Mafia Prince’s Secret Baby (New York Bratva)

32. Katya

32

KATYA

“ F or fuck’s sake, Aleks,” I snap as his broad frame crashes into me, nearly knocking me forward when I stop abruptly. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

He grimaces apologetically but doesn’t move back, his stance resolute. Igor’s orders for constant surveillance are suffocating, even more so because Aleks won’t budge an inch. At least I’m stuck with Aleks and not Konstantin, who’s with Irina and the kids on the other side of the house.

“It’s for your own good,” Aleks says quietly, his voice calm but firm. His eyes flick to the shattered window at the far end of the room. “What are we doing here, Katya? Come downstairs. Let’s regroup with everyone.”

I shake my head. “I want to see the damage.”

Before he can argue, I leave him standing in the doorway and walk toward the broken window where the firework rocket exploded. The scene is even worse up close. The white carpet is charred and peppered with ash, dark scorch marks spreading like a spiderweb across the wall. The glass frame is cracked, the edges jagged, with bits melted into deformed globs from the heat. Black powder stains the floor and windowsill, the acrid stench of burned chemicals still lingering in the air.

Fireworks.

Rockets.

This wasn’t some juvenile prank or an accident. It was a warning.

The thought churns in my stomach like spoiled milk, twisting into knots of unease. I’ve sat at the dinner with Igor’s enemies. I know about the missing shipment, about the tension bubbling beneath the surface.

But this feels personal.

The anxiety claws at me. Did Igor bring this danger upon us? Or did I, by stepping into his world? I’ve been trying so hard to find a sense of normalcy, to carve out a life for Sofiya and myself in this chaos, but maybe I’ve been a fool. Maybe I’ve been ignoring the reality of what being with Igor means.

“Are you okay?” Aleks’s voice cuts through my thoughts, softer than I expected.

How can such a simple question feel this loaded?

I turn to look at him, his tall, imposing frame outlined against the doorway. With his buzzcut and sharp blue eyes, Aleks is a near mirror image of Igor, but there’s a warmth to him, a gentleness that sets him apart.

“I don’t have any friends here,” I admit quietly. “No one to talk to. No one to confide in.”

He nods, his expression understanding. Maybe he’s felt this loneliness too. For the first time, I realize that Aleks might be the only person in this house who truly sees me—not just as Igor’s woman, but as a person trying to hold it all together.

“I’ll listen,” he says after a moment, stepping closer. “I’m here for you. Not just today but any day. Whatever happens between you and Igor, you’re family now. You’re my sister, even if it’s just honorary.”

I laugh softly, shaking my head.

“What’s so funny?” Aleks asks, one brow quirking up.

“You are,” I reply, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the heaviness in my chest. “You’re Bratva, Igor’s top lieutenant, and yet, here you are. Strong, but also gentle. That’s rare in your world. How did you turn out so different?”

For a moment, his face darkens. He glances away, as though debating whether to answer.

“Igor’s a good guy,” Aleks finally says. “He hides his heart behind his arrogance, but you won’t find anyone more loyal or dedicated. As the oldest son, he carries the weight of everything—every expectation, every burden—so that I don’t have to. Igor’s the reason I get to live life the way I want.”

He leans his shoulder against the wall, arms folded across his chest. When he speaks again, his voice drops to barely a whisper.

“I had a girlfriend,” he says, his gaze distant. “I thought we’d be together forever.”

“Had?” I press softly.

He gives me a sad smile. “She died. Cancer. Eight years ago.”

The raw anguish in his eyes is enough to shatter me. It’s like staring into a storm—a swirling chaos of grief and memories that hasn’t quite settled, even after all these years.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“It was the worst time of my life,” Aleks admits. “When she got sick, I lost myself. And when she died, I went numb. Nothing helped. I tried to drown it out—drugs, alcohol, you name it. I didn’t care if I lived or died.”

I don’t say anything, letting him continue.

“It was Igor who pulled me out of it,” Aleks continues. “He stayed with me through the worst of it. Forced me to clean up. Got me through the withdrawals. He didn’t give up on me.”

“You two are close.”

“Not in the way you’d think.” He smiles faintly. “We don’t talk much about personal stuff, but he’s a good soul. And you—you’re lucky to have his heart.”

