Chapter 7: Mafia Prince’s Secret Baby: Chapter 6

Igor won’t give up. He won’t let it go.

I grab my bag, throw on my coat, and leave my office in a rush, my heels clicking against the marble floor. I have to get to Sofiya before he does.

Of course, the universe decides to test my patience. Right as I round the corner, I nearly collide with Sud’ya Kozlov, my colleague—the same sleazy asshole who’s been trying to weasel his way into a date for months.

“Sud’ya Volkov,” he says, his slimy smile plastered across his face as he deliberately steps into my path.

“Sud’ya Kozlov,” I reply, my urgency dissolving under the weight of my irritation. I force a polite smile, though it feels like my jaw might crack.

“If I knew you had such urgency to see me, I would’ve come sooner,” he jokes, completely misreading—or ignoring—my obvious attempt to escape.

God, why does every man feel entitled to make everything about himself? Another selfish prick. Just what I needed to top off my already hellish day.

“What do you want?” I snap, my tone sharper than I intended. “I’m in a rush.”

He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. His grin only widens as he steps closer, his beer belly practically invading my personal space.

“You know what I want,” he says, his voice dripping with misplaced confidence.

I don’t back away, refusing to yield. Instead, I lift my chin and stare him down, my forced smile vanishing into thin air.

“You and I sharing a nice meal. What do you say?”

“I don’t date coworkers,” I say flatly, shuffling around him before he can trap me further.

I don’t stop walking until I reach the elevator. As soon as the doors close behind me, I finally exhale the breath I’ve been holding. God, I hate dealing with idiots like Kozlov. I love my job. But the people who come with it, that’s a whole other matter.

Shaking it off, I speed toward the park where Sofiya spends her afternoons with Annette, our English au pair. I have to see her, hold her, make sure she’s safe. I need to remind myself that Igor can’t take her from me. She’s mine. She’s always been mine. And I will end him before I let him change that.

Soon, I spot her on the swings, her laughter cutting through the noise of the other children playing nearby. Annette is close, keeping a watchful eye.

My chest tightens, the sight of Sofiya hitting me like a punch to the gut. She has no idea the chaos swirling just out of reach. No idea her father is lurking like a storm on the horizon, threatening to upend the safe little world I’ve created for us.

When Sofiya sees me, she immediately slides off the swing and bolts toward me, her little legs carrying her as fast as they can. I drop to one knee and open my arms, catching her as she crashes into my chest.

I hug her tightly, burying my face in her soft curls. Her warmth, her scent—everything about her grounds me. God, I needed this. I didn’t even realize how much until now.

Annette walks over, her face lined with concern. “Katya, is everything alright?” she asks, her voice gentle but probing.

I nod, standing up as I take Sofiya’s small hand in mine. “Yes, but I need to take her home now. It’s urgent,” I say, forcing a smile. “Take the rest of the afternoon off, okay?”

Annette nods, her concern evident but unspoken. “Of course.”

I grab Sofiya’s backpack with one hand and lead her toward the park’s exit with the other. Just having her by my side calms me, though not entirely. Once we’re home, I’ll figure out my next move.

My thoughts spiral as I walk. Igor isn’t like other men. He’s Bratva. And Bratva men don’t exactly have reputations for being stable or reliable. They fight. They kill. They destroy everything they touch.

But maybe, just maybe, there’s something inside him that’s untouched by the darkness. Maybe there’s some part of him that can see reason, that will let us go.

I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t notice the tall figure leaning against my car until it’s too late.

Igor.

He straightens when he sees me, his jacket unbuttoned and his hands casually tucked into his pockets. A breeze ruffles his dark hair, and for a fleeting second, my fingers itch to smooth it back into place.

“Hello, ladies,” he greets us, his smile slow and deliberate.

Damn him. Why does he have to look so good?

Sofiya looks up at me, her little face curious but uncertain. I instinctively squeeze her hand tighter, stepping in front of her like a shield.

“What are you doing here, Igor?” I ask, my voice sharp, trying to mask the tremor of nerves underneath.

He shrugs, his nonchalance infuriating. “I warned you, Katya. I’m not leaving Russia yet.” His dark eyes flick down to Sofiya, and his smile widens. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

I grit my teeth as Sofiya looks between us, picking up on the tension even if she doesn’t understand the source.

“Let’s talk in private,” I hiss, my voice low but firm.

Without waiting for his response, I open the car door for Sofiya. She climbs into her seat, and I shut the door before whirling back to face Igor.

“Don’t you dare come anywhere near her again,” I warn, my voice a venomous whisper.

Igor arches an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. “Save your empty threats. I’m here now, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Just because you fucked me once doesn’t mean⁠—”

“Twice,” he interrupts.

“What?”

“I fucked you twice,” he says with infuriating ease, as if we’re talking about the weather. “And both times were memorable.”

My face burns with equal parts shame and fury. “Fine. Once, twice—whatever. Let’s not forget the countless women you’ve been with since then.”

He chuckles softly, the sound low and mocking. “What about you, hmm?” He takes a step closer, his presence as suffocating as it is magnetic. “That fat guy at the courthouse—your boyfriend? You two looked cozy.”

“Fuck off,” I snap, my voice shaking with anger. “My personal life is none of your business.”

“You’re wrong about that,” he counters, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You’re the mother of my child. From the moment you gave birth, your life became my business. Whether you like it or not, volchitsa, you’re mine.”

