Page 25 of The Mafia's Quadruplets

“Stop this shit,” I mutter to myself, shaking my head as if I could physically dislodge the thoughts of Valerian’s piercing blue eyes.

The room suddenly feels too confining. I move to the window, pushing it open to let in a rush of cool air. The sprawling grounds of Valerian’s estate stretch out before me. My reflection in the glass catches my attention. I hardly recognize the woman staring back at me, with her hair slightly disheveled, and her cheeks flushed.

Is this what Valerian sees when he looks at me? The thought makes my stomach flip.

“No,” I say firmly to my reflection. “This isn’t about him. This is about Bloom House. About Mom and Dad.”

I turn away from the window, my gaze falling on the small, framed photo on the nightstand. It’s a snapshot from happier times—my parents, Jay, and me, all smiling in front of the flower shop. The sight of it sends a pang through my chest. I pick up the frame, running my thumb over the glass. “I’m doing this for you,” I whisper to the smiling faces. “All of you.”

Even Jay’s face in the photo brings a mix of emotions. Anger bubbles up, warring with lingering affection for my brother. I set down the frame with more force than necessary. “Damn it, Jay,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “How could you be so stupid?”

I sink onto the edge of the bed, my head in my hands. Jay’s actions, my parents’ worry, and the precarious situation with Bloom House settles heavily on me. I take a deep breath, bracing myself for the conversation ahead while lifting my phone. I finally tap my mom’s contact, and the line rings twice before she picks up.

“Claire? Is everything alright?” the concern is obvious in her voice.

“Hi, Mom. I’m okay.” I pause, gathering my thoughts. “Is Dad there? Can you put me on speaker?”

There’s a rustling sound, then Dad’s voice joins in. “We’re both here, sweetheart. What’s going on?”

I sink onto the edge of the bed, running a hand through my hair. “It’s about Jay. I know you’ve heard he’s been arrested, but there’s more to it.”

Mom’s sharp intake of breath is audible even through the phone. “What do you mean, more?”

I close my eyes, wishing I could soften the blow somehow. “The charges... They’re worse than we thought. Jay’s facing accessory to attempted murder charges.”

The silence on the other end is deafening. When Mom finally speaks, her voice trembles. “Attempted murder? Our Jay?”

“There was a raid on a gambling den,” I explain, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. “Someone got hurt. Jay was there, and now...”

Dad’s voice cuts in, tight with barely contained anger. “How could he be so reckless? After everything we’ve been through?”

“Robert,” Mom chides gently. “This isn’t helping.”

I grip the phone tighter. “There’s a plea deal on the table. Ten to fifteen years if he cooperates with the investigation.”

Another heavy silence falls. I can picture them in the back room of Bloom House, Mom’s hands clasped tightly while Dad paces the worn linoleum floor.

“Fifteen years,” she whispers. “He’d be middle-aged by the time he got out.”

“I know,” I say softly. “I’m so sorry, Mom. Dad. I wish...”

“It’s not your fault, Claire,” Dad interjects. His voice softens. “How are you holding up? With everything that’s happening?”

I swallow hard, thinking of Valerian, and of the strange new world in which I’ve found myself. “I’m... managing. Mr. Rostova hasn’t mistreated me. The work is challenging, but I’m handling it.”

“Are you sure?” asks Mom, her protective instincts clearly kicking in. “You can come home anytime. You know that, right?”

“I know, Mom, but I’m okay, really. This is something I need to do.” I take another breath before asking, “How’s the shop doing?” to steer the conversation to safer territory.

“Business is good,” says Dad. His voice brightens. “Remember Mrs. Henderson? She ordered three dozen roses for her granddaughter’s wedding.”

“The one who used to sneak me caramels?” A smile tugs at my lips. “Is she still coming in every Thursday?”

Mom laughs, the genuine sound warming me through the phone. “Like clockwork. Always asks about you and Jay.”

The mention of my brother brings a heavy silence. Dad clears his throat before we dance around other topics—Dad’s new supplier for tulip bulbs, Mom’s book club, and the unseasonably warm weather, but underneath it all runs an electric current of worry, of questions they won’t ask and truths I can’t share.

“I should go,” I say finally. “I love you both.”

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