Page 14 of The Mafia's Quadruplets

He moves closer, and I resist the urge to step back. “I’m glad to hear it. Shall we discuss the terms of your employment?”

The way he says “employment” makes my skin prickle. I nod stiffly.

Valerian gestures to a pair of leather armchairs. “Please, sit.”

I perch on the edge of the seat, my back painfully straight. Valerian settles into the chair across from me, his movements fluid and controlled. He studies me for a long moment, and I force myself to meet his gaze.

“Let’s establish some ground rules, shall we?” His voice is deceptively calm. “First, you will be available to me at all times after your workday ends. Evening or night, whenever I require your services, you will provide them without question.”

My jaw clenches. “And what exactly do those services entail?”

A small smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “Massage therapy, of course. What else did you think I meant?”

Heat rises to my cheeks. “Nothing. Please continue,” I mutter.

“You will have your own suite of rooms,” he says. “You’re free to use the gym, the pool, and the gardens. However, certain areas of the house are off-limits. My security team will make those boundaries clear.”

I nod, committing the information to memory.

“You won’t leave the premises without my express permission,” Valerian continues. “Ensure you send me a copy of your daily calendar the night before, and Sergei and Ivan will drive you wherever you need to go. Your meals will be provided, and any personal items you require can be purchased and delivered. Is that understood?”

“Yes.” The word comes out harsher than I intend.

His gaze bores into mine. “One last thing, Claire. While you’re here, you belong to me. Your time, your skills, your very presence—they’re mine to command. Do we have an agreement?”

Every instinct screams at me to run, to tell him exactly where he can shove his “agreement,” but I think of my parents, of Bloom House, and of everything I’m here to protect. I exhale raggedly. “We have an agreement, Mr. Rostova.”

“Excellent.” He stands, moving to a nearby bar cart. “Care for a drink?”

I shake my head. “No, thank you.”

Valerian pours himself a glass of amber liquid. “You should try to relax, Claire. This doesn’t have to be unpleasant.”

“Forgive me if I’m not jumping for joy at being a prisoner in a gilded cage,” I snap before I can stop myself.

His eyebrows raise slightly. “Careful,zvetochek. There are far worse cages I could put you in.”

The threat, veiled as it is, makes my blood run cold. I force myself to soften my tone. “I apologize. It’s been a long day.”

Valerian nods, seemingly satisfied. “Of course.”

“What does that mean? The word you used?”

“Little flower.” He lifts one side of his mouth in a partial smile. “Considering your family business, it seems appropriate.”

I nod, unexpectedly flustered by the endearment in spite of it being included in a threat. Before I can think of a reply, he speaks again.

“Please, join me for dinner.” Valerian gestures toward an ornate dining room. “My chef has prepared a selection of Russian and American dishes.”

I think about refusing, but my stomach growls. With a small blush, I nod instead and follow him through the house.

The dining room takes my breath away. A crystal chandelier sparkles above a long mahogany table with at least twelve place settings, but we bypass it for a smaller alcove down the hallway. It’s still grand but on a smaller scale, and currently only set for two. Fine China and gleaming silverware catch the light. The aroma of rich, savory food makes my mouth water.

“I hope you’re hungry.” Valerian pulls out my chair.

I slide into the seat, smoothing my skirt. “I am, thank you.”

A footman appears with the first course, which is a delicate mushroom soup garnished with fresh dill. The earthy aroma mingles with notes of cream and white wine.

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