Mafia Prince’s Secret Baby (New York Bratva)

19. Igor

19

IGOR

N ew York Lennox Health Center is familiar territory.

I’ve been here more times than I can count—patching up bullet wounds, stitching up knife gashes, or visiting someone after a job gone south. This hospital isn’t just a place for treatment; it’s an extension of the Bratva, with plenty of staff on the payroll to ensure privacy when it’s needed the most. Gunshot wounds that never happened, medical records that magically disappear, doctors who don’t ask questions as long as their envelopes stay fat.

It’s efficient. It’s clean. It works.

But today, as we step inside, it feels different. This isn’t about business. It’s not about the Bratva.

This is about Sofiya.

I glance down at her as we approach the otolaryngology department. She clutches Katya’s hand, her expression calm, as always, but I can see the tiny flicker of nerves in the way her fingers tighten against her mother’s.

I’m not used to feeling this way. Off balance. Vulnerable. Powerless.

But I’ll be damned if I let anyone see it.

Dr. Tolliver is waiting for us outside her office, her crisp white coat as spotless as her reputation. “Good morning, Mr. Sokolov,” she says warmly, extending her hand to me.

“Dr. Tolliver,” I reply, shaking her hand firmly. “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice.”

“Anytime,” she says with a practiced smile before turning to Katya. “You must be Miss Volkov.”

Katya steps forward, shaking the doctor’s hand. “Yes, and this is my daughter.”

Her daughter.

I bite down the urge to correct her, clenching my teeth so hard my jaw aches. Sofiya is our daughter, but Katya seems determined to act like I’m nothing more than a bystander. If she thinks she can cut me out of Sofiya’s life, she’s delusional.

“Ah, Sofiya,” Dr. Tolliver says, switching smoothly to sign language. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

Sofiya takes half a step back, hiding behind Katya’s legs.

Dr. Tolliver chuckles softly, waving her hand in a way that feels friendly, not patronizing. “A shy girl, eh?” she signs as she speaks, her movements deliberate and gentle.

For a moment, Sofiya doesn’t move. Then, after what feels like an eternity, she edges forward, still gripping Katya’s hand like a lifeline.

I can’t explain the sudden tightness in my chest. Watching her like this—hesitant, unsure—stirs something in me. Without thinking, I reach out and take her free hand.

She freezes at first, her small fingers stiff against mine. For a second, I think she’s going to pull away. But then her dark blue eyes flick up to meet mine, and the tension eases.

Her hand stays in mine.

And I don’t let go.

“Now why don’t we all step inside so we can get started,” Dr. Tolliver says, motioning toward her office.

I follow, holding Sofiya’s hand tightly in mine until she moves toward a corner of the room, where a small collection of toys is neatly arranged.

“How about you play for a bit while I talk to your parents?” Dr. Tolliver signs to her.

Sofiya glances at Katya for approval, and when she nods, Sofiya slowly lowers herself to the carpet, running her fingers across the toys like she’s deciding whether they’re safe.

I watch her for a moment before turning back to Dr. Tolliver, who’s already taking a seat behind her desk. I sit down heavily, leaning forward, my elbows resting on my knees.

“So,” I say, cutting straight to the point, “what do you think? Will the implant work?”

Dr. Tolliver folds her hands on the desk, her expression calm but focused. “First, we need to make sure she’s a suitable candidate,” she explains. “Let me walk you through the process so you know what to expect.”

Katya nods beside me, but I don’t miss the way her shoulders are tensing.

“Today, we’ll start with an initial consultation,” Dr. Tolliver continues. “This part shouldn’t take longer than an hour. We’ll review Sofiya’s medical history and the progression of her neurofibromatosis, type II. I’ve already received all her records from Moscow, which will help speed things up. After that, I’ll perform a brief physical exam on Sofiya.”

“You’re familiar with her condition, then?” Katya asks, her voice steady but carrying that protective edge I’ve come to recognize.

“Absolutely,” Dr. Tolliver replies. “I’ve been deeply involved in improving the technology for auditory brainstem implants.”

