Mafia Prince’s Secret Baby (New York Bratva)

15. Igor

15

IGOR

A nother fight is about to break out, and if I’m not careful, it’ll be my fault. As much as I want to put Montoya’s smug face through the nearest wall for dropping those bloody boxes at my doorstep—or for even being involved in this mess—I know I can’t. Not yet. Too much is at stake, and if I play this wrong, we’re all getting out of here in body bags. For all I know, Montoya could be the one behind the theft.

I force myself to breathe and pick up the bottle of wine, offering a carefully controlled smile as I swirl the crimson liquid. “More wine?” I ask, glancing around the table. Empty plates stare back at me, the brief reprieve of dinner now nothing but a prelude to the real reason we’re all here.

“Why not?” Timur replies, raising his glass with a casualness that catches me off guard. He’s calm—too calm—and it takes everything in me not to read into it. He knows exactly how heated this conversation is about to get, so his indifference is either a calculated move or a way to provoke someone else into losing theirs.

I refill his glass, then glance at Katya. Her wine sits untouched. She glares back at me like I’m something she scraped off the bottom of her shoe.

Then, with a sharpness that turns all heads her way, she breaks the brief silence. “Not to point out the obvious, but it’s getting late, and there’s still plenty to discuss.”

“Well noted , senorita, ” Montoya cuts in with a sly smile, his hazel eyes flicking to her with more interest than I’d like. “I’ve been waiting all night for a somewhat reasonable explanation as to where our shipment has disappeared to—and why I haven’t seen a single dollar of my money yet.”

His voice is a ticking bomb, every syllable shaving seconds off the fuse. The silence that follows feels like the moment right before a blade strikes.

My jaw clenches, and my hands tighten around the neck of the wine bottle. Aleks and I exchange a glance. He looks calm, but I know better. The tension in his shoulders matches my own, and even Mikhail—usually oblivious to his surroundings—is nervously tapping his fingers against the table. If it weren’t for the fact that his fuck up put us all in this position, I might even pity him.

Katya speaks again, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “Since I’m new to all this,” she says, her tone measured, “I’d appreciate it if we started from the beginning. Let’s talk through the basics. What happened, and who did what?”

I bite the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to stay composed. She sounds like a lawyer interrogating a hostile witness, and I hate how much that’s turning me on. She doesn’t seem to give a damn how powerful the men at this table are.

Montoya raises an eyebrow, his smirk returning. “So, you’re more than just eye candy. Are you the one in charge now?”

“Only when I have questions,” Katya retorts, her tone dripping with confidence. “Who’s going to volunteer to give me some straight answers?”

It takes everything in me not to laugh. She’s playing this brilliantly, exuding just enough fire to keep Montoya intrigued without outright challenging him. Even Timur hides a flicker of amusement behind his glass.

Montoya leans back in his chair, now openly entertained. “Your brother-in-law over there,” he says, nodding at Mikhail, “was in charge of receiving the biggest shipment from Colombia to date.”

“Yeah?” Katya replies, her sharp gaze locking onto Mikhail, who shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I’m going to assume something didn’t go as planned.”

I swear I hear Timur stifle a laugh, though he quickly masks it. Mikhail’s face tightens, his discomfort growing. He knows what’s on the line here. It seems to be dawning on him that this mistake could cost him his life. And the worst part? I can’t reassure him. Because if this meeting doesn’t end with questions answered, he might be in deep trouble.

“Our cargo has disappeared under his watch,” Montoya says dryly. “That’s the gist of it.”

“We’ve been robbed,” Mikhail blurts, his voice defensive and weak.

“You claim you’ve been robbed,” Montoya corrects, his tone sharp with warning. “Unfortunately, you don’t have any proof, which means my boss has no choice but to hold you accountable for the missing shipment.”

My blood boils. “This has never happened before,” I argue, my anger getting the better of me.

“That’s because no one was stupid enough to try,” my father snaps, his cold voice slicing through the tension like a whip. “So either you and Aleks find out who did it, or?—”

“Or you’ll pay the price,” Montoya finishes, his hazel eyes gleaming with barely veiled menace. He doesn’t elaborate, but the meaning is clear: money isn’t the only thing they’ll demand. And I’d bet everything that blood is what they’re after.

“We’ll recover the shipment,” I promise, my arms crossing over my chest.

“You better,” Montoya says, his tone light but deadly. “Good business partners are hard to find, especially ones I like.”

“My boys will get it done,” my father assures him, his voice carrying the weight of finality.

Aleks and I exchange another glance. There’s still one more matter to address, and neither of us is willing to let it slide.

“Did you kill Aleks’s dog?” I demand, my gaze locking onto Montoya’s.

“Excuse me?” Montoya’s amusement vanishes, replaced by a glare so sharp it could cut steel. His expression darkens, a storm brewing behind his hazel eyes. “If you’re accusing me of something, you’d better be damn sure of it.”

His reaction is immediate and visceral. For the first time since this meeting began, I believe him. He didn’t do it. But that doesn’t mean I can let it go. Not when I have children under my roof and a front door that was just turned into a delivery zone for mutilated body parts.

Katya clears her throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “That wasn’t our intention,” she says smoothly, her tone soothing but firm. “We’re simply trying to make sense of what happened.”

“Make sense of what?” Montoya snaps, his frustration evident. “I believe it’s your turn to explain the basics to me.”

I glance at Katya, and a chill runs down my spine. Her calmness is far more dangerous than Montoya’s anger. My instincts flare as I tap my foot against hers under the table, trying to warn her to tread lightly. Her response? She kicks my leg—hard.

I grit my teeth, biting back the urge to curse at her. She’ll pay for that later.

Preferably in bed.

