Mafia Prince’s Secret Baby (New York Bratva)

5. Igor

5

IGOR

“ W hat do you mean you’re not coming back to New York with me?” Aleks asks, his brow furrowing in confusion as he glances up from the glass of whiskey he’s nursing.

“Exactly what I said,” I reply with a dismissive wave. “I’ve got unfinished business here in Moscow. I’ll be back in a few days.”

“There’s nothing left to do here,” Aleks points out, nodding toward the TV mounted behind the bar. The news anchor is droning on about the mistrial in our men’s case—the result of his jury tampering. It worked like a charm. The trial is in limbo, and it’ll take months, maybe years, for the system to scrape together a new jury. In the meantime, we’ve got what we wanted: time. Time to bribe, time to pay off the right people, time to bury this case so deep it’ll never see the light of day again.

“Our job here is done,” Aleks continues. “Father expects both of us back. The whole point of showing up at the trial was to remind our men to stay loyal. A little warning shot to let them know we’re watching. It worked. Now let’s go home.”

“This has nothing to do with the family business,” I grind out, my teeth clenched. “I’ve got something else to take care of. Something personal.”

Aleks sits up straighter, his eyes narrowing. “Explain.”

“Stay in your lane, brother,” I hiss, my patience already wearing thin. “This is something I have to deal with. Alone.”

Without waiting for a response, I turn back to the bar, eyeing the half-empty whiskey bottle sitting within arm’s reach. Right now, that amber liquid is calling my name.

I grab the bottle and pour myself a fresh glass, watching the ripples as the whiskey sloshes against the sides. More and more, I’m starting to understand why Father reaches for a drink before most people have their first cup of coffee.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m the bastard everyone claims I am. The womanizer, the demon. Or maybe I’m just an idiot.

Either way, life has never felt this fucked up.

I groan when Aleks drags himself onto the stool next to mine.

“Seriously, man,” he says, his voice softer now, like he’s trying to talk me down from the edge.

I shoot him a glare. “What?”

He raises his hands in surrender, but his expression is serious. “Igor, you’re better than this.”

“Better than what?” I ask, my tone sharp.

“Better than Father,” Aleks says quietly.

His words catch me off guard, hitting me square in the chest. It’s the first time either of us has said it out loud. We’ve thought it, sure—probably more times than we can count—but saying it is something else entirely. Loyalty to Father has been drilled into us since birth, and breaking that unspoken rule feels dangerous.

But Aleks doesn’t stop there.

“Don’t close yourself off from the world,” he continues. “I’m your brother. Believe it or not, I want to help you. Talk to me.”

I stare into my glass, swirling the whiskey as I debate whether to open my mouth. The words tumble out before I can stop them.

“I’m a father,” I confess, my voice low.

Aleks blinks, surprised. “Damien’s lucky to have you,” he says, referring to my son with Anastasiya.

“That’s not what I mean,” I mutter, shaking my head. “There’s another kid. The woman I hooked up with six years ago doesn’t want me in her life. In their life. Go figure.”

Aleks lets out a low whistle, leaning back slightly. “Damn.”

He’s not shocked. Aleks rarely shows emotion, but I can see the wheels turning in his head, analyzing and calculating.

“You keep doing the same thing, man,” he chuckles after a moment.

“It’s like a fucking copy-paste of my past,” I acknowledge bitterly. “But this time, I want to do it the right way. Her name’s Sofiya,” I say, the name slipping out like it’s been sitting on my tongue for years, waiting for the right moment to be spoken.

Aleks narrows his eyes. “And her mother?”

I hesitate, knowing exactly how he’s going to react. But there’s no point in hiding it. “Katya Volkova.”

His head jerks back, his fists clenching as his jaw goes tight. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he growls. “The judge presiding over our men’s case? Nikolai’s sister? Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

I don’t respond, which only seems to fuel his frustration.

“When Nikolai and Vasiliy find out about this...” Aleks shakes his head, standing abruptly. “Fucking hell, Igor. If you want to stick around, I won’t stop you. But let me make one thing clear: whatever shitstorm is about to rain down on you, you deserve every drop of it.”

