straight and hands folded in his lap, every muscle telegraphing respect. I should follow his lead, but all I can think about is Katya’s body under that robe.

My hands twitch on my thighs, the anticipation building in my chest so tight it feels like my rib cage might crack. No woman should have this much power over me.

And no judge should look this fucking good.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Katya begins, her voice steady, commanding, carrying the weight of the state with every syllable. “You have been called upon to serve not just this court, but the Motherland herself. In these proceedings, you have heard the voices of justice and the echoes of our nation’s laws, forged to protect every citizen under the banner of our great Russian Federation. The men accused today are judged not only by the law but by the spirit of our people, who trust in this system to uphold order and righteousness. Remember, the security of our Motherland depends on the justice we deliver. Reflect on this deeply, for your decision will resonate far beyond these walls. Thanks to the unwavering commitment of our brave prosecutors and the relentless dedication of our esteemed investigators, we stand ready to uphold the honor of Russia in this courtroom.”

I should be impressed. Hell, I am impressed. She’s a force to be reckoned with, every word deliberate, every pause perfectly calculated to keep the jury in her thrall. If I didn’t have a vested interest in this trial going the other way, I’d probably feel proud of her.

But right now? All I feel is the sharp pain of her speech driving an axe into my already aching balls.

One by one, the men on trial stand to plead their innocence. I study their faces as their lawyers make their cases, searching for cracks, for guilt, for any sign that one of them might fold. Either they’re doing a damn good job hiding it, or I’m too fucking tired to see through their facades.

Aleks nudges me sharply with his elbow, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Him,” he murmurs, looking toward an elderly juror sitting stiffly near the front.

I nod, watching as Aleks slips out of the courtroom.

Jury tampering is child’s play for my brother. He’ll handle it with the same cold efficiency he handles everything else. As for me, I have other business to attend to.

Katya.

She’s finishing up the first day of trial with another impassioned speech about the importance of law and justice. If anyone else had been talking, I would’ve tuned them out long ago. But Katya? She has my full, undivided attention.

My gaze drops to her lips, full and plush, the kind of lips made for sin. I know how they felt wrapped around my cock, how soft and yielding they were. The memory of her taste surges back, and I feel myself hardening in my slacks.

And then her eyes find me.

Bright green and sharp as glass, they lock on mine, and for a second, the entire courtroom fades away. She falters, her hands tightening on the papers in her grasp, and I know I’ve gotten to her.

Katya might be my men’s worst nightmare, but she’s my greatest temptation. The way she looks at me—half angry, half hungry—makes it impossible to think about anything else.

Slowly, I let a smile curl across my lips, just enough to send her a message. Her throat works as she swallows, her composure slipping ever so slightly, and it’s all I can do not to laugh.

I mouth the word“dinner,”watching as her eyes widen in shock.

She recovers quickly. But I see the tension in her jaw, the way her fingers tighten around her gavel before she slams it down to adjourn the court for the day.

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.