Mafia Prince’s Secret Baby (New York Bratva)

39. Igor

39

IGOR

“ A re you sure she’s there?” My tone wavers, hard and brittle with barely contained panic. I’m resisting the urge to grab Vasiliy by the collar and shake him. “Time is of the fucking essence. So get the fuck going already.”

“I’m aware,” he snaps back, his tone clipped and unforgiving. “And don’t talk to me about time, Igor. You’re the one who fucked up. I swear to God, if something happened to my little sister?—”

“You’ll wish you’d never been born,” Nikolai finishes his sentence, his glare sharp enough to cut steel. Thunder rumbles overhead, a deep, ominous growl, as if the storm itself is agreeing with their threats.

We’re all on edge, the stress in the air thick enough to choke on. Over the years, both Vasiliy and Nikolai have taken on this pseudo-parental role when it comes to Katya. It’s not just protective; it’s possessive and overbearing. And right now, the weight of their judgment presses down on me, heavy and suffocating.

But I deserve it. Every ounce.

“What are we waiting for?” I snap, unable to stand the tension any longer. “Let’s get moving.”

My hands are trembling as I climb behind the wheel of the car. Aleks, Mikhail, Konstantin, and Dominik follow without hesitation, forming an unspoken barrier between me and the Volkovs. It’s clear they don’t trust Nikolai and Vasiliy any more than I do.

The image of Katya tied up and bleeding—the one Maksim had on his phone—sears itself into my mind every time I blink. I can barely see the road through the fog of my rage, fear clawing at my chest.

“Alright. Let’s do this,” I mutter,gripping the steering wheel, my knuckles white. My stomach churns with nausea, but there’s no time for weakness.

I peel out of the parking lot, tires screeching against the wet pavement, and race down the road behind the car Vasiliy and Nikolai have commandeered. The rain lashes against the windshield, the wipers working overtime to keep up, but even the storm can’t drown out the deafening roar of my thoughts.

According to Vasiliy, Katya’s being held in a rundown apartment building in a shady part of Queens. The streets are practically deserted, the storm driving people indoors, but the emptiness only makes the journey feel longer. With every passing second, my mind conjures worse and worse scenarios.

What if Galina’s already killed her? What if they’ve tortured her beyond recognition? What if I’m too late?

“Relax,” Aleks says from the passenger seat, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I focus on the road, the tension in my chest coiling tighter with every passing second. The building finally comes into view, a decrepit structure standing like a grim sentinel against the storm. I park behind Vasiliy’s car and kill the engine in one swift motion.

There’s no time for subtlety or second-guessing.

“Igor, wait!” Vasiliy calls out as I storm toward the entrance, but his words fall on deaf ears.

The elevators are a waste of time, so I take the stairs two at a time, pulling my gun from its holster as I go. Aleks, Konstantin, and Dominik are right behind me, their footsteps echoing mine. Mikhail stays behind to cover the exits—an extra layer of insurance in case anyone tries to run.

By the time I reach the fourth floor, my breath is coming in sharp bursts, but the adrenaline numbs the burn in my lungs. The hallway stretches out before me, dark and silent, the kind of quiet that presses against your ears and makes you feel like you’re being watched.

Stopping in front of the door Vasiliy indicated, I glance back at Aleks. He nods once, then slams his boot against the wood, the door splintering open with a deafening crash.

Chaos erupts instantly.

Gunfire rattles through the air, the sharp cracks echoing off the walls as figures dart in and out of view. I fire without hesitation, taking out the first man I see before he can raise his weapon. Aleks moves like a shadow beside me, his gun flashing as he covers my blind spots.

Nikolai and Vasiliy storm in seconds later, their weapons already blazing.

Perfect timing.

Galina’s men scatter like cockroaches under the Volkov brothers’ assault. Nikolai’s aim is ruthless and efficient, each shot landing with deadly precision, while Vasiliy moves with the cold efficiency of a trained soldier, taking down anyone who dares to raise a gun in his direction. Konstantin and Dominik flank them, moving in a tight formation to clear the room of stragglers.

One of Galina’s men lunges at Nikolai with a knife, but Nikolai sidesteps with ease, slamming the butt of his gun into the man’s temple. Vasiliy fires at another, his shot piercing the man’s shoulder before Nikolai finishes him off. The floor is chaos—bodies dropping left and right, blood slicking the hardwood as the Volkovs methodically overpower Galina’s forces.

I don’t stop to count the bodies or track the casualties. My focus is singular: Katya.

I tear through the apartment, kicking down door after door, my frustration mounting with every empty room.

Then I hear it.

A muffled cry.

It’s faint, but it’s enough. My heart slams against my ribcage as I run toward the sound, skidding to a halt in front of the last door.

“Open this door, and your whore dies,” Galina’s voice rings out, steady and venomous.

I freeze, my gun raised, my breath catching in my throat. The wrong move could cost Katya her life. Everyone around me knows it—we exchange tense, silent glances as the seconds tick by.

“Stand down,” Nikolai orders, his voice calm but firm. “We can’t risk it.”

“Leaving her in there is a risk!” I hiss, my finger itching against the trigger. “We can’t stand here doing nothing.”

“You’ve done enough, Igor,” Vasiliy growls, his tone dark and pointed. “Let us handle this.”

But I can’t. My eyes stay locked on the door, my mind racing for a way in. Then it hits me.

While everyone’s focused on the door, I slip into a nearby room and push open the window. The rain slaps against my face as I step onto the narrow ledge, the wind threatening to throw me off balance.

The second window—the one leading to Katya—is just a few feet away.

Konstantin spots me from inside, his gun at the ready as he watches my back. I inch forward, my movements slow and deliberate, the ledge slick beneath my boots.

When I reach the window, I crouch low and peer inside. Katya is tied to a chair, her head slumped forward, her shoulders trembling. Galina stands over her, the gun in her hand pointed at her temple.

I raise my gun, my finger hovering over the trigger, but I wait. Galina’s grip is too tight, her finger too close to the trigger. One wrong move, and it’s over.

Seconds stretch into eternity. Then Galina moves.

The gun shifts, just enough. I don’t wait to see what she’s planning.

I pull the trigger.

The glass shatters as the bullet tears through Galina’s shoulder, sending her sprawling to the floor with a scream. Aleks bursts through the door a second later, Nikolai and Vasiliy close behind, their guns raised as chaos erupts again.

While I rush to Katya, the Volkov brothers secure Galina. Nikolai kicks her gun across the room as Vasiliy presses a knee into her back, pinning her to the floor. She thrashes and screams, but it’s futile. Aleks grabs a cable from a nearby table and ties her wrists behind her back with brutal efficiency.

“Keep her alive,” Nikolai growls, his voice cold. “For now.” Galina spits at him, her face twisted with rage, but he ignores her, barking orders to his men to round up any remaining threats.

“It’s over, volchitsa ,” I whisper as I cut through the ropes binding Katya.

Her eyes flutter open, and she offers me a weak smile. “That was cutting it close,” she croaks.

I scoop her into my arms, cradling her against my chest as her body goes limp. “Just breathe,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Everything’s going to be okay now.”

She buries her face in my neck, her voice trembling as she whispers, “Sofiya?”

“She’s safe,” I assure, holding her tighter. “And so are you.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, the weight lifts from my chest. She’s alive. She’s safe. And no matter what it takes, I’ll make sure she stays that way.

“When you’re ready,” I say, “I’ll take you home.”