Chapter 9: Mafia Prince’s Secret Baby: Chapter 8

With Sofiya safely in her room, the showdown begins. Vasiliy sits beside me, his calm demeanor a mask for the storm brewing beneath. His gray eyes are locked on Igor, cold and calculating, a panther waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He doesn’t fidget, doesn’t so much as twitch. Vasiliy never wastes movement.

Igor, on the other hand, is all fire and sharp edges, his blue eyes blazing as they shift between me and my brother. Every part of him radiates frustration, anger, and the kind of stubbornness that terrifies me because I know he won’t back down.

I sink into the couch, keeping my hands folded in my lap, trying not to reveal the pounding of my heart. Vasiliy’s presence beside me is a comfort, his quiet strength something I’ve relied on my whole life. He’s not just my brother—he’s my shield. But even with him here, I can feel the weight of Igor’s presence pressing down on me like a threat that’s impossible to ignore.

“What the fuck is this anyways?” Igor demands, his voice hard as steel. He glares at Vasiliy, then at me, before his gaze locks back onto my brother. “Why is he even here?”

I stay silent, letting Vasiliy take the lead. This is what he does best—keeping his cool while making his opponent feel like they’re being dragged into quicksand.

Vasiliy doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out his gun. The movement is casual, like he’s grabbing a pack of gum. He holds it loosely in his hand, the gesture calm but loaded with unspoken warning.

“If you don’t want to spend the rest of your life in the coldest cell of the Black Dolphin prison, you’ll only speak when I ask you to,” Vasiliy says, his voice low and even.

“You don’t scare me,” Igor snarls, his lip curling. “You’re forgetting that out of the three of us, I’m the only one who doesn’t play by the rules.”

“Fair enough,” Vasiliy replies, his tone cold as ice. “But I still suggest you keep your cool. We’re going to have a conversation, and in the end, we’ll come up with a solution. Together.”

“You don’t belong here,” Igor shoots back. “This is between me and Katya.”

I keep my head down, my gaze fixed on my hands. I can feel Igor’s fury, his energy crackling in the room like an exposed wire. And yet, I stay silent. Not because I agree with him, but because I don’t know how much longer I can hold it together.

“Katya is my sister,” Vasiliy says, his voice slow and deliberate, as if he’s explaining something to a child. “I’m here to make sure you don’t threaten her. This conversation will be calm and fair.”

Igor’s jaw clenches, his hatred for my brother practically radiating off him. “Is that what they teach you in the SRV?”

The tension spikes. It’s not common knowledge that Vasiliy works for Russian Foreign Intelligence, but I’m not surprised that Igor knows of it. The Bratva have long memories and an even longer reach.

“I thought you wanted to talk about the kid,” Vasiliy counters coolly. “Not your criminal activities. Unless, of course, you’d prefer we skip the talking altogether. Your death would save us all a lot of gray hair.”

Igor rubs his jaw, his muscles tensing. If Vasiliy weren’t surrounded by extra men stationed outside and on the balcony, I think Igor might’ve already made a move. Instead, he stays seated, though his frustration is palpable.

“Sofiya is my daughter,” Igor growls, his voice like a warning shot.

“Drop the fatherly act,” Vasiliy dismisses him, his tone sharp. “I’m not in the mood for games. From now on, you’ll forget about Katya and Sofiya. Do you hear me? They don’t exist. If you come anywhere near them again, I’ll cut your dick off.”

“Save your threats,” Igor snaps, his voice steady despite the venom in it. Ignoring Vasiliy entirely, his piercing gaze shifts to me instead.

“Again, Sofiya is my blood,” he repeats, his voice low but commanding. “I’m not just her father—I can give her what she needs. Proper treatment. A real chance at a better life. Would you seriously deny her that?”

Vasiliy’s eyes narrow, his calculating expression shifting slightly. My stomach churns as I watch him.

He’s considering it.

Igor presses on, sensing the crack in my brother’s resolve. “New York has some of the best doctors in the world. You know how it works. Russia is still behind in treating rare conditions. Are you going to stand in the way of giving her a fighting chance?”

“Igor,” Vasiliy starts, his tone carefully measured, “you’re forgetting something. Just because you’ve got the money and the doctors doesn’t mean you’re fit to raise her.”

“I’m more than fit,” Igor fires back, his voice rising. “You think keeping her here, hidden away, is what’s best for her? Letting her suffer under subpar care while you sit around pretending you know what’s best?”

