Page 38 of The Mafia's Quadruplets

I turn to Valerian, who sits beside me in the backseat. “I had no idea you were so involved with foster kids.”

Valerian’s lips quirk into a small smile. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Clearly.” I hesitate, then ask, “How long have you been supporting these programs?”

He shifts, and his arm brushes against mine. “About five years now. It started with anonymous donations, but eventually, I wanted to see the impact firsthand.”

“That’s really admirable.” I struggle to reconcile this version of Valerian with the ruthless crime lord I first met. “Do you support other causes too?”

He nods. “Several. There’s a women’s shelter downtown, a veteran’s rehabilitation center, and a scholarship fund for underprivileged youth.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Wow. That must cost a fortune.”

“It’s a significant portion of my income, yes.” Valerian’s gaze is steady. “Money has never been my primary motivation. Power and control, certainly, but not wealth for its own sake.”

I process this information. “Is that why you run ‘The Velvet Cage?’ To fund these programs?” It strikes me that the profits might benefit some while hurting others, like my brother, who is a gambling addict that frequented his casino before someone finally cut off his line of credit. Too bad it wasn’t before Jay lost eighty thousand dollars I have to repay.

Valerian’s expression tightens. “Partially. ‘The Velvet Cage’ is a necessary evil. It provides legitimate income and helps maintain my territory, but it’s not about luring in addicts or ruining lives.”

“What about Jay?” The words slip out before I can stop them.

Valerian sighs. “Your brother was a complicated case. We try to keep problem gamblers out, but some slip through the cracks. Jay was particularly persistent.”

I cross my arms, a familiar defensiveness rising. “He’s not a bad person. He just made mistakes.”

“I never said he was bad, Claire.” Valerian’s voice is gentle. “Addiction is a disease, not a moral failing. That’s why I’ve been working to get him into a rehabilitation program as part of his plea deal.”

This revelation stuns me into silence. I’ve been so focused on protecting my family, on shouldering everything myself, that I never considered Valerian might actually be trying to help.

“You don’t have to do everything alone, you know,” he says softly, as if reading my thoughts.

I stiffen. “I’m fine. I can handle my family’s problems.”

Valerian’s eyes narrow slightly. “No one’s questioning your capability, Claire, but even the strongest people need support sometimes.”

“I don’t need—” I start, but he cuts me off.

“You’re allowed to lean on others. It’s not a weakness.”

His words hit a nerve, and I turn to look out the window, blinking back unexpected tears. The city blurs past, a kaleidoscope of lights and shadows.

He covers my hand, his touch warm and surprisingly comforting. “You don’t have to carry that burden anymore.”

I really look at him. The hardness in his eyes has softened, replaced by something that looks suspiciously like concern. Maybe even affection. “I don’t know how to let go. I’ve been doing this for so long, but I’m trying,” I whisper.

He nods. The rest of the ride passes in comfortable silence. As we pull up to his penthouse, apparently staying in the city tonight instead of in the mansion, I’m reluctant to let go of his hand.

“Thank you,” I say as he opens the car door. “For today.”

His smile is genuine, reaching his eyes in a way that makes my pulse skip. “You’re welcome, Claire. I hope we can do more days like this.”

As I climb out of the SUV, I’m mildly alarmed. The walls I’ve built so carefully are starting to crumble, brick by brick. For the first time in a long time, the thought of letting someone in doesn’t terrify me. That it should be Valerian is terrifying but somehow also reassuring.

A few days later,we’re in the dining room. I smooth my napkin across my lap, inhaling the rich aroma of steak and chimichurri. Across from me, Valerian cuts into his ribeye with practiced precision, his movements graceful and controlled.

“I have news about Jay,” he says, setting down his knife.

I pause my fork halfway to my mouth. “What kind of news?”

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