Mafia Prince’s Secret Baby (New York Bratva)

10. Katya

10

KATYA

A slight shake of my shoulders pulls me from sleep. Disoriented, I blink rapidly, realizing Sofiya isn’t beside me. Panic grips me like a vice, and I bolt upright, my heart pounding.

“She’s fine,” Igor says calmly, kneeling next to my chair. His cool, unreadable gaze doesn’t help the storm building inside me. “We’ll be landing soon. You’ve got ten minutes if you want to freshen up.”

“Where is she?” I demand, my voice sharper than I intend.

“In the captain’s cabin with the pilot and copilot,” he replies smoothly, completely unbothered by my alarm. “Apparently, one of them knows sign language. Alyona’s with them.”

That name ignites my temper, fueling the embers of rage I’ve been trying to smother since this nightmare started.

“Figures,” I snap, unable to stop myself. “The better option would’ve been for you to actually look after your daughter. But no, you’d rather leave her with that dumb slut. You’re despicable.”

Igor’s blue eyes brighten with amusement, his crooked smile tugging at his lips. He doesn’t even flinch. If anything, my anger seems to entertain him.

A shiver snakes down my spine, equal parts fury and… no. No. I refuse to acknowledge whatever it is that makes my skin prickle when he looks at me like that. I won’t fall for his charm again. I’ve already had a night to think things through, and I know this much—Igor Sokolov can smirk, threaten, and flirt all he wants. He’s not worming his way into my bed. Never again.

“You should go freshen up,” he says, leaning back like he owns the air between us. “Sofiya’s perfectly comfortable where she is. Besides, you look like you could use some cold water.”

“Thanks for the compliment,” I grumble, standing. “I only need five minutes. There’s no one here I care to impress.”

“Suit yourself,” he replies coolly, his smirk still lingering. “See you in a bit.”

When I return, the plane begins its descent, the faint hum of the announcement signal filling the cabin. Moments later, Alyona reappears, leading Sofiya back to her seat. My little girl’s smile is radiant, her excitement unmistakable.

She loves this—traveling, the novelty of the captain’s cabin, the whole adventure. If only the circumstances were different.

The moment we touch down, dread washes over me like a cold wave. The plane slows to a stop, and the flight crew announces we’re free to disembark. Igor heads for the exit, his stride confident and unhurried. I linger, holding Sofiya’s hand tightly, waiting for his signal.

Sofiya looks up at me, her bright blue eyes full of curiosity as she signs, “Are we home yet?”

I hesitate, forcing a smile as I sign back, “We’re very far from home, but it’ll be fun.”

“Will Annette be there?” she asks, her small hands moving quickly.

“No,” I reply, my chest tightening when her face falls in disappointment. I panic, grasping for something to lift her spirits. “You’ll meet a boy your age.”

Her face brightens instantly, a hopeful smile replacing her frown. Relief washes over me, but it’s fleeting. I wonder how she’ll react when she learns Damien is her brother. Will the idea of having a sibling excite her? Or will it overwhelm her?

She hasn’t asked me about Igor yet, but I know it’s coming. And when she does, I can only hope I’ll have the right words.

“All clear,” Igor calls out from the exit, his voice cutting through my thoughts.

The flight attendant offers me a forced smile, but when her gaze shifts to Sofiya, her expression softens with genuine warmth.

Whatever, girlfriend. You can have him as far as I’m concerned.

We descend the stairs, stepping onto the tarmac. A sleek black SUV waits nearby, its engine idling. Two men—Igor’s, of course—are already seated in the front. Igor strides toward the car, his shoulders exuding power.

But before he reaches the vehicle, a loud horn blares, cutting through the stillness of the runway.

“Fucking perfect,” Igor mutters, his jaw tightening as he turns toward the source of the interruption.

Curious, I glance in the same direction. The moment I spot the culprit, a wide smile spreads across my face. Without looking at Sofiya, I sign, “Uncle Nik is here.”