“Am I?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Katya,” Aleks sighs, running a hand over his jaw. “He loves you. Everyone can see it. Maybe he hasn’t said it yet, but it’s written all over him. And you—you love him too. Even if you’re not ready to admit it.”

“I wouldn’t call it love,” I say, but my voice wavers. “There’s a connection, sure. But…”

“But you’re scared,” Aleks finishes for me.

I laugh bitterly, gesturing toward the scorched remains of the room. “Is that unreasonable?”

“No,” Aleks smirks. “But don’t let it win. Igor’s not perfect—far from it. But he’d cut off his own limbs before letting anything happen to you or Sofiya. You’re safe with him. Safer than anywhere else.”

His words sit heavy in the air, sparking a flicker of hope in me.

“Tell me,” I say quietly. “Do you think this will ever end?”

Aleks doesn’t answer.

“This is my punishment,” I murmur, breaking the stillness. “For bringing Sofiya into this life. For letting Igor into mine.”

Whatever unspoken words linger on his tongue, he doesn’t let them out. Instead, he places a hand on my shoulder.

“You didn’t bring this on yourself,” he says firmly. “And you don’t have to face it alone.”

Aleks’s hands wrap tightly around my wrists, grounding me in place as his voice cuts through the fog of panic in my mind.

“Listen to me.” His icy blue eyes lock onto mine. “This isn’t your fault. If anything, you’re the victim here. Do you hear me, Katya?”

“Then why can’t I breathe?” My voice cracks under the weight of my emotions.

A dull ache blooms in my chest as I glance at Aleks’s firm grip, but something beyond him catches my eye. There, near the bed, half-hidden under a scorched corner of the carpet, is something solid.

Without a word, I pull my wrists free from Aleks’s grasp and kneel down to get a better look. My trembling fingers reach for it, brushing soot and ash away until I pull it out.

“It’s a brick,” I murmur, holding it up. Something crinkles around it, and I realize there’s a piece of paper taped to its side.

Carefully, I peel the brittle paper off and flatten it in my hands. At first glance, there are no words, just a symbol—bold, crude, and unmistakable. My heart plummets as recognition sinks its claws into me.

“Aleks.” My voice is barely above a whisper, but it carries the weight of my fear. “One of my attackers had a tattoo of this symbol.”

His expression sharpens immediately, eyes narrowing as he snatches the note from my hands. He turns it over, his gaze scanning every detail.

“I’ll call Igor,” he says, already reaching for his phone.

While he is talking, I stay kneeling on the floor, the brick still in my hands. I don’t even know why I’m holding it—maybe it’s a physical manifestation of the chaos swirling inside me. My breathing is shallow, my mind spinning.

This is never going to end. No matter how hard I try to carve out a normal life for Sofiya and me, the Bratva will always haunt us.

Aleks’s voice pulls me out of my spiral. “Let’s go downstairs.” He tucks his phone back into his pocket after snapping a picture of the note. His tone leaves no room for argument. “We’re done here.”

He’s right. There’s nothing more to uncover in this room, nothing more to learn by staring at the charred carpet or the broken windows. Still, as I follow him out, my legs feel like they’re made of lead. Each step feels harder than the last, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on my shoulders.

The kids are seated around the coffee table, immersed in a board game. Sofiya’s giggling, Damien’s scowling, and the sound of their voices feels like a small pocket of normalcy in an otherwise chaotic world.

I slow my steps, deliberately replacing the panic in my expression with a smile. Whatever storm is raging inside me, I can’t let it reach them.

“Are you winning, Sofiya?” I tease, moving to sit down beside her.

She beams at me, her hands flying as she signs. “Damien cheats.”

“I do not!” Damien protests, his face scrunching in mock outrage. Aleks has taught him enough sign language over the past few weeks for him to understand what his sister is accusing him of.

“You’re terrible at lying.” I laugh, ruffling his hair.

The tension in my chest eases just a little as their laughter fills the room. For this moment, at least, I can pretend that everything is fine.

I glance over my shoulder at Aleks, who lingers in the doorway, his phone still in his hand. He nods at me once before stepping out, probably to call Igor again.

My gaze shifts back to the kids. Damien is busy trying to explain the rules of the game to Sofiya, who pretends not to understand just to mess with him. Their bond has only grown stronger over the past months, and seeing them like this—laughing, teasing, happy—it reminds me why I’m doing all of this.

I have no choice but to trust Igor. To trust that he’ll take care of us.