Page 43 of The Mafia's Quadruplets

As I continue the massage, she gradually relaxes. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me before. Well, except my mom when I was a teenager, but this is above and beyond.”

Her words stir emotions. Tenderness. Protectiveness. More... I suddenly want to tell her how much she’s come to mean to me, and how her presence has changed things I thought immutable, but I hold back. Now isn’t the time, when she’s vulnerable and in pain. Instead, I focus on easing her discomfort, working my hands steadily across her back.

“Thank you, Valerian,” she says, her voice thick with gratitude.

I swallow hard, pushing down the surge of emotion her words evoke. “You’re welcome, Claire. Get some rest. I’ll check on you in the morning.”

As I leave her room, closing the door softly behind me, I’m struck by how much has changed. The woman lying in that bed has become far more than a means to an end or a simple distraction. She’s become someone I care for, deeply.

The realization is both exhilarating and terrifying.

15

Claire

Two weeks pass, and the tension between Valerian and me simmers like a pot ready to boil over. I can’t forget his kindness during my miserable period. The contrast between the ruthless businessman and the man who cared for me in those moments leaves me reeling.

I’m in the kitchen, the scent of vanilla and chocolate chips filling the air as I slide another tray of cookies into the oven. Baking has always been my escape, a way to quiet my racing thoughts.

Today, it’s not working.

The front door slams, and heavy footsteps approach. Valerian storms into the kitchen, his usual grace replaced by tightly coiled anger. His jaw is clenched, eyes stormy.

“I need a massage. Now.” His voice is clipped, brooking no argument.

I glance at the oven timer. “The cookies?—”

“I’ll keep an eye on them, Miss Claire,” says Anatoly, appearing as if summoned. “Go on.”

With a grateful nod, I follow Valerian to the gray room. The space is familiar now, but today, it feels charged with an electric current. His mood permeates the air.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, expecting him to brush me off.

To my surprise, he pauses in unbuttoning his shirt. “A skirmish with a rival. Nothing for you to worry about.”

“A skirmish?” I echo, helping him remove his shirt. My breath catches as I spot an angry purple bruise blooming across his shoulder. “Valerian, you’re hurt.”

He waves off my concern. “It’s fine. Viktor shoved me to the sidewalk when he saw a laser sight on my chest.”

My fingers hover over the bruise. “A laser sight? Someone tried to shoot you?”

He settles onto the massage table, his muscles taut beneath my hands. “It’s part of the business, Claire. Now, are you going to fuss, or are you going to work out these knots?”

I bite my lip, torn between pressing for answers and doing my job. Professional instincts win out, and I begin to work on his shoulders, careful of the bruised area.

“You could have been killed,” I murmur, unable to keep the tremor from my voice.

Valerian turns his head, catching my gaze. “But I wasn’t, thanks to Viktor’s quick thinking.”

My hands move lower, working out the tension in his back. I feel the corded muscles beneath my fingers, and the strength barelycontained beneath his skin. It’s intoxicating. “Does this happen often?” I ask, desperate to fill the charged silence.

Valerian’s chuckle is dark. “More often than I’d like. The Petrov Syndicate is getting bolder.”

I falter for a moment. “The ones who set up my brother?”

“The very same.” Valerian’s voice hardens. “They’re making a play for my territory. Today was just the latest move in our ongoing chess match.”

My hands continue their work, but my mind races. The danger he faces daily suddenly feels very real. “I don’t understand how you can be so calm about this.”

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