Page 21 of Mafia Prince's Secret Baby

“Sure,” he replies, the awkwardness in his tone unusual for him. “Anyway, I’ve got to go. We’re hitting some turbulence, and the flight attendant warned me I might lose the internet signal.”

“Talk to you later, brother.” I hang up and slide the phone into my pocket. Then I turn back to Katya, my eyes meeting hers. “You better pack fast because we don’t have much time.”

Katya looks tired. Worn out, even. She hasn’t stopped glaring at me since we left the park, but at least she’s stopped fighting me. It’s strange. Maybe I really did scare her. Or maybe she’s just biding her time, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Either way, it doesn’t matter. I glance into the backseat at Sofiya. There’s no changing my mind.

When we arrive at Katya’s apartment, she hesitates at the door, her hand lingering on the key for a second too long. I brush past her, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

I recognize my mistake almost immediately.

A tall, broad-shouldered figure turns from where he’s been standing near the window, his arms crossed over his chest. His sharp gray eyes meet mine with cold intensity, and a slow, deliberate smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Vasiliy,” I greet him, my tone neutral.

The eldest Volkov brother. I’d know him anywhere. Of all the Volkov siblings, Vasiliy is the one you don’t want to cross. Some might argue that Nikolai is the deadlier of the two, but that’s only because Nikolai is louder about it. Vasiliy? He’s quiet. Calculated. The kind of man who doesn’t bother with threats because his actions speak for themselves.

Katya doesn’t even look at me. She picks up Sofiya and rushes to Vasiliy, practically shoving our daughter into his arms.

It’s her last stand. A desperate attempt to keep me from taking Sofiya with me.

It won’t work.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve,” Vasiliy says, his voice calm but laced with steel. He rests a protective hand on Sofiya’s back, his gray eyes never leaving mine.

“Nice to see you too,” I reply, stepping further into the room.

“Cut the bullshit, Igor,” he snaps. “What the hell are you doing here? And why are you dragging my niece into it?”

I ignore his question, my gaze shifting to Katya. “Pack her things. Now.”

Katya stiffens but doesn’t move. Vasiliy’s jaw tightens, his hand curling into a fist at his side.

“You’re not taking her anywhere,” he says coldly.

“This doesn’t concern you,” I reply, my tone steady.

“The fuck it doesn’t,” Vasiliy growls. “She’smyblood.”

“And she’smydaughter,” I counter, stepping closer.

Vasiliy steps forward, closing the gap between us. We’re nearly nose to nose now, and the tension in the room is thick enough to cut with a knife.

“You think you can walk in here, throw your weight around, and take her?” Vasiliy’s voice drops, low and dangerous. “That’s not how this works.”

“I’m not asking for permission,” I say evenly.

“Yeah? Then what are you asking for?”

“Nothing.”

His lip curls in a sneer, and for a moment, I think he might take a swing at me. But then Sofiya shifts in his arms, her small hand tugging at his sleeve. He glances down at her, his expression softening ever so slightly.

It’s the opening I need.

“Let’s not make this harder than it has to be,” I say, my voice calm but firm. “Sofiya needs medical care, and I can give it to her. You can’t. Not here.”

Vasiliy’s eyes snap back to mine, and for a moment, I see the struggle in his expression. He knows I’m right.