Page 92 of Mafia Prince's Secret Baby

Having Ivan around—Nikolai’s right-hand man and bodyguard—still feels off. Over the years, the man has had plenty of chances to perfect the art of tailing and trailing, so there’s no questioning his utility. That doesn’t make it easier, though. Nor does it assuage my irritation with his presence.

I’ve never had a babysitter, especially not a Volkov-affiliated one. Having no other options, I grit my teeth and paste on a stoic expression. Shoving the car door open, I climb out and walk a few steps to the club, Ivan not far behind. I need to push my aversion aside and be civil to the hulking, yet polite, bodyguard. After all, the faster we work together, the quicker the job is finished, and the sooner he can leave me and my family alone.

“Konstantin, do a quick sweep around the perimeter,” I instruct. “Ivan and I are going in.”

My second in command gives a curt nod and immediately obeys. He’ll be the eyes and ears while I focus on the leads.

“Follow,” I say to Ivan, vowing to try harder not to be an asshole.

He puts his hands behind his back and obediently keeps his pace even with mine. He doesn’t protest or utter a single word. In fact, he doesn’t do much other than stay five feet behind, just like a regular shadow. Not long ago, he was part of the enemy camp, and yet here we are, working together.

Fate’s a funny little thing.

“Boris isn’t here,” the familiar security guard informs me. He was here the last time I came. I take in the plain black clothes that cover the standard guard’s beefy frame and check his name tag.

“Raffe.” I take a stack of cash from the inner pocket of my suit. “Just about any Olenko will do. Who’s here? Someone has to be manning the club.”

The corner of his lips quirks up as he counts the cash, apparently finding the amount acceptable. “I don’t know about manning, but there’s definitely some seriouswomaninggoing on.”

Ivan snorts.

“What?” I ask, my brows furrowing.

“Miss Galina is here,” Raffe explains, glancing at both of us. “Boris‘s daughter.”

“I know who she is,” I mutter. “Fuck.”

“Should I get her or...?”

“Yes,” Ivan confirms at the same time I say, “No.”

We both pause, a sigh leaving my lips.

“Sorry,” I mutter. “With all of this going on, I’m a little distracted. I’ll talk with whoever’s in charge.”

Raffe smirks. “I’ll see if Miss Galina wants to meet with you. Wait here.”

“Yeah,” I breathe out.

Raffe marches down the hallway. Through the loudspeakers, dance music plays at full volume, the bumping rhythm pounding against the floor and through the walls, making even my heart beat in sync. On the stage, half-naked dancers slide up and down the poles. Only a few patrons and dealers loitering around the space. It must be the lunch crowd, just small enough to have enough room to move and fast enough to make money.

Ivan’s as quiet as the grave. With a steel glint in his eyes, he surveys the space, undoubtedly waiting for someone to so much as look at me the wrong way. God, if only that simple act could solve all the problems, but unfortunately, as it is, life isn’t that simple.

In front of us, a pair of double doors opens, Raffe’s head poking out.

“She has time for you now,” he says dryly. “Come with me.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Whatever happens, keep your mouth shut,” I say to Ivan. “I’m serious.”

“I’m here to have your back and report to Nik,” he snaps. “I don’t need a lecture from you.”

“Right,” I mutter.

Following Raffe, I pass the empty bar and take a glance at the seats scattered around. There must be around thirty men and women wandering around the different areas and nooks.

One of the dancers on the stage recognizes me and blows me a kiss. My only reaction is to roll my eyes and turn away. To take my attention from the distracting sight, I inhale, the scent of sex and alcohol suffocating the air.