Page 40 of The Mafia's Quadruplets

He lets his hand fall to his side as he nods, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face before his usual mask of control slips back into place. He doesn’t remind me I walked off in the middle of dinner, or it’s barely seven p.m. “Of course. Sleep well, Claire.”

“Good night, Valerian,” I say, closing the door softly. I lean against it, listening to his retreating footsteps. Only when I hear the distant sound of his feet on the stairs do I allow myself to breathe.

Moving to the window, I gaze out at the twinkling lights of Philadelphia. Somewhere out there, Jay is preparing for his transfer. Mom and Dad are probably worrying about both of us,and here I am, caught between gratitude and guilt, fear and... something dangerously close to desire.

14

Valerian

Iretreat to my home office, closing the door behind me with a soft click. The room’s familiar scents of leather and aged whiskey do little to calm the storm brewing inside me. I loosen my tie and unbutton the top button of my shirt, suddenly feeling constricted.

The memory of Claire floods my senses like a shot of pure adrenaline. I can still feel the ghost of her warmth and see the flecks of gold in her eyes as they darkened with desire. Her coral-painted lips had been so close I could taste her breath, hinting of mint and something sweeter. The way she’d trembled slightly, her pulse visibly fluttering at her throat...

My hands shake slightly as I reach for the crystal decanter and pour a generous amount of thirty-year Dewars into a heavy-bottomed glass. The amber liquid catches the lamp light, throwing honey-colored reflections across my mahogany desk.

“Stop this nonsense,” I say under my breath, taking that first burning sip. The scotch blazes a familiar trail down my throat,its smoky warmth spreading through my chest. This is what I need. Something real to anchor me. I’ve built an empire on calculated risks and ice-cold logic. Thebratvademands nothing less.

But Claire demolishes every carefully constructed wall with nothing more than a glance.

I start to pace. Nine steps from wall to window. Nine steps back. The city lights blur beyond the glass.

“What are you doing to me, Claire?” The words escape in a rough whisper when I press my forehead against the cool windowpane. The glass fogs with my breath, and my reflection is ghostly pale against the darkness beyond. “You’re making me question everything I thought I knew.”

The truth is, I know exactly what she’s doing. She’s awakening parts of me I thought long dead. Stirring emotions I’ve kept buried beneath layers of carefully constructed control.

I take another sip of whiskey, savoring the burn. Thebratvahas rules about such things. About becoming entangled with civilians, especially those indebted to us. It’s a complication I can’t afford, a weakness my enemies would exploit without hesitation, and it puts me in a position of power over her that implies coercion.

And yet...

I return to my desk, sinking into the leather chair. I trace the edge of a framed photo—the only personal item I allow myself in this space. It’s a picture of my parents on their wedding day, both of them young and full of hope. Before thebratvaconsumed their lives, when expectation and duty crushed that spark of innocence.

“What would you do, Papa?” I ask the smiling face of my father. He looks so different from the hard man I knew, the one who drilled into me the importance of strength and never showing weakness.

I settle back, closing my eyelids. The memory of Claire’s defiance flashes through my mind. The fire in her eyes when she stands up to me, refusing to be cowed. It’s intoxicating, that spirit. So different from the sycophants and yes-men who usually surround me.

“She’s not afraid of me,” I say aloud, a wry smile tugging at my lips. It’s revitalizing, and more than a little arousing, but there’s more to it than just physical attraction. I genuinely like her.

I drain the last of my whiskey, the alcohol leaving a warm trail down my esophagus. The smart move would be to distance myself. To treat Claire as nothing more than an employee and a means to an end. It’s what my father would have done.

But I’m not my father.

I’ve spent so long trying to live up to his legacy, to be the perfectbratvaleader, that I’ve lost sight of my own desires. “I want her,” I admit to the empty room. The words hang in the air, both liberating and terrifying.

Wanting isn’t enough. I can’t simply take what I desire with Claire. She’s not some conquest to be claimed. The power imbalance between us is too great, and the situation is too fraught with complications.

I stand, moving to refill my glass. As I pour, my mind races through possibilities, weighing options like a chess master considering his next move. I can’t forgive her debt. It’s the onlything keeping her here, and the selfish part of me isn’t ready to let her go when I’m just beginning to unravel the mystery of her.

I can make her stay more...palatable. Create opportunities for us to interact on more equal footing. To build trust, slowly but surely. I swirl the whiskey in my glass. One misstep could send everything crashing down around me. If I reveal a weakness, thebratva, my legitimate businesses, and the careful balance I’ve maintained for years could all suffer.

Is Claire worth the risk?

I take another sip of whiskey, letting the warmth spread through me. In my mind’s eye, I see Claire’s smile—not the guarded one she usually wears, but the genuine one that lights up her entire face. The one I’ve caught glimpses of when she thinks I’m not looking.

Yes, she’s worth it.

The thought barely has time to settle before Dmitri enters my office, his face a mask of practiced neutrality. I straighten, watching him approach with measured steps. The air in the room shifts, growing heavy with unspoken tension.

“The Petrov Syndicate knows you’re back in town. They want to speak with you.”

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