Her eyes widen with delight as I lift her into my arms. She claps her hands, waving excitedly as a Bentley glides toward us.

Nikolai.

I’ve never been so relieved to see him in my life. Sofiya adores both him and Katarina. They were always welcome in our home whenever they visited Moscow. Of course, they had no idea who Sofiya’s father was. I’d made sure of that.

The Bentley rolls to a stop, and Nikolai steps out, slamming the door behind him. The sharp click echoes in the air, matching the steel in his expression.

His stormy, ice-cold eyes lock on Igor, and my heart stumbles in my chest.

It looks like Vasiliy filled him in on the details.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Igor demands, his voice low and dangerous.

“I should kill you for touching my sister in the first place,” Nikolai growls, his tone dripping with menace.

“Are you kidding me right now?” Igor scoffs, throwing up his hands. “I’ve already gone through this bullshit with your brother. Do we really need to rehash it?”

Before Nikolai can respond, the Bentley’s passenger door opens, and Katarina steps out. She hurries to position herself between them, her movements graceful but deliberate.

“Nick,” she says softly, her voice holding ten different layers of meaning. One word, and yet, Nikolai understands it completely.

His jaw ticks, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. But slowly, ever so slightly, his shoulders relax.

Katarina turns her pale green eyes on her brother. “There’s no need for violence.”

Igor doesn’t flinch. His gaze remains locked on Nikolai, unyielding. “All I want is to take my daughter home,” he says curtly. “Stay out of my way, and we won’t have a problem.”

“We’re only here to say hello,” Katarina says again, her calm tone belying the tension brewing between the two men.

The air is heavy and suffocating, like the calm before a thunderstorm. My pulse races as I watch them, both refusing to back down, both simmering with unspoken threats. I don’t have to look hard to see this moment is just a lull—a small detour before an inevitable, bloody battle.

Igor’s scowl deepens, carving harsh lines into his sharp features. After a pause that feels like it could snap at any moment, he gives a stiff nod.

Reluctantly, I release my grip on Sofiya’s small hand. She doesn’t hesitate for even a second. Before I can blink, she wriggles free and bolts toward Katarina and Nik, her laughter spilling out like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

Katarina sweeps her up effortlessly, spinning her around. Sofiya’s joy is high and breathless, her tiny arms stretching wide as she’s lifted up like she’s flying. For a moment, the tension dissolves and the air feels lighter.

Nick reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small, plush teddy bear.

Always prepared.

Sofiya’s face lights up with pure, unfiltered wonder. Her eyes grow wide, her little fingers curling around the soft fur like it’s the most magical thing in the world. Without hesitation, she signs thank you with one hand, holding the bear tightly to her chest with the other.

Her shy smile, soft and delicate, pulls at my heartstrings. For just a moment, I allow myself to breathe.

But, of course, Igor won’t let the moment last.

“That’s enough,” he snaps, his sharp tone cutting through the fragile spell like a jagged blade.

The laughter stops. Katarina’s hands falter, lowering Sofiya gently to the ground. Sofiya glances back at Igor, her smile shrinking but not disappearing entirely.

Nikolai turns to Igor, his expression cold and unyielding. “I’m only letting this go because the child is tired,” he snarls, his voice low and dangerous. “Leave now but know this—I have my eyes and ears everywhere.”

The unspoken threat is loud and clear.

Katarina walks over to me, her movements soft and deliberate, as if she knows I’m on the verge of breaking. She leans in and presses a light kiss to my cheek, her touch comforting but bittersweet.

“I wish you would’ve told us,” she whispers, her voice full of quiet regret. “We could’ve helped you.”

Tears prick the corners of my eyes, but I blink them back, forcing myself to stay composed. “This is my mess,” I murmur. “I have to deal with it.”

She steps back, her pale green eyes holding mine. “Call us,” she says softly.

I nod, unable to find the words to respond.

Taking a deep breath, I turn back to the car. Igor’s men wait patiently near the vehicle, their faces blank and unreadable. Igor stands nearby, his posture tense, his icy gaze tracking my every move.