“You know damn well I’m not talking about doctors,” Vasiliy replies, his tone sharp, his grip tightening on the gun. “I’m talking about you. You don’t get to just waltz in, declare yourself the father, and expect us to hand her over.”

“I’m Bratva,” Igor admits, his voice hardening, “and I know how to protect her. If Sofiya comes with me, she’ll be safe. In New York, she’ll have access to the best treatment. No strings. Or would you rather she grow up surrounded by your secret service puppets?”

Vasiliy leans back, his fingers drumming against the armrest. He’s thinking.

“Vasiliy!” I blurt out, panic surging through me. “You can’t seriously be considering this! He just found out about her, and now you’re⁠—”

Vasiliy raises a hand to silence me, his gaze still locked on Igor. “Let’s say,” he begins slowly, “I entertain the idea. What guarantees do I have that you won’t use her as a bargaining chip or parade her around like a trophy for your Bratva friends?”

Igor’s smirk fades, replaced by a cold, unyielding stare. “You have my word.”

“Your word?” Vasiliy chuckles darkly. “And what is the word of a dark prince worth these days?”

“More than the word of an SRV puppet,” Igor snaps, leaning forward. His voice drops, low and deadly. “You want guarantees? Fine. She’ll have full protection. The best medical care. Everything she needs. In New York, she’ll have the life she deserves. Not one of fear, not one of hiding.”

“Please,” I say desperately, my voice cracking. “You can’t trust him!”

Vasiliy glances at me, then back at Igor. “You make a compelling case. But you’re still asking me to put my sister’s child in the hands of a man who built his empire on blood and violence.”

Igor straightens, his jaw tight. “And you built yours on secrets and lies. Let’s not pretend either of us are saints, Vasiliy. But at least I’m honest about who I am.”

The tension in the room is suffocating. Vasiliy’s resolve is cracking, and I can see it in the way he’s weighing Igor’s words.

I feel the ground beneath me slipping, dragging me toward a future I don’t want. A future I can’t accept.

“She’s five years old, Vasiliy!” I shout, my voice breaking with desperation. “You can’t just⁠—”

“Katya,” Vasiliy cuts me off with a heavy sigh. “I’m not saying yes. I’m saying we have to be practical. Sofiya’s condition is serious. You know that without proper care, she’ll be completely deaf within a few years.”

My chest tightens and my hands ball into fists at my sides.

Igor leans back, his smirk inching its way onto his face. He looks too satisfied for my liking. “You’re finally thinking with your head.”

Vasiliy ignores the dig, but I don’t miss the flicker of hesitation in his eyes. He’s weighing options, balancing consequences, and I’m terrified of which way he’ll tip.

“This isn’t over!” I snap, rising from the couch. My heart pounds furiously, my voice trembling with both rage and panic. “You think you can just take her away from me? You’re both delusional.”

Vasiliy remains calm, though a trace of regret softens his otherwise stoic demeanor. “Katya,” he says, his tone surprisingly gentle, “we’re just talking.”

But I know better. I see it now. The way Igor’s smirk grows ever so slightly at the corners, the way Vasiliy’s hard edges seem to ease. They’re not just talking—they’re negotiating.

“We need to find an arrangement that works for everyone,” my brother says, his voice deliberate and measured.

Igor presses his hands to his temples, feigning exhaustion as he leans back into the couch. “What kind of arrangement are we talking about?”

The tension is suffocating, closing in on me from every direction. I pace toward the window, needing air, needing something solid to anchor me. The traffic outside flows on as if nothing is happening, as if my world isn’t crashing down. The gray, familiar buildings are so ordinary—but to Sofiya and me, they’re everything. Moscow is our home, the center of our little world.

“She’s my daughter,” Igor repeats his mantra stubbornly, his voice rough and unyielding. “She’s coming to New York with me.”

The finality in his tone sends a shiver down my spine. I refuse to turn around. I don’t want him to see the tears threatening to fall.

Vasiliy opens his mouth to respond, but Igor rises to his feet, cutting him off. I hear his footsteps before I feel him looming behind me.

He moves closer, his hands planting on the window on either side of me, boxing me in. The heat of his body radiates against my back as he locks his eyes on mine in the window reflection.