“Fuck the Volkovs,” I hiss, grabbing my glass and throwing it at the floor. The glass shatters on impact, scattering shards across the polished parquet like broken diamonds.

“Hey!” the bartender shouts, his voice sharp. But the second he sees us, his expression shifts, fear flickering in his eyes. He steps back, disappearing into the shadows.

Aleks sighs, switching to a more neutral tone. “You shouldn’t have messed with the Volkovs. Haven’t you learned anything by now?”

“Only that Nikolai’s a piece of shit and Vasiliy’s a sneaky bastard,” I snap, my voice rising.

“Nikolai’s our brother-in-law now,” Aleks reminds me, his tone pointed. “You shouldn’t talk shit about family.”

“I’ll talk shit about whoever I please,” I snarl. “You don’t get it, Aleks. They knew. They both knew I had a daughter, and they didn’t say a damn word to me.”

Aleks narrows his eyes, his voice cold. “Don’t you think they would’ve come for you if they knew you were the one who fucked their sister?”

“Maybe,” I admit with a shrug. “But that’s not the point. Katya kept Sofiya from me. She’s my daughter! ” I slam my fist against the bar, the wood groaning under the force.

Aleks places a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm but steady. “Yeah, she’s your daughter,” he says quietly. “But think this through, Igor. She’s just a kid. And no matter how angry you are, she’s going to need her mother.”

I sigh, my anger deflating as his words sink in. “I know.”

“You can count on me, whatever you decide,” Aleks says, giving me a small nod. “But don’t fuck it up.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, watching as he heads for the door.

Once he’s gone, I wave down the bartender, leaving a stack of rubles on the counter to cover the damage.

“I’m not leaving Moscow without my daughter,” I whisper to myself.

Pulling out my phone, I dial Katya as I step outside. A taxi screeches to a halt in front of me.

The line clicks, and her voice comes through, sharp and formal. “Yeah?” Her tone is smooth, commanding, yet utterly feminine. But I won’t let it distract me from my purpose. I take a deep breath, steadying my impatience as I get into the backseat.

“We’re not done yet,” I warn her.

“Who’s this?”

“Oh, cut the crap, Katya,” I bite back.

“Wait. I know that snarl. How could I forget the pathetic attempt at sounding threatening?”

“Don’t fuck with me,” I growl, my impatience resurfacing. “I want to see her.”

“No,” she hisses angrily and hangs up.

I call again, expecting her not to pick up. But she does.

“Go to hell, Igor.”

“Not without you, I’m not,” I roar, tired of her attitude.

The line goes silent, and I think she’s hung up on me again. “What do you want?” she sighs finally, sounding defeated and tired. I’ve never heard her voice sound so small. She always gave the impression of being larger than life. “Will you forget about Sofiya if I take care of your men?”

“I don’t know under which rock you’ve been living, but that matter’s already settled,” I reply, noting that she’d break the law to keep me at bay. Maybe she offered to do it because she knows there was a mistrial and hoped I wasn’t aware yet.

“For now,” she replies. “I can use my connections to make the case go away. I give you my word that the prosecution will drop it.”

I stay silent for a moment, letting her think I’m considering it. The way her breathing changes is too much for me. I can’t hold it back anymore and laugh.

“You’re funny,” I tell her when I catch a breath. “It’s almost cute that you think you could bribe me into forgetting I have a child .”

“Just go back to New York,” she taunts. “We’re not discussing this anymore. There’s nothing to talk about.”

She again hangs up on me, and it takes all the strength within me not to toss the phone out the window and slam it against a random passerby.

If I were an irrational man, I would hunt her down, kidnap my daughter, and bring her to the States.

If Katya keeps pushing me, that’s exactly what I’ll do. I won’t let her get her way.

Now I’m annoyed as hell at how reckless I was six years ago to have unprotected sex. If I had put on a damn condom, we wouldn’t be in this situation. Still, she should’ve told me.

I mull my options over, weighing their benefits and risks. Katya’s probably hoping I’ll just up and leave, but I won’t abandon my child so easily. My blood flows through Sofiya’s veins. I don’t need to wait for Katya’s permission to see her.

It’s time I meet my daughter.