Katya smiles sweetly at Montoya, tilting her head. “The Sokolov men like to keep me out of their manly business,” she says, her voice dripping with feigned innocence. “But I do know some of the details, and I’d be happy to share them with you—if you promise to at least try to help.”

My fists clench. What the hell is she playing at?

Montoya raises his eyebrows, intrigued. “Alright, I’ll bite. What’s this all about?”

Katya sits up straighter, all business. “This morning, we arrived from Russia. And when we got to Igor’s apartment, there were several packages waiting for him. Let’s just say they weren’t from Amazon.”

“This isn’t a fucking joke,” I snarl.

Montoya chuckles darkly, his gaze flicking to me. “No, it isn’t,” he replies. “But I assume those packages had something to do with Aleks’s dog?”

Katya nods, her face unreadable.

And just like that, the room plunges deeper into dangerous waters.

As Katya lays out the details of the boxes, her calm, measured tone does nothing to mask the grotesque truth of what was inside. My attention isn’t on her words, though. It’s on Montoya and Timur. I watch them like a hawk, studying every flicker of their expressions.

Montoya raises his brows as she speaks, but otherwise, he remains infuriatingly composed. His poker face is flawless, his hazel eyes giving nothing away. Timur, on the other hand, is harder to read. His lips press into a tight line, his jaw stiff, but it could be irritation just as much as it could be guilt. Neither of them looks happy, but more importantly, neither looks surprised.

I don’t trust them.

“Do you have any idea who could’ve done this?” Montoya asks when Katya finishes, his voice smooth but laced with steel.

“We assumed it was you,” I say bluntly, locking eyes with him.

The room goes silent, the weight of my accusation slamming into the space between us. Montoya doesn’t flinch. Instead, his hazel eyes narrow, and his glare sharpens into something that could cut glass.

“But,” I add quickly, clearing my throat to ease the tension, “based on your reaction, I can tell it wasn’t your doing.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, his head tilting slightly as he studies me like a cat toying with a mouse.

“Have you ever heard of a Colombian necktie?” Montoya asks softly.

Before I can respond, my father cuts in, his voice sharp and commanding. “We don’t need to talk about that,” he says firmly. “They meant no disrespect.”

I glance at him, surprised. He looks calm, but the edge in his tone tells me all I need to know—Montoya is drawing a line, and my father knows better than to cross it.

Of course, Mikhail, ever the idiot, chooses this moment to open his mouth. “What’s a Colombian necktie?” he asks.

Timur exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose, while Aleks shoots Mikhail a glare that could set him on fire. I fight the urge to bury my face in my hands.

Montoya doesn’t look away from me. If anything, his gaze sharpens, his lips curling into a smile that’s anything but friendly. “It’s such an intriguing way to die,” he says, his tone dropping to a whisper. “IfClan del Golfowanted you to pay, that’s how we’d do it. Cut the throat, pull the tongue through the slit. It sends a message. A clear one.” His expression softens, almost fondly. “I don’t know about my friends, amigos, ” he adds, glancing around the table. “But I certainly wouldn’t waste my time on a dog. They’re too pure for our world.”

“As I said,” I reply carefully, forcing my tone to remain even, “we thought it was you. But clearly, after this… lovely dinner conversation,” I gesture slightly, trying to keep my irritation in check, “we now know we were wrong.”

“You were,” Montoya agrees, his glare icy.

“Okay then,” Katya interjects, clearing her throat to break the tension. “Any ideas who itwas?”

She draws everyone’s attention, her words cutting through the silence like a lifeline. I glance at her, a sharp pang of frustration shooting through me. She’s playing a dangerous game by speaking up, but the way she holds her ground—composed, unwavering—commands the room in a way even I can’t deny.

Montoya’s gaze shifts to her, his expression unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes—a flicker of curiosity, maybe even respect.

Then it hits me, and from the look on Montoya’s face, I can tell he’s come to the same conclusion.

“It was the same fuckers that stole the shipment,” I state darkly, the realization settling like a storm cloud over the table.

Montoya’s lips curve into a slow, humorless smile. He rises to his feet, smoothing the lapels of his suit jacket as he towers over the table. “That doesn’t mean you’re off the hook,” he says, his voice soft but carrying the weight of a sledgehammer. “Find the cargo or pay the price.” His eyes meet mine, holding my gaze with chilling intensity. “Tick. Tock.”

With that, he turns on his heel and strides toward the door, Timur following closely behind.

The tension in the room doesn’t ease once they’re gone. If anything, it settles even heavier, like a noose tightening around my neck. My father leans back in his chair, the wheels turning in his head. Aleks exhales quietly beside me, his gaze flicking to Mikhail, who looks like he’s about to vomit.

Katya remains seated, her hands tightly clasped in her lap. She doesn’t look at me, but I can feel the anger radiating off her in waves.

I take a deep breath, forcing my fists to unclench. “Aleks,” I say finally. “Get the men ready. We have work to do.”

He nods silently, rising from his seat and motioning for Mikhail to follow him.

As they leave, I turn to Katya, who’s still staring at the table like she’s trying to burn a hole through it.

“You,” I say sharply, leaning closer. “Don’t ever take over a conversation like that again.”

Her head snaps up, her green eyes blazing with defiance. “You’re welcome,” she snaps back with a scoff.

I clench my jaw, leaning in until my face is inches from hers. “I don’t need you to save me.”

She leans forward, refusing to back down. “Good. Because I didn’t do it for you.”

We lock eyes, the tension between us electric and crackling. For a moment, I can’t tell if I want to strangle her or throw her against the nearest wall and rail her so good that the only thing she can do is scream my name.

But there’s no time for that now. Not while our enemies are circling like vultures.

I stand abruptly, pushing away from the table. “Let’s get to bed,” I say gruffly, holding out my hand for her. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”