Chapter 8: Mafia Prince’s Secret Baby: Chapter 7

“Hello, malyshka,” I say softly, a smile tugging at my lips.

Sofiya stares up at me, her tiny face blank and unreadable. The only sound in the charged silence is the soft clicking of the bracelet around her wrist, her small fingers fiddling with it absently.

This is the first time I’ve ever laid eyes on my daughter, and yet, there’s no mistaking the pull I feel toward her. It’s the same overwhelming flood of emotion I felt the first time I held Damien.

But she’s so different from him. Sofiya looks like Katya—her hair, the oval shape of her face—but those wide, piercing blue eyes? They’re mine. The recognition is instant and instinctual. Even if she didn’t look like me, I’d know. She’s my blood.

The connection feels almost otherworldly. Like an invisible thread tying us together. But it’s also deeply unsettling because a part of me still can’t wrap my head around the fact that I didn’t know she existed until now.

“Don’t be afraid,” I murmur, my voice gentle.

Sofiya doesn’t react. She doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, doesn’t even flinch. Her face stays blank, unreadable. My jaw tightens as I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. Of course, she’s not answering me. Poor girl doesn’t speak English.

“Privet, malyshka,” I try again, switching to Russian.

This time, she bites her lower lip, and for the briefest moment, I catch it trembling. Her blue eyes glisten with tears, but she doesn’t let them fall.

I frown, forcing myself to take a calming breath as frustration bubbles in my chest. My patience is thin, worn down by Katya’s constant defiance and the raw, complicated emotions clawing at me. All I want is to connect with my daughter, but she’s pulling away.

And then I realize: it’s her. It’s Katya’s fault. She must’ve told Sofiya not to speak to me. She’s poisoned her mind against me before I even had the chance to meet her.

The clicking sound from Sofiya’s bracelet stops abruptly, and my gaze snaps back to her. She’s looking at me now, studying me with wide, curious eyes. For a split second, hope flares in my chest. She’s going to say something.

But she remains quiet.

Her head tilts slightly, and she looks toward Katya, as if silently asking for permission to respond.

Katya sighs and steps forward, pushing me aside. I watch as her hands move in deliberate, fluid motions.

Sofiya’s gaze sharpens, her eyes locking onto Katya’s hands. And then, she mimics the movements with her own small hands.

“She doesn’t speak,” I mutter, realization dawning on me as the pieces finally click into place. “Katya, why doesn’t she speak?”

My voice sounds strange, distant, as if I were someone else.

Katya doesn’t answer, and for the first time in years, my mind goes blank. Something is wrong with my daughter.

“Why is she not responding?” I demand again, louder this time. Anger rises in me like a tide, familiar and comforting, and I latch onto it with both hands.

“That’s enough,” Katya says firmly, her tone carrying a finality that makes my blood boil. “It’s time for you to leave.”

“Fuck that!” I snarl, my voice echoing. “You’ll tell me what the hell is going on. Why is she not talking? Is something wrong with her?”

“Igor, leave it alone,” she warns, but there’s a note of desperation creeping into her voice now. “Nothing’s wrong with her. She’s perfect.”

“No shit,” I snap, stepping closer, refusing to back down. “Answer me!”

Katya’s face hardens, but I see the crack in her composure. “She’s a good and happy kid,” she says, her tone clipped. “That’s all you need to know.”

“She can’t speak,” I grind, my jaw tight. “Is it physical or psychological?”

“She has neurofibromatosis, type II,” Katya blurts out, her voice sharp with annoyance.

I stare at her, the unfamiliar term meaning nothing to me. “What the hell is that? Is it deadly? Is it treatable?”

“It’s a genetic disorder,” she explains, her tone cold, like she’s reading off a medical report. “It causes non-cancerous tumors to grow on her hearing nerves. She started losing her hearing two years ago.”

“Have you taken her to see doctors?” I ask, though the question feels stupid even as it leaves my mouth. Of course she has.

Her eyes narrow, and she crosses her arms. “What do you think? Do you seriously believe I wouldn’t take her to the best specialists in Russia?”

“Stop talking to me like I’m an idiot,” I snap back, my anger reigniting. “You should’ve told me, Katya. I hate you for keeping so many secrets from me. You better hope this is the last one.”

“No one asked you to show up and start demanding rights,” she hisses, her voice venomous. Her defiance is impressive. “She doesn’t know you. It’d be better for all of us if you just left her alone. You’re no more than a sperm donor, you hear me?”

“She’s my daughter,” I say, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “I want my child.”

“You need to leave,” Katya insists, her desperation bubbling to the surface. “You saw her. We’re done here.”

