Chapter 27: Mafia Prince’s Secret Baby: Chapter 26

“I took your daughter on a date. I fulfilled my part of the deal. Now it’s your turn, Boris,” I warn, my voice cold, even, and carrying enough weight to make sure he knows I’m not in the mood for games. “You’d better not let me down. What can you tell me about my missing cargo?”

Boris lowers his head, smoothing the collar of his overly starched dress shirt. That single motion is all I need to see—it tells me he’s uncomfortable, which means he’s sitting on something. He taps a few buttons on the desk, and the nearby printer hums to life, spitting out a thick set of documents.

Circling the desk, Boris picks up the freshly printed stack and passes it to me. “Here’s the file,” he says, gesturing toward the papers as if that should be enough to satisfy me.

I don’t take it. Instead, I glare at him, my voice dropping into a hiss. “I don’t want to read, Boris. I want you to tell me.”

He holds up a hand, his expression taking on that oily mix of feigned apology and exasperation that he wears so well. “My girls put everything they overheard or thought might be relevant in there. They listened in on conversations, followed whispers—anything that might lead to your shipment. Keep in mind…” He pauses, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “Some of the girls didn’t know what they were looking for, so there might be a few unrelated… tidbits.”

My gaze drops to the folder, its pages filled with scanned scribbled notes and messy lines. Just a glance tells me most of it is useless gossip, garbage I don’t have the time or patience to sort through.

Boris steps closer, his hand brushing against my arm as if he’s trying to smooth over the tension. “I told you I’d find what I could,” he says, his voice low and deliberate. “I never said I’d index it for you. That part is up to you, my friend.”

My jaw tightens. “That wasn’t part of the deal,” I grunt, folding my arms.

“And neither was you leaving Galina unsatisfied,” Boris snaps, his smirk widening. “You did the bare minimum, Igor. So, I did the same. Take it or leave it—I don’t care.”

The spark ignites instantly, a familiar burn surging through my chest and spreading to every inch of my body. For a moment, every muscle tenses, my cells screaming for release. I imagine ripping Boris apart piece by piece, watching him bleed out on his tacky carpet.

But I don’t move.

Because for now, I need him.

“If this isn’t valuable,” I say casually, though my tone drips with menace, “I’ll show you just how replaceable you are.”

Boris’s lips press into a thin, unhappy line, his face briefly betraying the unease he tries so hard to hide. “Maybe,” he replies evenly. “Or maybe I’ll show you. There’s always someone ready to claim another man’s rightful position.”

We hold each other’s gaze for a fraction of a second, the tension crackling like static in the air, before turning away simultaneously. Rage settles into a bitter lump of disappointment in my chest.

Losing Boris would create a power vacuum—a dangerous one. The people waiting in the wings to replace him are as ambitious as they are unfit. The devil I know is still better than the wolves I don’t.

I tap the folder against my hand, debating my next move. The Colombians won’t wait forever, and the missing cargo is the kind of thing that could unravel everything if I don’t find it soon. Timur can only keep Montoya off my back for so long.

“This isn’t over,” I say, turning on my heel and heading for the door.

“Come back soon,” Boris calls after me, his tone slick with mockery.

As I step into the hallway, I nearly collide with Galina, who’s seated on the stairs. Her auburn hair tumbles down her back in perfect, polished curls, framing her hazel eyes and dramatic makeup. She’s dressed in a designer minidress that’s entirely too short for this hour of the day, and her posture is calculated, deliberate—posed like bait.

“There must’ve been some misunderstanding the other night,” she says, rising gracefully to her feet. “I didn’t get a chance to thank you properly.”

Her hand trails along my torso, her fingers brushing over my shirt and pausing far too close to my belt.

I grab her wrist and push it aside. “It’s not a good time, Galina.”

She pouts, stepping closer despite my warning, her lips parting in a sultry smile. “Then come back when you do have time. Perhaps we could⁠—”

“Enough,” I snap, cutting her off.

Even in my irritation, a sliver of satisfaction twists in my chest. Galina’s attractive, yes, but her desperation is off-putting. I prefer a woman with fire—someone who challenges me, pushes back. Someone like…

Katya.

Fuck. Katya.

She was gone before I woke up this morning. Hasn’t come home yet. My men haven’t seen her, but they’re scouring the city, checking every corner to make sure she’s safe.

I don’t even want to think about what could’ve happened to her.

Galina moves closer again, her lips brushing mine before I can stop her. A gasp escapes my throat, sharp and instinctive.

Wrong.

This is wrong on so many fucking levels.

I shove her back, my voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “Don’t ever do that again. If I ever want you, I’ll come to you. Is that clear?”

“If?” she huffs, crossing her arms. “You can’t be serious. I’m literally throwing myself at you, and you refuse me? You should be thankful someone’s willing to⁠—”

“Galina!” Boris’s voice booms from the doorway, cutting her off. “Enough. I need you in the office.”

My jaw clenches, and I let out a snort of disgust. I’m done.

Without another word, I push past her, storming down the hallway toward the exit. As I pass Boris’s brother, Vladimir, I catch his sharp gaze lingering on me.

“Predatel.”

The slurred insult makes me pause mid-step.

“Who are you calling a traitor?” I demand, spinning back to face him.

Vladimir’s bloodshot eyes narrow. “Does it hit too close to home?”