“Katya,” Nikolai calls out, his voice halting my steps.

I turn, and his expression softens just slightly. “No hug for your big brother?”

I glance at Igor, whose jaw clenches at Nikolai’s words. His irritation is palpable, but I couldn’t care less. Rolling my eyes at his territorial glare, I rush into Nikolai’s arms.

The moment his strong arms wrap around me, the tears I’ve been holding back spill over. Silent, hot streaks roll down my cheeks as I press my face against his shoulder.

“It’ll be okay,” Nikolai murmurs, his voice low and steady. “Sofiya needs this. Just hang in there.”

For a fleeting moment, I let myself believe him.

------

The car ride to Igor’s condo is quiet, almost stifling.

Sofiya sits between us in the backseat, intently looking out the window. She watches the city with wide eyes, drinking in the unfamiliar sights. It’s her first time outside Moscow, and despite the long flight, her curiosity hasn’t dimmed.

Igor remains silent, his presence a heavy weight in the enclosed space. I don’t dare glance at him, keeping my focus on Sofiya instead.

When we pull up to the sleek high-rise in Brooklyn Heights, before I can even unbuckle my seatbelt, his large hand engulfs her tiny one as he helps her out with surprising gentleness.

I watch him closely, my stomach tightening at the sight.

He grabs our bags with ease, then turns to me, his arm shooting out in a silent command. He doesn’t need to say anything—his expectation is clear.

Follow.

I grit my teeth, swallowing the bitter retort bubbling up my throat, and grab Sofiya’s other hand.

This will be a test of patience—for both of us.

The elevator ride is silent, save for the faint hum of the machinery. Igor doesn’t look at me, his gaze fixed ahead, but I can feel the tension radiating off him in waves. Sofiya, oblivious to the weight of it all, grips her teddy bear tightly and bounces slightly on her feet.

When the doors slide open, I step out behind Igor—and freeze.

My breath catches in my throat, my hand tightening instinctively around Sofiya’s.

Blood.

It’s everywhere.

The entrance to Igor’s condo is a scene straight out of a nightmare. Dark, sticky crimson pools around shoe boxes scattered haphazardly across the floor. Some are partially open, revealing… I can’t bring myself to finish the thought.

My heart pounds wildly as I pull Sofiya behind me, shielding her from the horrific sight. I can barely breathe. My mind races with gruesome possibilities, each one worse than the last.

Igor steps forward, his posture rigid, his expression dark. He pulls a gun from his waistband, scanning the corridor with sharp, calculating eyes.

His voice is low and clipped as he pulls out his phone. “Code fucking red,” he barks. “Get everyone here. Now.”

The sight of all those bloody boxes outside Igor’s apartment is enough to make my stomach churn. Sofiya clutches my hand tightly, her wide eyes darting between me and the bloodstained floor. Her little fingers dig into my palm, trembling.

“Something’s wrong,” she signs, her movements hesitant and unsure.

I kneel in front of her, forcing myself to block out the gruesome scene surrounding us and focus on her innocent face. “Nothing that can’t be fixed,” I sign back, though my own hands tremble. “We’ll be okay.”

She doesn’t look convinced. Her other hand tightens around the teddy bear she’s been carrying since we left the airport. I force a smile, desperate to distract her. “Remember the boy I told you about?”

Sofiya nods, her lip trembling slightly as her gaze flits toward the blood again.

“You’ll meet him soon,” I sign, hoping the promise will be enough to keep her from focusing on the carnage around us.

But Igor’s voice cuts through the tense moment, sharp and commanding. “Don’t move.”

I glance up to find him marching toward the apartment door, holding a gun in his hand. His shoulders are rigid, every step brimming with tension.

“Wait,” I snap, my voice a little louder than I intended. “What’s going on, Igor? Who did this?”

He doesn’t answer. His hand is already on the door.

Before I can demand an explanation, he flings it open and storms inside. My heart lurches, and I instinctively glance at Sofiya, whose grip on my hand hasn’t loosened.

