Mafia Prince’s Secret Baby (New York Bratva)

9. Igor

9

IGOR

I try to suppress my irritation as Katya and Sofiya communicate with their hands the entire drive to the airport. Their silent conversation is fluid, graceful even, and Sofiya lights up each time Katya responds. My daughter occasionally looks over at me, her wide blue eyes brimming with curiosity. Sometimes she smiles or waves, and I do my best to offer her a reassuring nod, though I’m still trying to process the fact that she’s here.

My daughter.

She doesn’t know who I am yet, and she has no clue where she’s going. But she seems excited, and that’s a good sign. It’ll make the adjustment easier—for her, at least.

“Stay close,” I warn Katya as we step out of the car. My tone is sharp, a reminder that I’m in control. After Vasiliy’s parting words, I can’t afford to take any chances. If Katya so much as tries to slip away, she’ll be left behind. Sofiya, on the other hand, won’t.

Aleks had the foresight to organize a security escort for our departure. As we make our way toward the private jet, Sofiya stares openly at the tall men in suits, her fascination evident. When they notice her watching, a few of them smile and wave. Bratva or not, my men have soft spots when it comes to children. Protecting family is sacred to all of us.

“This way, Gospodin Sokolov,” says a security officer, gesturing toward the plane waiting for us on the tarmac. “Everything is ready. You can board now.”

“ Spasibo, ” I reply, nodding at one of my men to tip him.

I guide Katya and Sofiya up the tarmac, my hand resting on Katya’s wrist to ensure she doesn’t stray. The stairs to the jet are already in place, and the sleek aircraft gleams under the harsh glow of the overhead lights. As we pass other private planes, a group of flight attendants in crimson coats watches us. For some reason, they wave, their thick accents floating through the chilly air as they greet us.

Katya takes the signal when I give her a slight push forward. She grabs Sofiya’s little hand, helping her up the stairs. Sofiya climbs eagerly, her attention darting from the attendants to the jet itself, while my men keep a watchful eye on them. Their hands hover near their waists, where their guns are tucked, their eyes constantly scanning for potential threats.

As I’m about to follow them, I pause. Something doesn’t feel right. Turning, I motion for one of my men to approach.

“What’s your name?” I ask, already mentally filing away the details of this exchange.

“Konstantin, Gospodin, ” he answers, his gaze locked straight ahead.

I nod toward the plane where the red-coated attendants are still standing. “Find out who owns that jet. Take a few men with you and ensure they’re not a threat.”

“Yes, Gospodin, ” he replies immediately, signaling two others to follow him.

I take one last look around, scanning for anything I might’ve missed. Satisfied that the area is secure, I climb the stairs and step inside the jet.

The interior is as luxurious as I expected—Aleks has outdone himself. Plush beige recliners surround a polished mahogany table, and gold-plated lamps cast a warm glow over the cabin.

Sofiya is wide-eyed, her awe written all over her face as she takes in her surroundings. She runs her hands over the soft armrest of a chair, her smile brighter than I’ve seen it yet.

Katya, on the other hand, looks like she’d rather be anywhere else. Her eyes are glassy, her lips pressed into a thin, defiant line. I can see the anger simmering beneath her calm exterior, and for once, I don’t blame her.

None of this is what she wanted.

I won’t let her twist what happened to make me the villain— she made this mess. She hid my daughter from me. She denied me years I’ll never get back. Whatever happiness she had in Moscow, she destroyed it the moment she decided to keep Sofiya a secret.

A flight attendant approaches us, and I have to stifle a groan. Of all people, it had to be her. The same woman I fucked on my flight to Moscow.

“Good evening. My name is Alyona,” she says, her voice dripping with sweetness as she smiles at me. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

“Tell the captain to get us in the air,” I reply curtly, ignoring her flirtatious tone.

“Of course,” she says with a flutter of her lashes. “I’ll bring you something to drink.”

As she turns to leave, I glance at Katya. She’s watching me, her green eyes burning with restrained fury.

There’s so much emotion simmering between us—anger, bitterness, sadness—but we don’t speak. Not yet.

Sofiya busies herself buckling her seatbelt, her small hands fumbling with the clasp before she clicks it into place. Alyona returns with champagne for the adults and juice for Sofiya, who accepts the glass with a shy smile.

The flight is supposed to last ten hours—plenty of time for tempers to flare—but at least the seats are comfortable enough to sleep in.

As the rest of my men board and the jet begins to taxi, I take a moment to speak with Konstantin.

“What did you find out?” I ask him.

“The plane belongs to an actor,” he says. “We ran a background check—he’s legit.”

“So, there’s nothing to worry about?”

“Nothing whatsoever,” Konstantin assures me.

I nod, satisfied. “Good work.”

With that taken care of, I return to my seat across from Katya and Sofiya. I don’t know how to bridge the chasm between us, but I have to stay close. Sofiya’s trust may come naturally—it’s Katya who will be the harder battle.

Sofiya’s breathing slows, her head resting against the seat as sleep claims her. Katya immediately pulls a blanket over her, tucking it carefully around her small frame. Watching them, I feel an unexpected warmth in my chest.