Before I can answer, Maksim steps in, shoving Vladimir back. “Forgive my uncle, Igor. He’s not the same since his son’s death.”

I inhale deeply, forcing myself to let it go—for now. “Make sure it doesn’t happen again. If I hear anything, I’ll burn this place to the ground.”

Maksim nods, jaw tight, and I turn to leave.

As I approach the car, Konstantin straightens up, the remnants of his broken nose still visible. “Any word on Katya?” I ask, trying to keep the worry from my voice.

“No,” he replies. “Our men are still looking.”

“Damn it,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair as I slide into the car. “We need to find her. Fast.”

“Put out a call,” I order, my voice clipped and sharp as I slide into the backseat. The door shuts behind me with a heavy thud, trapping me in my own growing anxiety. “Tell every one of our men to keep an eye out for her. Any sighting, no matter how small, they call me immediately.”

Konstantin nods, his face a mask of professionalism, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. He steps back from the door, pulling his phone from his pocket to relay my instructions.

I lean back, my leg bouncing uncontrollably as I settle into the seat. My pulse drums in my ears, drowning out the low hum of the engine.

“We’ll find her,” Konstantin says firmly, his voice cutting through the noise in my head. His certainty is unwavering, like an anchor I want to grab hold of but can’t quite reach.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, the sound jarring me. My heart leaps to my throat. Is it news? I snatch the phone, hope surging for a brief, fragile second. But when I see Aleks’s name flashing on the screen, my brow furrows. I swipe to answer, bringing the phone to my ear.

“I hope you have some good news,” I say, my voice strained. “Because my day has been full of shit.”

“Igor, it’s Katya,” Aleks says, and the concern in his voice instantly sends the world tilting sideways.

The air around me feels colder, sharper, and it’s like all the oxygen has been sucked from the car. My grip tightens on the phone, my knuckles turning white. “What do you mean, it’s Katya?”

“She’s in the hospital,” Aleks replies, his words measured but laced with urgency. “They found her in some shop in Midtown West. She was bleeding.”

“What do you mean, bleeding?” I bellow, the words tearing out of me. My voice feels distant, like it belongs to someone else. “What the fuck happened?”

“I don’t know yet,” he admits. “She’s at New York Lennox Health Center. I just got here. I’ll know more in ten minutes.”

“I’m on my way,” I bark, cutting the call without waiting for more.

“Where to?” Konstantin asks, turning toward me, his own concern bleeding into his typically neutral tone.

“First and 34th,” I growl, the words coming out like a snarl. My mind races, each thought worse than the last.

Was she attacked? Was it an accident? Why the fuck would she leave the house alone? Did she want to avoid me that badly?

The more I think about it, the more the knot in my chest tightens.

I drum my fingers against the armrest, then switch to chewing my lower lip. My pulse is pounding, my head aching with the force of my thoughts crashing into each other. Every second feels like an eternity.

“What the fuck is taking so long?” I roar, slamming my fist against the seat. “Go faster, Konstantin. I need to get to Katya!”

“Shef, I’ve reached the speed limit,” Konstantin replies, his tone even, like he’s trying not to stoke the fire.

“Fuck the speed limit!” I bark. “I don’t care if you blow the damn engine—just go faster!”

The silence in the car is oppressive. The only sounds are the steady thrum of the tires on the road and my own ragged breathing. My chest feels too tight, like it’s about to cave in.

My hand flies to the back of Konstantin’s seat, slamming against it in frustration. Once. Twice. Three times. The leather creaks, wearing under the force, but it doesn’t help.

Sweat drips down the back of my neck, cold and slick, as my phone buzzes again in my hand. The name flashing on the screen makes my stomach twist—Katarina.

I answer, trying to steady my voice. “Kata.”

“Hi,” she says warmly, unaware of the storm raging inside me. “Sofiya and Damien wanted to talk to you and Katya. Is this a good time for a video call?”

My breath hitches, and I close my eyes, forcing the words out in a low whisper. “Katya’s in the hospital.”

There’s a pause on her end.

“I don’t know what happened,” I continue quickly, before she can ask. “But I need you to distract the kids. Don’t tell them anything. Make up an excuse why we can’t talk to them, okay? Keep them busy until I figure out what the hell is going on.”

“Igor—”

But I don’t let her finish. I hang up.

Katarina knows me too well. She’s always been able to see straight through me, past the mask I wear for everyone else. And right now, I can’t handle her asking questions. Can’t handle her prying into the cracks that are threatening to split me wide open.

The only thing I can think about is Katya.

Is she awake? Is she safe? Is she⁠—

“We’re almost there,” Konstantin says, breaking into my spiraling thoughts.

“Not fast enough,” I grunt, my tone harsher than intended.

There must be something in my voice that hits him because the next thing I know, I’m thrown back against the seat as Konstantin slams on the gas, weaving through traffic with reckless precision. My body presses against the door as the car swerves, the tires screeching around a corner.

I don’t care. Let him total the car if it means getting there faster.

Sweat drips from my temples, and I press the heel of my hand against my forehead, trying to ease the pounding headache that’s only getting worse. It’s the kind of pain no amount of medication can fix.

The hospital comes into view, its sterile white facade looming ahead like a beacon. My chest tightens further, every fiber of my being focused on one thing: getting to her.

I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms. Whatever I’m about to walk into, I need to be ready.

The car screeches to a stop, Konstantin pulls open the door, and I run inside, my heart thrumming against my chest.