“This isn’t up for discussion,” he says quietly, the words landing on me like boulders, heavy and crushing. “I don’t care what you or your brother think you can do. I will burn your entire life to the ground, Katya. I’ll leave you no choice but to come with me. If you push me, I’ll mobilize my men, call on every ally I have, and hire the deadliest scum in the underground to destroy everything you love. Is that what you want? Because if it is, say the word, and I’ll make the call.”

My breath catches, and anxiety grips my chest like a vice. My palms press against the cold glass, and for a moment, the world outside blurs. I can feel my brother’s steady presence behind Igor, but Vasiliy doesn’t move. Either he doesn’t see Igor as a real threat, or he’s biding his time, waiting for the right moment to strike.

“If you do that,” I whisper, turning around to face him defiantly, my voice trembling, “if you start a war, I’ll never forgive you. I’ll never, ever let you near Sofiya, and we will hate you for the rest of our lives.”

“The rest of your life might be shorter than you think if you keep my daughter away from me,” Igor thunders, his voice low and lethal. “Don’t push me, Katya. Sofiya is coming with me, whether you like it or not. This is your one and only chance to stay in her life.”

My heart lurches. The weight of his words crushes me, but there’s a cruel, undeniable logic to them. If I refuse, if I push too hard, I could lose Sofiya forever. Staying in her life should be enough—it should—but the thought of leaving our life here, our home, everything we’ve built, feels unbearable.

Sofiya belongs here. This is her world. She has Annette, who adores her and teaches her English. She has friends, a school, a routine. How could I rip her away from all of that?

A lump forms in my throat, and I fight to hold back the tears. But I know I’m not just scared for her. I’m scared for me. Sofiya is my anchor. My rock. Without her, I’m adrift.

Vasiliy rises to his feet, slowly reaching under his jacket. The click of his gun cuts through the air like a blade.

“I thought I warned you not to threaten my sister,” he says coldly, pressing the barrel of his gun against the back of Igor’s head.

Igor’s eyes stay locked on mine. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even blink. Instead, he speaks to my brother, his tone dark and steady. “Never pull a gun unless you’re willing to use it.”

“I heard you’ve been shot in the head before,” Vasiliy replies, his voice like ice. “Nick told me all about it. Too bad he didn’t let you die. It would’ve saved us all a lot of trouble.”

Igor smiles, that dangerous smirk tugging at his lips. “True. But it also would’ve meant your brother would never have found happiness, and your sister would never have a kid who’s her whole world. The one she’s so determined to keep away from me.”

“Katya, go check on Sofiya,” Vasiliy commands, his voice tight. “I’ll call you when we’re done.”

I hesitate, my body frozen, but I nod eventually. As I move to pass Igor, he turns so fast I don’t even see it coming. In one swift motion, he grabs the gun from Vasiliy, spinning it around to press the barrel against my brother’s temple.

“If you want your brother to live,” Igor growls, his voice low and menacing, “you’ll tell him you’re coming to New York. Now.”

As if on cue, Vasiliy’s men burst into the room, their guns aimed directly at Igor.

But Vasiliy doesn’t recoil. His calm, emotionless mask is firmly in place, like this is just another Tuesday.

“I’m not a stranger to pulling the trigger,” Igor warns. “Is this how you want it to go? Do you want Sofiya to lose her parents and her uncle because you can’t see past your stubborn pride?”

For a long moment, the room is silent.

Finally, Vasiliy raises his hand, signaling his men to stand down. His voice is measured but sharp. “Katya and Sofiya will go to New York.”

“What?” The word escapes my lips in a choked whisper, tears pooling in my eyes.

“Sofiya needs help,” Vasiliy says, meeting my gaze over Igor’s shoulder. “We have to do what’s best for her.”

“I’m her mother!” I yell, the words ripping from my throat. “I’m the one who decides what’s best for her!”

Vasiliy’s face softens, but his tone remains firm. “Your only reason for not going is him, Katya. That’s not good enough.”

All the fight drains out of me. I sink to my knees, my head bowing as the tears finally spill.

Vasiliy kneels beside me, his hand rubbing gentle circles on my back. “You won’t be alone, sestra,” he reassures me softly. “Nikolai’s in New York. He’ll look after you and Sofiya. I’ll make sure your job here waits for you. They’ll put you on a sabbatical.”

I take a shuddering breath, lifting my tear-streaked face. My voice is barely a whisper. “Okay. We’ll go.”

Igor steps closer, his gaze softening for the first time. He lifts my chin with his finger, forcing me to look at him. “Let’s pack.”