Page 31 of Mafia Prince's Secret Baby

“You’ll meet him soon,”I sign, hoping the promise will be enough to keep her from focusing on the carnage around us.

But Igor’s voice cuts through the tense moment, sharp and commanding. “Don’t move.”

I glance up to find him marching toward the apartment door, holding a gun in his hand. His shoulders are rigid, every step brimming with tension.

“Wait,” I snap, my voice a little louder than I intended. “What’s going on, Igor? Who did this?”

He doesn’t answer. His hand is already on the door.

Before I can demand an explanation, he flings it open and storms inside. My heart lurches, and I instinctively glance at Sofiya, whose grip on my hand hasn’t loosened.

For a moment, there’s only silence, broken by the muffled sound of Igor’s voice. Then?—

“Papa!”

The child’s voice carries into the hallway, bright and joyful, shattering the suffocating tension in an instant.

I blink, startled. That must be Damien.

Igor appears in the doorway seconds later, his face pale, but his eyes blazing with focus. “He’s fine,” he says, his voice clipped.

Relief washes over me, but it’s short-lived as he turns to us. “Come inside. Both of you.”

I hesitate, glancing down at Sofiya. She’s still clinging to my hand, her little brow furrowed in confusion. “I’m not stepping into that apartment until you explain what’s going on,” I hiss, my voice low but sharp.

“Not out here,” Igor growls, his jaw clenching. “Sofiya doesn’t need to watch this.” He gestures toward the bloody boxes behind us, his tone hardening. “Inside. Now.”

I want to argue, but I glance back at Sofiya and know he’s right. Whatever horrors are waiting outside this door are nothing she should be exposed to.

Still, I can’t resist one last jab. “You better fix this,” I say, venom lacing every word. “If you think I’m staying in the middle of whatever hell you’ve brought into our lives?—”

“Enough,” he snaps, but his tone lacks its usual bite. His gaze flickers briefly toward Sofiya, and for the first time, I see something unexpected in his eyes. Worry.

Good. He should be worried.

Holding Sofiya’s hand, I follow him inside.

The first thing I notice is the smell. Garlic, onions... something cooking. The normalcy of it clashes horribly with the chaos outside. I barely have time to process it before noticing a small boy standing behind Igor, holding a Lego piece in his hand. An elderly woman wearing an apron appears from the kitchen.

“Papa, play with me?”

Damien.

Igor kneels, scooping him up into his arms. His whole demeanor shifts as he holds his son close, his hand smoothing over the boy’s dark hair. For a brief moment, all the tension drains from his shoulders, replaced by something almost human.

“Hey, buddy,” Igor murmurs, his voice low and steady.

Damien pulls back slightly, his bright blue eyes scanning his father’s face. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice tinged with concern.

“Nothing,malysha,” Igor replies, forcing a smile. “Just work stuff.” He sets Damien back on his feet, ruffling his hair and nodding to the babysitter. “We’ll play later.”

The boy hesitates, glancing at me and Sofiya curiously. Igor follows his gaze, his expression hardening.

“These are visitors,” he says, his tone clipped. “Be polite.”

Igor glances back at me, his expression unreadable. He gestures toward the door, his voice gruff. “Stay here with Olga. Keep the kids together. Don’t go near the door. I’ll handle this.”

“Handle it?” I snap, my voice trembling with anger. “You better hope you can fix this. One word to my brothers, and you’re done.”