Page 2 of The Mafia's Quadruplets

“Oh, Mrs. Rossi,” Mom says, hurrying over. “What’s wrong?”

The elderly woman sniffs. “It’s... it’s Charlie. He passed away last night.”

My heart sinks. Charlie, Mrs. Rossi’s husband of fifty years, had been battling cancer for months. We’d seen her come in regularly, always leaving with cheerful bouquets to brighten his hospital room.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, moving to her side. “Charlie was a wonderful man.”

She nods, dabbing at her eyes. “He was. I... I need flowers for the service. Something beautiful. He always loved your arrangements.”

“Of course,” Mom says gently. “Why don’t you sit down? Claire can help you choose something perfect.”

I guide Mrs. Rossi to a chair and catch Dad’s eye. He nods. This is why we do what we do. It’s not just about selling flowers. It’s about being there for people in their moments of joy, sorrow, and everything in between.

I spend the next hour with Mrs. Rossi, listening to her stories about Charlie, helping her choose flowers that represent their life together. By the time she leaves, her eyes are still sad, but there’s a small smile on her face.

“Thank you, dear,” she says, squeezing my hand. “Charlie would have loved this.”

As the door closes behind her, I let out a long breath. Mom comes over, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

“You did well, sweetie,” she says softly.

I lean into her embrace, feeling the morning settle on me. “I just wish... I wish we could do more, you know?”

Dad joins us, his presence solid and warm. “We do what we can. Sometimes, that’s enough.”

I nod, straightening up and squaring my shoulders. There’s work to be done, orders to fill, and people who need the small bit of beauty and comfort we can provide. It’s not saving the world, but maybe, in our own small way, we’re making it a little bit better.

As I move back to the workstation, my mind drifts to Jay again. I wonder if he knows how much we miss him, and how much we need him. How much I need my big brother, but those thoughts won’t change anything. All I can do is keep moving forward, one flower at a time.

A couple of hours later,the bell above the door jingles as Jay bursts into Bloom House, his dark eyes wild and hair disheveled. My stomach clenches at the sight of him. He’s wearing adesigner jacket that looks new, but there are scuff marks on his expensive shoes.

“Claire!” He rushes over, nearly knocking over a display of carnations. “I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

I glance at Mom and Dad, who are helping the last customer of the day. They haven’t noticed Jay yet. It annoys me that he’s bursting in like this, disrupting the peace we’ve found in his absence. “Can it wait? We’re about to close up.”

Jay runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. “No, it can’t. Please, just give me five minutes.”

I sigh, leading him to the back room. The scent of soil and flowers is stronger here. “What is it this time, Jay?”

He paces the small space, his movements jerky and agitated. “I’ve done it. I’ve finally cleaned up my act. For real this time.”

I cross my arms, leaning against a shelf of empty pots. “Where have I heard that before?”

“I’m serious.” Jay stops in front of me, his eyes pleading. “I’ve been going to meetings. I haven’t placed a bet in three months. I even got a job.”

“A job?” I can’t keep the skepticism out of my voice. “Doing what?”

Jay grins, and for a moment, I see a glimpse of the charming brother I used to know. “I’m working at ‘The Grand Casino.’ In security.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “You’re working at a casino? Jay, that’s like an alcoholic working at a bar.”

His face falls. “It’s not like that. I thought... I thought if I could be around it and resist, it would prove I’m really changed.”

I shake my head, frustration bubbling up inside me. “That’s not how addiction works, and you know it. You’re just setting yourself up for failure.”

“You don’t understand,” he insists. “This is different. I’m different. I’ve got it under control now.”

The desperation in his voice makes my heart ache. I want to believe him, I really do, but I’ve been down this road too many times before.

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