For a moment, there’s only silence, broken by the muffled sound of Igor’s voice. Then?—

“Papa!”

The child’s voice carries into the hallway, bright and joyful, shattering the suffocating tension in an instant.

I blink, startled. That must be Damien.

Igor appears in the doorway seconds later, his face pale, but his eyes blazing with focus. “He’s fine,” he says, his voice clipped.

Relief washes over me, but it’s short-lived as he turns to us. “Come inside. Both of you.”

I hesitate, glancing down at Sofiya. She’s still clinging to my hand, her little brow furrowed in confusion. “I’m not stepping into that apartment until you explain what’s going on,” I hiss, my voice low but sharp.

“Not out here,” Igor growls, his jaw clenching. “Sofiya doesn’t need to watch this.” He gestures toward the bloody boxes behind us, his tone hardening. “Inside. Now.”

I want to argue, but I glance back at Sofiya and know he’s right. Whatever horrors are waiting outside this door are nothing she should be exposed to.

Still, I can’t resist one last jab. “You better fix this,” I say, venom lacing every word. “If you think I’m staying in the middle of whatever hell you’ve brought into our lives?—”

“Enough,” he snaps, but his tone lacks its usual bite. His gaze flickers briefly toward Sofiya, and for the first time, I see something unexpected in his eyes. Worry.

Good. He should be worried.

Holding Sofiya’s hand, I follow him inside.

The first thing I notice is the smell. Garlic, onions... something cooking. The normalcy of it clashes horribly with the chaos outside. I barely have time to process it before noticing a small boy standing behind Igor, holding a Lego piece in his hand. An elderly woman wearing an apron appears from the kitchen.

“Papa, play with me?”

Damien.

Igor kneels, scooping him up into his arms. His whole demeanor shifts as he holds his son close, his hand smoothing over the boy’s dark hair. For a brief moment, all the tension drains from his shoulders, replaced by something almost human.

“Hey, buddy,” Igor murmurs, his voice low and steady.

Damien pulls back slightly, his bright blue eyes scanning his father’s face. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice tinged with concern.

“Nothing, malysha ,” Igor replies, forcing a smile. “Just work stuff.” He sets Damien back on his feet, ruffling his hair and nodding to the babysitter. “We’ll play later.”

The boy hesitates, glancing at me and Sofiya curiously. Igor follows his gaze, his expression hardening.

“These are visitors,” he says, his tone clipped. “Be polite.”

Igor glances back at me, his expression unreadable. He gestures toward the door, his voice gruff. “Stay here with Olga. Keep the kids together. Don’t go near the door. I’ll handle this.”

“Handle it?” I snap, my voice trembling with anger. “You better hope you can fix this. One word to my brothers, and you’re done.”

Without a response, he strides out of the room, leaving me alone with the children and the confused woman.

“I’m making borscht , if you guys are hungry,” she offers timidly in broken English.

“We are not hungry, thank you,” I respond in Russian and observe her expression softening. “ I’m Katya, by the way.”

Damien waves at Sofiya, who clutches her teddy bear tightly to her chest and our focus shifts to the children. Slowly, Sofiya lifts her free hand and waves back, her shyness melting into a tentative smile.

For the first time since we left Moscow, she looks happy.

Sofiya’s still clutching her stuffy, but her attention is now fully on Damien, who is already dragging her to his Lego rocket ship. She watches him with growing curiosity, her earlier unease fading as she signs something to me.

“What’s he saying?”

I glance at Damien, who’s talking a mile a minute about some toy robot in his hands.

“He’s talking about his toys,” I sign back. “Go play. It’s okay.”

She hesitates, looking at me for reassurance. I nod, and finally, she moves toward Damien, her smile growing as he hands her a bright red car.

For a brief moment, the tension eases.

But it doesn’t last.

I glance toward the closed door, my mind racing with questions. Who left those boxes? What kind of hell have we just stepped into?

And how long can I keep Sofiya safe in Igor’s world?