The sound of that word—volchitsa—sends a shiver down my spine, and I hate that he notices. His smile grows wider, a flash of approval in his eyes.

“Don’t you dare try to intimidate me,” I hiss, squaring my shoulders.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he says, his tone almost soothing. “Now step aside. I want to meet my daughter.”

“You’re crazy if you think I’m letting that happen,” I snarl, planting myself firmly between him and the car. “She’s not your daughter. She’s mine.”

“Wrong,” Igor growls, his eyes narrowing. “She’s ours. Now move before I physically remove you.”

I hold my ground, lifting my chin in defiance. “If you want her, Igor, you’ll have to go through me.”

For a moment, his gaze locks with mine, and the air between us crackles with tension.

He doesn’t scare me.

Much.

He grins, his expression sharp and dangerous, like a wolf circling its prey. “You shouldn’t have said that, sweetheart.”

His hand moves toward me, curling a lock of my hair around his index finger. He twists it slowly, deliberately, before tucking it behind my ear. The small, almost tender gesture sends a ripple through me, my stomach fluttering against my will.

I won’t let him know it.

His lips hover mere inches from mine, close enough that I can feel his breath on my skin. He could kiss me now if he wanted, and God help me, I’m terrified of what would happen if he did.

To keep my focus, I mentally start listing his worst qualities. Bastard. Bratva. Manipulative. Cold. Ruthless. But my traitorous brain betrays me, offering up images of those piercing blue eyes and that sly, arrogant smirk instead.

Damn it, Katya.

I hate myself for being so weak. For being so impulsive all those years ago.

“You’re an asshole,” I say sharply, snapping out of it and forcing the words in the hopes they’ll armor me against the effect he has on me.

His grin widens, maddeningly unfazed.

I push harder, my voice rising. “You’re a bastard, Igor. A selfish, evil bastard who only knows how to hurt people. What makes you think I’d let you anywhere near my daughter?”

But instead of backing down, he tightens his hold on a new lock of my hair, his grip firm enough to send a sharp jolt of awareness through me. Before I can jerk away, he yanks me closer, the motion quick and controlled.

I yelp, my free hand shooting up to grab his wrist, trying to push him away. His strength makes it pointless.

“You keep pushing me, volchitsa,” he whispers, his voice low and menacing. “Do you know where this ends? This is where I take Sofiya, pack her into a car, and disappear. Is that what you want? I’d say a girl this young needs her mother.”

His words send a chill through me, but I don’t flinch. I won’t let him see even a flicker of weakness.

“You’re an evil man,” I say, my voice trembling with fury, not fear. “All you do is destroy the people around you. Why would I believe you’d be any different with her?”

His jaw tightens, but there’s no real remorse in his expression, only the faintest trace of irritation. “I’m different,” he says simply, as if that’s enough to convince me.

It’s not.

I change tactics, trying to regain control of the situation. I take a small step closer, erasing the last bit of space between us, my heart pounding wildly. His warm breath brushes my lips, his chest firm against mine.

I’m playing with fire.

But then again, so is he.

“What do you want, Igor?” I whisper, my voice softening. “Name it. Whatever it is, I’ll give it to you. Just, please, leave us alone.”

For a moment, his expression flickers. But then the smirk returns, slow and calculating. Without warning, he leans in and presses his lips against mine.

I should hate it. Hate him. But instead, the heat inside me explodes, spreading like wildfire through my veins. His kiss is demanding, unapologetic, and my body betrays me by responding instantly. My skin burns with need, a desperate kind of yearning I haven’t felt in years.

My mind screams at me to stop, to fight back, to slap him across his smug, handsome face. But my body—the traitorous thing that it is—melts against him, clinging to the one touch that seems capable of quenching the blaze he’s ignited inside me.

And he knows it.

He uses my distraction to his advantage, his strength and speed tipping the scale firmly in his favor. In one swift motion, he sweeps me aside, stepping past me with infuriating ease.

I stumble backward, landing awkwardly on the pavement. My hands catch me before I hit the ground too hard, but it’s not the fall that knocks the breath out of me—it’s him.

Even in my anger, I can’t help but notice how calculated his movements were. He didn’t let go of me until he was certain I wouldn’t hurt myself. A small part of me wonders if that means something. The rest of me doesn’t care.

Because now, with me out of the way, there’s nothing standing between him and Sofiya.

I scramble to my feet, panic clawing at my chest as I whirl to face him. He’s already at the car, his hand resting on the handle of Sofiya’s door.

“Don’t you dare!” I shout, my voice shaking with rage.

He freezes, turning to glance at me over his shoulder. His expression is unreadable, but the intensity in his eyes makes my blood run cold.

“Stay the fuck away from her,” I snarl, my voice rising. “If you open that door, I swear to God, Igor⁠—”

“You’ll what?” he asks, cutting me off. His voice is calm, almost bored, but there’s a sharp edge beneath it that warns me not to push him further. “What exactly are you going to do, Katya?”

I don’t have an answer. Not one that’ll stop him.

“She’s mine, Katya,” he says, turning to face me fully now. His voice softens, but it doesn’t lose its weight. “Ours. You can hate me all you want. You can call me whatever names make you feel better. But she’s my daughter, and I’m not walking away.”

His words cut deep, but I refuse to show it. “You don’t deserve her,” I spit.

His expression darkens, his jaw tightening. “And you don’t get to make that call.”