Page 17 of The Mafia's Quadruplets

She takes a tentative step inside, sweeping her gaze over the opulent furnishings. The Fabergé egg collection catches her attention, and she pauses to admire the intricate designs. “They’re beautiful,” she murmurs, her fingers hovering near one of the eggs without touching it.

I remain in the doorway, giving her space to explore. “Feel free to look, but please don’t handle them. They’re quite fragile.”

Claire nods, moving away from the display. She sets her bag on the bed and begins unpacking with deliberate movements. Iwatch as she arranges her belongings, noting the tremor in her hands as she places a framed photograph on the nightstand.

“Your family?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

She glances at me, her expression guarded. “Yes. My parents and brother.”

For a moment, I feel like an intruder in her life. This glimpse into her personal world is both fascinating and unsettling. I remind myself this arrangement is her choice, a deal she agreed to. Yet, as she turns to face me, her eyes filled with defiance and fear, I realize I don’t want to break her spirit.

I want to unravel her, layer by layer, until she’s mine.

Mind, body, and soul.

Claire pulls a pair of pajamas from her bag and lays them on the bed. Her movements are precise, almost robotic. “Mr. Rostova,” she says, her voice steady despite her obvious discomfort, “I need to ask again. Are you going to keep things professional between us?”

I consider her question, admiring her boldness. “I won’t promise that, Claire, but if anything happens between us, it’ll be not only consensual but enthusiastic.”

Her eyes widen slightly at my words as a flush creeps up her neck. “I see.”

I take a step into the room, closing the distance between us. She tenses but holds her ground, chin lifted defiantly. “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever dealt with before. You’re ordinary, yet extraordinary in your determination to stand your ground.”

“I’m not sure how to take that,” she says, a hint of sarcasm in her tone.

I chuckle, genuinely amused by her spirit. “Take it as a compliment. It’s interesting to encounter someone who doesn’t immediately cower in my presence.”

Claire’s eyebrows crease. “Is that what you want? Someone to cower?”

“No,” I say, my gaze locked on hers. “I want someone who challenges me, who keeps me on my toes.”

She swallows hard, searching my eyes. “And you think that’s me?”

I step closer, close enough to catch the scent of her perfume that is something light and floral. “I know it’s you, Claire. From the moment you walked into my office, I knew you were different.”

Claire takes a step back, her legs bumping against the bed. “Mr. Rostova, I?—”

“Valerian,” I interrupt. “When we’re alone, call me Valerian,” I remind her again.

She nods, her breath coming faster now. “Valerian,” she says, testing the name on her tongue. “I need to know what you expect from me. Beyond the massages, I mean.”

I consider her question carefully. “I expect your honesty, your loyalty, and your discretion. Everything else... we’ll discover together.”

Claire’s eyes narrow. “That’s not a very clear answer.”

“No, it’s not, but it’s the truth. I don’t know what will develop between us. I only know I want to find out.”

She takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. “And if I’m not interested in exploring anything beyond a professional relationship?”

I smile, admiring her bravery. “That’s your choice, and I’ll respect it, but I think you’re curious too, aren’t you?”

A flicker of desire flashes in her eyes before she looks away. “I should finish unpacking,” she says, avoiding my question.

I nod, stepping to the doorway, where I remain, watching her unpack. The sight of her arranging her belongings in this room stirs something unexpected within me. Her presence here feels both intrusive and oddly right.

“Claire?”

She turns, a wary look in her eyes. “Yes?”

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