Chapter 5: Mafia Prince’s Secret Baby: Chapter 4

My heart is a battering ram in my chest, pounding so hard I feel like it might crack my ribs wide open. I sink onto the couch and hug a cushion tightly, resting my cheek against it as my eyes flick to the tiny clock on the coffee table.

What the hell is taking him so long?

Does he need time to process the bomb that just dropped? Or is he out there planning something?

I need to run. My gut is screaming at me to grab Sofiya, pack our things, and get the hell out of this country. The only comfort I have is that Igor doesn’t know my address—at least, I don’t think he does. But who am I kidding? This is Igor Sokolov we’re talking about. He could have my address in his hands faster than I can finish telling him to go to hell.

And right now, that feels like the exact place I should be sending him.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally returns. I didn’t even realize he’d gone to grab his pants. His torso is still bare, the sheen of sweat glistening faintly under the dim light. My perfume lingers in the air around him, mingling with the masculine scent that’s so uniquely his.

I groan inwardly. If this isn’t the most awkward situation of my life, I don’t know what is.

He sits down beside me, the couch dipping under his weight. For a moment, he just stares at me, his expression unreadable. Then, in a voice so quiet I almost think I imagine it, he says, “Tell me about her.”

The tenderness in his tone is a blade to my chest. I don’t know how Igor Sokolov can look so damn dangerous and sound so devastatingly gentle at the same time, but the combination makes my blood run cold.

I can’t do this. I need time to think. “Can I have a glass of water?” I blurt out, my voice sharp and rushed. It’s ridiculous, but it’s the only thing I can come up with to buy a few seconds.

Without a word, he gets up and goes to the minibar. The moment he turns his back to me, my brain kicks into overdrive, mapping out my escape. Which hotel exit will have the fewest people? If I slip out now, how much of a head start can I get before he comes looking for me?

But before I can finish plotting, he’s back, moving with his typical quiet, predatory grace. He sets a bottle of water and two glasses on the table, then turns back and uncaps a bottle of whiskey, pouring himself a glass. My heart races as he takes a long, deliberate gulp, watching me intently.

“Now,” he says, his voice lower this time, darker. “Who’s Sofiya?”

I grab my glass and take a sip of the whiskey he poured for me, the liquid burning its way down my throat. It’s rich, expensive—just like every other indulgence men like Igor are used to.

I sigh, wishing I could rewind the past twenty-four hours and undo the entire chain of events that brought me here. I don’t regret what happened six years ago. Not for a second. But if there’s one thing I do regret, it’s letting him find out about Sofiya.

The last thing I need is Igor calling in a team of lawyers to tear my life apart. But the way he’s looking at me now—his jaw tight, his shoulders tense—I’m not so sure that’s how he would choose to go about it anyway.

The silence between us grows unbearable. I can feel his patience unraveling, thread by thread, until it finally snaps.

With a sharp growl, he hurls his glass at the wall, the shatter of crystal ricocheting through the room. My body jolts, my heart slamming into my throat.

Before I can react, he’s on me. His massive hands grip the edge of the couch as he leans down, his body so close our knees touch. The sheer size of him, the intensity in his dark eyes, makes the air feel too thick to breathe.

“Answer. My. Fucking. Question.” His voice is a low, dangerous rumble.

I stare at him, stunned, as my mind scrambles for an answer. But when his expression softens just a fraction, the words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them.

“You were there,” I snap, my voice rising in defense. “We didn’t use protection. Three months later, I had a positive pregnancy test in my hands. End of story.” My lips curl into a sarcastic smirk. “Who would’ve guessed you’re so virile?”

The smirk falters as his face darkens. My heart stutters in my chest, and I brace myself for whatever comes next.

“You should’ve told me,” he snarls, his voice tight with anger, though there’s something else there too.

I let out a bitter laugh. “I didn’t want you in our lives, Igor. I didn’t want Sofiya to know who you are.”

His hands twitch, his knuckles white as he grips the sofa. “You had no right. She’s my kid.”

“Is she now?” I challenge, my voice sharp and defiant.

“Yes.” His voice cracks slightly, the admission catching in his throat before he forces it out.