Katya exhales softly, a faint note of relief escaping her lips.

“Good,” she murmurs.

“What’s next?” I press, my focus sharpening. “How long will the whole process take?”

“We’ll need to run a full assessment,” Dr. Tolliver says. “After today’s consultation, we’ll schedule a hearing test with our audiologist. He’ll use techniques specifically designed for children Sofiya’s age to check her hearing ability. That appointment will take about two hours.”

“And then?”

“We’ll also need to do an MRI scan to get detailed images of her brain and ears,” Dr. Tolliver continues. “The MRI helps us see how the tumors from her condition might be affecting her nerves. If Sofiya has trouble staying still during the scan, we might need your permission to give her a mild sedative.”

“She’s done MRIs before,” Katya says quickly. “She’s been fine without sedation.”

I nod, though my mind is already racing ahead. “After the MRI, is the surgery next?”

Dr. Tolliver pauses, her calm gaze meeting mine. “Not quite yet.”

My jaw tightens. “What else?”

“Sofiya will also need a complete neurological exam,” she explains. “We’ll check her balance, coordination, and nerve responses. It’s all done in a way that feels like play, so she won’t even realize it’s a test.”

I exhale sharply, leaning back in my chair. “Good. She shouldn’t feel like she’s being poked and prodded.”

“Of course,” Dr. Tolliver says. “We want her to be comfortable throughout the process. After the neurological exam, she’ll meet with our child psychologist, who will evaluate her emotional readiness for the surgery. And finally, a speech therapist will assess how well she communicates.”

“So once all that’s done, we move to surgery?” I ask, my tone sharper than I intend.

Dr. Tolliver tilts her head slightly, like she’s bracing herself. “Not quite yet. Once we have all the results, our team will meet to discuss whether the implant is the best option for Sofiya. At that point, we’ll schedule a follow-up appointment and go over the options with you.”

“It’s not guaranteed that she can get the implant?” I growl, my frustration boiling over.

“We need to be sure it’s the right option for her,” Dr. Tolliver says firmly. “Nothing is decided until we’ve done the tests.”

I grip the edge of the desk, my knuckles white. “I can pay whatever it takes,” I begin, my voice low and tight.

Dr. Tolliver raises a hand, cutting me off gently but firmly. “Money is not the deciding factor here, Mr. Sokolov. I’m aware that you have the means to cover the medical bills out of pocket. But we still need to run the tests and determine if this is the right treatment for your daughter. Let’s hope for the best.”

I stare at her, the weight of her words settling heavily on my shoulders. For a moment, all I can hear is the faint hum of the air conditioning and the sound of Sofiya’s toys clinking together in the corner.

Hope for the best.

I hate those words. They make me feel powerless.

But for Sofiya’s sake, I grit my teeth and endure it. Because no matter what it takes, I’ll make sure she gets what she needs.

“Fine,” I mutter through clenched teeth. “How long will all of this take?”

Dr. Tolliver remains calm, as if she’s dealt with men like me a thousand times before. “The entire evaluation process, including the team’s discussion, will take about one to two weeks,” she explains. “We’ll move as quickly as we can, but we have to be thorough.”

Two weeks. Two fucking weeks of waiting, tests, and more waiting. It feels like an eternity, but I force myself to keep my reaction in check.

“Is there anything I can do to speed it up?” I ask, gripping the arms of the chair hard enough to make my knuckles ache.

Before Dr. Tolliver can respond, Katya places her hand over mine. The touch is light, but it pulls me back just enough to remind me that losing my temper won’t help Sofiya. I exhale slowly, releasing some of the tension coiled inside me.

“I know you’re doing your best,” I say to Dr. Tolliver, forcing the edge out of my voice. It feels unnatural, but I manage. “I appreciate it.”

“Thank you,” she replies, her tone kind but professional. “I understand how stressful this is for you.”

Stressful doesn’t even begin to cover it, but I don’t say that. Instead, I nod and glance at Katya, whose expression is as carefully guarded as ever.