“Fine,” I bite out. “But Sofiya’s coming with me.”

“Like hell she is!” she yells, her voice rising. “You think you can just take her? You’re insane!”

“Look at her, Katya,” I say, my voice soft but sharp enough to cut. “She’ll have better care in New York. One call, and I’ll have the best specialists in the world treating her.”

“No!” she screams, her voice cracking with emotion. “You can’t take her from me!”

“I can,” I growl, my tone darkening, “and I will.”

“Over my dead body,” she spits, her voice trembling.

“Don’t tempt me,” I warn, my voice low and deadly. “You seem to forget who you’re talking to.”

Her face pales, but she holds her ground, her jaw tight with defiance.

“Listen carefully,” I say, my voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “We’re all getting into your car. You’ll drive us home. You’ll pack a bag for Sofiya, and for yourself if you’re smart. Then we’re flying to New York. Sofiya needs my help, and I won’t wait another day.”

“Igor, please⁠—”

“No,” I interrupt her, my tone final. “My mind’s made up.”

I open the car door and gently strap Sofiya into her seat. She looks at me with curious eyes and smiles, her tiny hands moving again in gestures I don’t understand.

Katya climbs into the passenger seat without another word, her face pale and drawn.

“I don’t expect you to understand,” I say quietly as I start the engine. “But I hope one day you’ll forgive me. For your sake, and for Sofiya’s.”

“You were supposed to be a one-night stand,” she murmurs, her voice breaking. “Easy. No strings attached.” I know exactly what she’s referring to, remembering what transpired between us at Nikolai and Katarina’s wedding.

I sigh. “We can’t change it now. We need to focus on Sofiya instead.”

We stop at a traffic light, the silence thick and uncomfortable. Katya turns her head, leaning it back against the headrest, and exhales slowly. Her shoulders sag under the weight of everything unsaid, her entire demeanor radiating defeat and disappointment.

“Things shouldn’t have happened like this,” she murmurs, her voice almost lost in the hum of the engine. “You shouldn’t be a part of my life—our life. We’re fine without you.”

“Well, now I’m here,” I say simply.

There’s nothing left to say. No point in sugarcoating it. Neither of us can take any of it back—not our decisions, not our regrets. Katya has to live with the consequences of keeping Sofiya a secret, just like I have to live with the fallout of discovering her so late. What matters now is Sofiya. She deserves the best, and I’ll make sure she gets it, no matter how messy things get between her mother and me.

Without giving Katya another chance to argue or try to talk me out of this, I grab my phone and call Aleks.

“Igor,” he answers, skipping any pretense of pleasantries.

“I need a favor,” I say, keeping my tone clipped and businesslike.

He makes a low sound in his throat—acknowledgment or annoyance, I don’t know. “Tell me.”

“Get me a private jet ready to leave for New York in three hours,” I say.

I glance at Katya. She’s gripping the handle above the window so tightly her knuckles have turned white. Good. Let her stew in it. Maybe now she understands just how serious I am.

“Anything else?” Aleks asks, unfazed.

“I need someone to research who has the most advanced treatment for naufro⁠—”

“Neurofibromatosis, type II,” Katya interrupts, her voice cutting through my sentence.

I pause, turning to her. “What?”

“Neurofibromatosis, type II,” she repeats, her tone sharp but controlled.

I hold the phone out toward her. “Say it again.”

She leans slightly closer, speaking directly into the receiver. “Neurofibromatosis, type II.”

“Did you get that?” I ask Aleks.

“Yeah,” he says. “You need a plane and a doctor.”

“Thanks,” I tell him, and for once, I mean it.

“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’s my blood.”

“And she’s my daughter,” 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.

Katya breaks the silence, her voice trembling but resolute. “You’re not taking her, Igor.”

“I already told you,” I say, my patience wearing thin. “This isn’t up for debate.”

“You’ll have to go through both of us,” Vasiliy says, his voice a low growl.

“Fine,” I snap, my anger flaring. “If that’s what it takes, so be it.”

The tension in the room reaches its breaking point, and for a moment, none of us move.

Then Sofiya shifts again, her small hands moving in quick, deliberate gestures. Katya’s breath hitches, and her expression crumbles as she watches her daughter.

Vasiliy looks at Katya, then at me. The room is heavy with unspoken words, but I don’t wait for permission.

“Katya,” I say quietly. “She shouldn’t watch us while we talk.”

Her shoulders slump in defeat, and she nods once, her movements stiff and mechanical as she carries Sofiya to her room.

Vasiliy watches her go, then turns back to me, his gray eyes burning with cold fury.