Mafia Prince’s Secret Baby (New York Bratva)

30. Igor

30

IGOR

T he first bang jerks me out of sleep, the sound so loud it feels like it punches through my chest. My eyes snap open just in time to see the window explode inward, shards of glass slicing through the air like tiny daggers. Before I can think, I’m moving—my body acting on instinct. I throw myself over Katya, covering her bare skin with mine as another explosion rocks the room.

The air turns to poison in seconds. Acrid smoke fills the space, thick and greasy, making it impossible to breathe. Flashes of light blind me, followed by a rain of burning debris. The sharp sting of glass cuts into my back and shoulders, and still, I keep her pinned beneath me, shielding her from whatever the hell this is.

A third blast goes off, less than six feet away. Fire and sparks erupt in all directions, lighting up the room in bursts of violent color. My ears are ringing, my skin burning, and the smell—it’s so sharp it scours my throat raw with every breath. For a second, my brain can’t catch up. A bomb? No. It’s fireworks. Someone’s throwing fucking aerial fireworks through my window. The kind that light up the sky in celebration—but here, in a bedroom, they’re a goddamn death trap.

I roll off Katya and grab her hand, dragging her to the floor with me. She’s coughing uncontrollably, her grip on me like a vise as I pull her toward the only shelter I can think of. “Stay low!” I order, my voice hoarse from the smoke. I shove a pillow over her head and wrap the blanket tightly around her, tucking her beneath it like it’ll somehow keep her safe from the insanity exploding all around us. “Don’t move. I’ll get us out.”

She doesn’t argue, and thank God for that, because I don’t have time to convince her. Another rocket screams through the shattered window, hitting the wardrobe and detonating in a burst of fiery sparks. The flash blinds me, and for a moment, I can’t see anything but white spots burning into my vision. The sound is deafening, leaving my ears ringing like a fire alarm as I stumble forward, grabbing my gun from the nightstand.

“Stay under the bed!” I bark at Katya, already moving toward the source of the chaos. She scrambles beneath the bed frame, her wide, terrified eyes the last thing I see before I force myself to turn away.

My lungs burn with every breath as I crawl toward the window, keeping low to avoid the smoke still billowing through the room. I glance out, gun drawn, ready to aim—but there’s no one. Just the shattered glass glittering on the windowsill and the distant pop of fireworks outside. My teeth clench hard enough to hurt. The coward didn’t stick around. Whoever did this just lit the match and ran.

The door bursts open, and Aleks rushes in, his gun drawn. “The window,” I choke out, coughing into the crook of my arm.

He crosses the room and takes a quick look outside, his movements sharp and deliberate. When he turns back, his face is pale. “They’re gone,” he hisses, his expression grim. “Must’ve booked it as soon as they threw the last one.”

I let out a string of curses, pacing the room to keep my adrenaline from boiling over. The smoke is starting to thin now, drifting out through the shattered window, but it still clings to my skin, my throat, my lungs. “The kids?” I ask, whipping my head toward Aleks.

“Safe,” he assures me. “We got to them first.”

The tightness in my chest eases, but only slightly. Relief is short-lived when there’s still a threat out there. “Secure the house,” I order. “I want everyone accounted for.”

Aleks nods and takes off without another word, leaving me to check on Katya. She’s already pulling herself out from under the bed, her hair a mess, her face streaked with soot, but her eyes—those eyes are steady. Terrified but steady.

“I’m okay,” she says softly, brushing glass off her shoulder. She exudes calm, as if she’s trying to convince herself as much as me. “We need to get the kids.”

“They’re safe,” I assure her. My focus sharpens on the slight tremor in her hands as she adjusts the blanket still wrapped around her shoulders. I reach for her, gripping her chin gently between my fingers, forcing her to look at me. “Stay close,” I murmur.

We get dressed quickly, Katya coughing every few seconds but still moving fast. Once we’re out of the bedroom, I lead her downstairs, my gun gripped tightly in my hand. My mind’s racing, half-focused on the steps ahead and half on the fact that whoever did this—whoever had the audacity to come into my home—is still out there.

The moment Katya spots Sofiya and Damien in the living room, she breaks away from me, running straight to them. She drops to her knees and pulls them into a fierce hug, her arms wrapping around them like she’s trying to absorb every bit of their fear into herself. Watching them, something inside me unwinds—just a little.

I stride toward them, needing to feel their presence. “We’re okay,” I say firmly, crouching down beside them. My voice is loud and confident—because they need to believe it. “It’s over.”

“Are you sure?” Katya’s voice cracks, her eyes darting toward the stairwell like she’s waiting for another explosion.

“Aleks and Mikhail are securing the perimeter,” my mother interjects, her voice calm but her face pale. “Your father’s on the phone with Timur. He’s checking to make sure it wasn’t the Colombians.”

Sofiya whimpers, trembling in Katya’s arms. Her small hands clutch wildly at Katya’s shirt, her face buried in her chest. It makes my blood boil, seeing her scared. I reach out, cupping the back of her head and pulling her gently against me instead. “You’re safe,” I murmur. “I’ve got you.”

She clings to me as if she knows what I said, her fingers curling into my shirt. It hits me harder than it should—the weight of her trust in this moment—but I don’t have time to dwell on it.

“Stay with the kids,” I tell Katya, brushing a kiss against her forehead before she can protest. “I’m going to check the room.”

