Page 10 of Mafia Prince's Secret Baby

“No.”

“Then I suggest you sit your gorgeous ass down and keep me company,” I tell her. “I’ll order us room service.”

“I’m leaving.”

“Seriously though, what’s the rush?” I pull her to me, her palm resting on my chest.

“I just...” She stalls, struggling to come up with a believable explanation, but what’s a woman to do when she’s trapped and knows it? With my arm against the door, she can’t open it wide enough to squeeze through it.

“I’m not done with you. Let’s discuss business, then I’ll rail you again.”

“Oh, fuck off, Igor.” She scoffs, tilting her head back to look up at me. “I warned you what would happen if you try to talk about the trial. Just in case you think I’m joking, let me make it clear. Don’t try to pressure me, or my brothers will make your life a living hell.”

Before I can come up with a reply, her phone rings. A wave of annoyance washes over me, and without thinking, I grab her bag out of her hands and take her phone with the full intention to tell the bastard who’s interrupting us to go to hell.

“Igor, back off!” she hisses, but it’s too late because I already have the phone against my ear.

But there is silence from the other side, broken only by small, childlike sobs.

Katya tears the phone from my grasp, and a stab of icy pain slices through me. She turns the phone to FaceTime and turns her back to me.

“Did you have a nightmare again?” She uses a calm tone, gesturing with her hands. I take a step back to give her the space she needs.

Katya uses the opportunity to push past me and go to the bathroom. I stay in the living room, waiting for her to be done. My mind is in overdrive, and there is only one explanation.

Damn, I feel like an idiot. I should’ve figured it out when I saw the scar on her belly.

I turn to Katya the moment I hear her coming out. Correctly predicting her next move, I position myself between her and the door.

"Let me go, Igor. My daughter needs me," she orders weakly. Her eyes look everywhere except at me.

"What's her name?" I ask, my mind racing

"We're not discussing this. You know as well as I do that today was a one-time deal. How about we follow our original plan, go our separate ways, and pretend none of this ever happened?"

"How old is she?" The question comes out as a growl. The way she's refusing to meet my eyes, the slight tremor in her hands—tells me everything. She's hiding something bigger than just having a kid.

"Back off, Igor," she hisses, trying to push past me.

"Is she mine?" The words scrape out of my throat. The timing, her desperate attempts to keep me away from any mention of her personal life during our encounter—it all adds up to one gut-wrenching conclusion.

"Sofiya's mine," she mutters, and I can't help but notice how desperate she is to escape. Only when I grab her by the shoulders and make her look at me do I realize she's shaking. She won't meet my eyes, and that's the final confirmation I need.

"Let me go," she pleads, dropping her brave facade.

"No," I say through gritted teeth. "You're going to sit down and tell me about my daughter."

4

KATYA

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.