Page 12 of The Mafia's Quadruplets

I draw in a ragged breath, trying to regain my composure, but even as my body relaxes, my mind remains fixated on her. On the enigma that is Claire Bennett, and the inexplicable hold she has over me.

“What are you doing to me, Claire?” The words dissolve in the steam, unanswered.

Afterward, as I dry off and dress for dinner, I tell myself I’m not ashamed. It’s a natural response to an attractive woman.Nothing more, but the memory of the guilt I felt earlier in my office resurfaces.

I banish it quickly. There’s no room for such weakness in my world.

I check my watch. Claire will be arriving soon. Despite my best efforts to remain detached, a thrill of anticipation runs through me. Tonight’s dinner will be... interesting, to say the least.

As I adjust my cufflinks, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. My expression is composed, revealing nothing of the turmoil beneath the surface. Good. That’s how it needs to stay.

“Remember,” I tell my reflection sternly, “This is about the debt. Nothing more.”

Even as I say the words, I know they’re a lie. Claire Bennett has already become more than just a means to collect on her brother’s gambling losses. If things get heated and physical between us, I’ll have no regrets.

5

Claire

Isit at the kitchen table, hand around a mug of mint tea. The worn wooden surface beneath my tea holds years of family memories—homework sessions, holiday dinners, and late-night confessions. Now, it’s about to become the stage for the hardest conversation of my life.

Mom bustles in, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Claire, honey, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Dad follows closely behind, his brow wrinkled with concern. They take their seats across from me, and I force myself to meet their gazes. “It’s about Jay.” I inhale deeply and exhale slowly. “He’s in jail.”

Mom’s hand flies to her mouth, stifling a gasp. Dad’s expression crumples, the lines around his eyes deepening with pain and disappointment. “What happened?” he asks, his voice rough.

I take a deep breath, preparing myself for their reaction. “He got caught up in some illegal gambling, but that’s not the worst ofit.” I pause, the words sticking in my throat. “He... he gambled away Bloom House.”

Mom’s eyes widen in disbelief. “That’s not possible. How could he?—?”

“To a man named Valerian Rostova,” I continue, pushing through their shock. “He’s some kind of businessman, I think.” I purposefully hide the fact that he’s obviously a criminal too. This is already traumatic enough for them.

Dad’s fist clenches on the table. “We’ll fight this. It can’t be legal.”

I shake my head. “It’s not that simple. I don’t think we can go the conventional route here, Dad. He told me that in his world, a family shares the burden of one member’s sins. However, I’ve... I’ve made a deal to save the shop.”

Mom leans forward with hope in her eyes. “What kind of deal, Claire?”

“I’m going to work for Valerian.” I carefully omit the part about living at his mansion. “As his personal masseuse. I’ll work off Jay’s debt, and we get to keep Bloom House.”

“Absolutely not,” says Dad, his voice firm. “We’ll find another way. Take out a loan, or sell the house if we have to?—”

“No,” I interrupt, surprising myself with the hardness in my voice. “This is my choice. I won’t let you lose everything you’ve worked for because of Jay’s mistakes.”

Mom reaches across the table, grasping my hand. “Sweetheart, you don’t have to do this. It’s not your responsibility.”

“But it is,” I insist. “We’re family. We take care of each other, and right now, this is how I can take care of you.”

Dad shakes his head, his eyes glistening. “Claire, we don’t know anything about this man. It could be dangerous.”

“I know, but I’ve met him. He’s... intense, but I don’t think he’ll hurt me. This way, we keep the shop. Your legacy stays intact, and we can move on from this. It won’t even be that long.”

“Our legacy isn’t worth your safety,” she says with a sniff.

I squeeze her hand. “I’ll be careful, I promise, but this is the best solution we have right now.”

Dad stands abruptly, pacing the small kitchen. “There has to be another way. We could talk to a lawyer, see if there’s any legal recourse?—”

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