“Igor,” she starts, her voice heavy with worry.

“I won’t take long,” I promise, my hand lingering on her shoulder. Then I turn and head back.

Aleks meets me at the base of the stairs, his expression grim. “Timur claims it wasn’t the Colombians,” he says without preamble.

“Figured as much.” My grip tightens on the gun. “This doesn’t smell of them.”

Aleks nods in agreement. “Fireworks instead of bombs. Whoever it was, they didn’t want to kill—they wanted to send a message.”

My jaw clenches. “It’s the same bastard who left the boxes at my apartment,” I mutter. “I’ll check the room, see if there’s anything we can use to identify them.”

“I’m coming with you,” Aleks says. He jerks his head toward Mikhail. “Stay with the kids.”

Mikhail nods, already moving.

Aleks and I rush upstairs, the stench of smoke still hanging thick in the air. When I push open the door, my chest tightens. The destruction is worse than I’d let myself imagine—craters scorched into the floor, blackened burn marks crawling up the walls, shards of glass scattered like confetti across every surface.

The sight of it makes my stomach churn. This was a room I never imagined would feel unsafe. And the kids—fuck—the kids were just a wall away.

“Fuck,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair as I crouch to grab a piece of charred cardboard from one of the fireworks. The edges crumble in my hands, the faint scent of gunpowder still clinging to it. “They never got close enough to really hurt us, but still…” My voice drops lower, the weight of what could’ve happened settling hard on my shoulders. “Katya was here. The kids were in the room next door. If they’d used something worse than fireworks?—”

“We were lucky,” Aleks cuts in firmly, like he’s trying to anchor me. “Very, very lucky. That’s for sure.”

I exhale sharply through my nose, nodding but not fully agreeing. Luck shouldn’t be the reason my family’s alive.

Aleks straightens, pulling a small flashlight from his pocket and scanning the space. “I’ll see if there’s anything left of the fireworks. Maybe we can track down the manufacturer and figure out where they were bought.”

“Just knowing where they’re sold could help,” I agree, standing and brushing glass off my hands. “We can pull security footage from the usual places. Look for familiar faces.”

He nods, already focused on the task. Together, we comb through the wreckage, working silently but methodically. My mind is racing, jumping between possibilities, enemies, threats.

At some point, Aleks kneels by the window and holds up what looks like a cylindrical cardboard tube. “Got something.”

The casing is half-charred but intact enough. Aleks turns it over, inspecting it with care before slipping it into his jacket pocket. “If there’s any residue left inside, our guys in the lab might be able to trace it. Maybe even pinpoint the seller.”

I nod, grateful for the lead, however small. But Aleks’s next words catch me off guard.

“How are things with Katya?”

I glance at him sharply, debating whether to shut him down, but the look in his eyes tells me he’s not letting this one go. With a low sigh, I lean back against the scorched wall, crossing my arms over my chest.

“The jury’s still out,” I admit, my voice quieter now. “But… for the first time, she looks content.”

Aleks’s brow lifts knowingly, the corner of his mouth twitching. “She fits with you.”

I grunt in agreement. She always has, even if she fought it for much too long.

My lips twitch into a reluctant smile as I drop my arms and glance down at the floor. The mess doesn’t bother me as much when I let myself think about her—about the way she handled the chaos tonight, the way she held onto me like I was the only thing keeping her steady.

“Yes,” I say finally. “She does.” I glance at Aleks, the thought hitting me as I say it aloud. “I just hope she realizes it soon.”

Aleks snorts, his arms folding over his chest. “Why wouldn’t she?”

I don’t answer, brushing off the question with a shrug. The topic’s too raw to dissect right now. Instead, I shift gears. “The Colombians are getting restless.”

Aleks’s expression hardens instantly, his mind snapping back to the larger threat. “Yeah.”

“That means we have to work faster to find the missing shipment,” I continue, pushing off the wall and stepping over a pile of charred debris. “Any ideas?” I glance back at him, my frustration bleeding through. “Because right now, I’m willing to listen to just about anything, no matter how stupid or ridiculous.”

Aleks hesitates, which immediately puts me on edge. When he finally speaks, there’s a tension in his jaw that tells me I’m not going to like what he has to say.

“In that case,” he starts carefully, “we should give Nikolai a call.”

I stop dead in my tracks and turn to face him, narrowing my eyes. “Did you smoke something before this?”

“I’m serious.” Aleks exhales heavily, like he’s already bracing for the argument. “Katya and Sofiya are his family. We are Kata’s family. If anyone’s going to want to help keep them safe, it’s Nikolai.”

I glare at him, trying to find the words to articulate just how stupid that sounds, but the problem is, it’s not stupid. Not at all. And that pisses me off even more.

“That bastard doesn’t care about us,” I growl. “He’ll use this as leverage. You know it as well as I do.”

“He’ll help because of them, ” Aleks says firmly, his voice dropping lower.

I stare at him for a long moment, my jaw tight and my pulse pounding in my ears. I hate that he’s right. Hate that this is the move we have to make.

Finally, I sigh deeply, dragging a hand through my hair and shaking my head. “Fine,” I bite out, my tone sharp with reluctance. “I’ll call Nikolai fucking Volkov.”

Aleks nods, not bothering to gloat. Instead, he steps past me, his eyes scanning the room one last time. “I’ll handle the lab work,” he says over his shoulder. “You handle the call.”