“There’s a bathroom you can use to clean up,” I tell Katya, noticing the dark circles under her eyes and the pallor of her skin.

She shoots me a scathing look. “And leave her alone with you? Not a chance.”

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” I say, my voice rough. “We don’t need to fight. We could be a team.”

Her laugh is sharp, humorless. “A team? I guess we see things differently.”

“Clearly,” I mutter, leaning back in my seat and crossing my arms. “How are you holding up?”

She snorts. “Really? You’re seriously asking me that? I’m fine, Igor. Are you done playing the caring father?”

“It’s called being polite,” I reply with a faint smirk. “You should try it sometime.”

“Right,” she snaps. “Why don’t you spend your time with the flight attendant? I’m sure she’d love your company.”

Her jealousy is obvious, and I can’t help but grin. “Is that so?”

“Yep,” she bites out, turning her back to me. “Now leave me the fuck alone.”

She adjusts her recliner, shifting so her body curls protectively around Sofiya. Her back is stiff, her anger radiating off her in waves.

I don’t care. In fact, I enjoy riling her up. The fire in her eyes, her fierce energy—it’s intoxicating. Every argument, every pointed glare only makes me hungrier for her.

“Before you get any ideas,” I say, my voice calm but firm, “when we arrive in New York, you and Sofiya are staying with me. You’ll have your own room. But you’re always welcome to share mine if the mood strikes.”

Her shoulders stiffen, and I can practically feel her seething.

Good. Let her simmer. I’ve got all the time in the world to win this war.

“Can you just shut up? I’d love to get some sleep.”

Not ready to let her retreat, I press on. “Does Sofiya only know Russian sign language? Or does she know English too?”

Katya doesn’t even glance my way. “Both. Annette’s taught her a lot.”

Her cool, detached tone grates on my nerves. It’s infuriating how effortlessly she holds all the cards when it comes to our daughter. She knows every detail, every milestone, every little piece of Sofiya’s life—details I’ve been robbed of.

“Who’s Annette?” I ask sharply, masking my frustration with feigned indifference.

“Her au pair,” Katya replies, her tone sharp enough to cut. She finally turns her head to look at me, her green eyes sparking with challenge. “I’m surprised you don’t already know that. Isn’t gathering intel your specialty?”

“Are you baiting me?” I ask, cocking a brow.

Katya sits up straighter, her fiery energy sparking to life. “Fuck you! Fuck you, your brothers, and your entire family. What did we ever do to you?”

Her words don’t sting—not like she wants them to. If anything, they amuse me. My lips curl into a smirk. “Fuck me and my brothers, huh? But not my sister? That’s interesting. You must really love Kata, huh?”

“Kata’s only flaw is that she was born a Sokolov,” Katya snaps, venom dripping from her tone. “But even that’s been fixed. Volkov suits her better, don’t you think?”

I laugh softly, the sound low and dangerous. “Careful, Katya. Your claws are showing.”

But something in her words snaps the last thread of my patience. I spring to my feet and move around the table, my movements quick and fluid. She stiffens as I kneel in front of her, bringing our faces level.

Before she can pull back, I reach out and wrap my fingers around her jaw. Her skin is warm beneath my hand, her pulse fluttering under my thumb.

“As much as I appreciate the banter,” I murmur, my lips inches from hers, “how about you stop pushing me to go full Bratva on your sexy ass?”

Her breath catches, her chest rising and falling rapidly. I let my gaze drop for just a moment, and there they are—her pebbled nipples pressing against the fabric of her blouse. Her body betrays her, even as her fiery glare screams defiance.

She’s fighting a losing battle, and we both know it.

But still, I let her win this round.

“Sit back down, Igor,” she says through gritted teeth, her voice trembling with barely suppressed anger. “Leave me be.”

I don’t move. Instead, I lean closer, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Not now. Not ever. You belong to me, Katya. Whether you want it or not, you’re mine.”

Her lips curl into a sneer. “I won’t let you touch me again.”

I chuckle softly, my grin slow and deliberate. “Really? Because your body tells a different story. Your breathing, your hard nipples, your flushed skin... I’ve seen you in heat, volchitsa . There’s no point denying how much you want me.”

“I hate you,” she hisses, her voice trembling with rage.

“Well,” I say with a shrug, my smirk never wavering, “I guess I’ll just have to work harder so you let me have you again.”

I release her jaw and stand, taking my time as I return to my seat. I lean back, watching as she shifts closer to Sofiya. She tucks herself protectively against our daughter, her shoulders tense and her gaze fixed firmly away from me.

She can’t hide from me. Not forever.

There’s no chance in hell I’m letting her go. She’s already gotten a taste of what’s to come, and soon enough, she’ll understand exactly who she belongs to.

For now, I’ll give her the space she so desperately wants. But my patience has limits, and when it runs out, Katya will have a choice to make: be mine or never see Sofiya again.

It shouldn’t be that hard.

After all, no woman has ever said no to me—not when I’ve set my sights on her. And Katya? Right now, she’s all I see.

I grin, the corner of my mouth curling as I let the moment settle.

I love it when I’ve already won.