“Biologically, yes,” I spit back. “But that doesn’t mean you get to barge into our lives and make demands.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” he says quietly, his eyes flashing fury.

“Is that so? Do enlighten me.”

He straightens slightly, his jaw tight. “I take my responsibilities seriously.”

“So, because you were a careless sperm donor, I’m supposed to include you in our lives?” I snap, my voice growing louder. “We had one night, Igor. And yes, I enjoyed every second of it. But Sofiya is mine. She’s my entire world, and I won’t let you in.”

“I have a son,” he says suddenly, his voice low and raw.

The words hit me like a brick. I blink, stunned.

“Anastasiya Gargarin,” he continues, his tone soft but heavy. “She died in childbirth. The judge gave me full custody of my son. I’ve been raising him on my own ever since.” His dark eyes lock onto mine, and for the first time, I see the cracks in his armor. “I know what it’s like to be a parent, Katya.”

My breath catches. There’s too much to process, too much to unpack.

“I want to meet her,” he continues, stubborn and unyielding.

“No.”

“I don’t need your permission,” he counters, his voice cold and hard.

“You have no idea what kind of power I hold in Russia,” I hiss, my voice laced with warning. “Nor what my brothers will do to shield me—us—from you.”

He smirks, leaning closer. “Is that supposed to scare me?”

“And you expect me to welcome you into our lives out of fear?”

“If that’s what it takes,” he says, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Then yes, Katya. You’ll accept me out of fear.”

I need to spell it out for him in a way he can’t twist, manipulate, or bulldoze his way through. “I think we’re past the point where we can play games, Igor. And I also think you’re full of shit. My little girl is the most precious thing in the world. I won’t risk her safety by letting you into our lives.”

“So what?” he snarls, his voice cracking with barely contained fury. “You want me to stay away from her? You expect me to pretend she doesn’t exist?” His face is turning an alarming shade of red, and for the first time, I wonder just how far his temper can go.

I rise from the couch, forcing space between us before this fight spirals even further. “There’s no going back to a different time, Igor. There’s no point shouting at me.”

But he’s up just as fast, closing the gap between us. His finger jabs toward me, the accusation in his eyes cutting sharper than any words. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s too late. We can’t turn back the clock. Fine, I can accept that. I can even accept that you shut the door in my face before we even had a chance to talk it through. But you don’t get to keep my daughter away from me. Now that I know she exists, I won’t stop until I meet her.”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut, sending my anger flaring hotter and brighter than I thought was possible.

“You’re crazy,” I snap, shaking my head in disbelief. “This isn’t a pissing contest to see who has the bigger dick, Igor!”

“Fuck you,” he growls, his voice dropping an octave as his hands scrub over his face. He paces like a caged animal, his body coiled tight with frustration. “God, I can’t even look at you right now.”

“That’s the one problem I can easily solve for you.” My voice is cold, razor-sharp as I turn on my heel.

Without giving him a chance to respond, I stride to the door and slam it behind me. The sound reverberates down the hallway, loud and final, but it does little to soothe the storm raging inside me.

By the time I make it to my car, my hands are shaking so badly it takes me two tries to get the key in the ignition. As I pull out of the parking lot, my mind is already racing ahead, planning my next move. I can’t handle this alone. I will need backup.

I grab my phone and hit the speed dial for Vasiliy. He answers on the first ring.

“Meet me outside my house,” I say, my voice clipped and urgent.

“What’s going on?” Vasiliy asks, instantly alert.

“We have trouble,” I bite out, gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles ache.

There’s a beat of silence before he speaks again, his voice hardening. “Didn’t I tell you to stay away from him?”

“This isn’t about me!” I snap back, my frustration spilling over. “It’s about Sofiya.”

Another pause. And then, quietly, “What do you mean?”

“He knows,” I say, the words tasting like acid in my mouth.

Silence again, but this time it’s heavier.

“I’ll be there,” Vasiliy finally says, his voice ice cold. The line goes dead, leaving me alone with nothing but my thoughts and the overwhelming realization that my carefully constructed world is about to come crashing down.