“Alright,” I say, taking her hand in mine. She doesn’t pull away, but I can feel the resistance in her posture. “If you have everything you need, let’s get started.”

As Dr. Tolliver shifts her attention to Sofiya, I sit back in the white leather chair and muster the strength not to jump out of my skin. I watch as she signs to my daughter, her movements slow and deliberate, her tone soft but authoritative. Sofiya responds hesitantly, glancing at Katya for reassurance, but eventually, she nods and allows herself to be guided onto the paper-covered exam bed.

Dr. Tolliver is good. She has that air of confidence you don’t question—an authority that commands respect without demanding it. She’s the one in control here, and for the first time in a long time, I’m forced to accept that I’m not.

I hate it.

I glance at Katya, who’s sitting next to me, her eyes glued to Sofiya.

“Are you okay?” I ask her quietly.

Her lips twitch upward into a pained smile, one that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Fine.”

“It’ll be okay,” I say, leaning closer to her. “You’re not alone anymore.”

She doesn’t even look at me. Her fingers tap absently against her chair, her focus still on Sofiya. “I wasn’t alone before either,” she says flatly. “I had my brother by my side, Igor. Don’t expect me to change.”

I stiffen at her words, my jaw clenching. “I have no expectations when it comes to you.”

Her head snaps toward me, her brows knitting together in defiance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Forget it.”

“No,” she says, her whisper sharp and challenging. “I want to know. What. The. Fuck. Do. You. Mean?”

I glance at Sofiya, who’s lying on the exam bed, watching us with wide eyes. “Shhh,” I hiss at Katya. “You’re making a scene.”

Katya narrows her eyes at me, but before she can say anything else, Dr. Tolliver shoots us a pointed look.

That’s the end of it.

For now.

I bite my tongue and sit back, my hands gripping my knees as I force myself to stay still. I’ll deal with Katya later, when we are alone.

Dr. Tolliver finishes Sofiya’s exam about fifteen minutes later, her movements careful and efficient. Sofiya sits up when it’s over, looking relieved but tired.

“I’ll call you with the details for the next appointment,” Dr. Tolliver says, standing up and offering us a polite smile.

Katya nods, helping Sofiya down from the bed.

I give the doctor a curt nod, my focus already on getting Sofiya out of here. “Thanks,” I say.

Dr. Tolliver watches us leave, her professional demeanor unshaken, but I can feel her eyes lingering on me as we step out into the hallway.

By the time we reach the car, the tension between Katya and me has reached its breaking point. Sofiya is buckled into her car seat, her little hands clutching a toy from Dr. Tolliver’s office, oblivious to the storm brewing between her parents.

“That was uncalled for,” I tell Katya as soon as the door shuts behind us.

She turns to me, her green eyes blazing with fury.

“You’re kidding, right?” she snaps. “You’re not allowed to be an asshole and take the high road at the same time. It doesn’t work like that.”

I cross my arms over my chest, leaning against the car. “Enlighten me, then. How does it work?”

Katya stares at me, her lips pressing into a thin line as if she’s weighing whether or not to unleash hell on me. Finally, she exhales sharply, throwing up her hands.

“Whatever,” she mutters, opening the passenger door. “Let’s just go.”

I shake my head, the frustration clawing at me again. She knows exactly how to push my buttons, and right now, I can’t even stand to share the same space with her.

“Take the car,” I tell her, stepping back and tossing her the keys.

“What?”

“I’ll call a taxi,” I say, my tone clipped. “I have somewhere else to be.”

She narrows her eyes at me, her hand tightening on the car door. “Running away, Igor?”

I force a smirk, even as my blood boils. “Hardly. I just don’t want to spend the next hour arguing with you.”

Without waiting for a response, I pull out my phone and step away from the car, ordering an Uber.

Katya climbs into the car without another word, slamming the door harder than necessary. I watch as the vehicle pulls out on First Avenue, Sofiya’s little face pressed against the window, watching me.

I stay rooted in place, my fists clenched at my sides as the car disappears from view.