Page 49 of The Mafia's Quadruplets

She stands, linking her arm through mine with an ease that surprises me. “Let’s go.”

We walk in comfortable silence, leaving the grounds of my estate for a nearby park. The late afternoon sun filters through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the path. We talk about inconsequential things—favorite books, childhood memories, and dreams for the future. It’s...nice. Ordinary in a way my life hasn’t been in years.

As we near the estate again, she stops, turning to face me. “Thank you for letting me in, even a little.”

The sincerity in her voice is almost too much. I want to pull her close, to tell her how much she’s come to mean to me. Instead, I simply nod, not trusting my voice.

Days later,I’m in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, impulsively preparing lunch for Claire. The familiar motions of chopping, sautéing, and seasoning are soothing. For a moment, I can pretend I’m just a man cooking dinner for the woman he?—

I cut off that thought abruptly. This isn’t permanent. It can’t be. Claire deserves better than the life I can offer her.

“Something smells amazing,” she says, entering the kitchen. She’s wearing one of my shirts, the hem falling to mid-thigh. The sight of her in my clothes does something to me I’m not prepared to examine too closely.

“Beef Stroganoff,” I explain, stirring the sauce. “An old family recipe.”

She comes closer, peering into the pot. “Can I help?”

I hesitate, unused to sharing this space, this part of myself, but her eager expression breaks down my reservations. “You can chop the parsley.”

We work side by side, moving around each other with an ease that speaks of familiarity. Claire chatters and I listen, soaking in every detail, committing it all to memory. As we sit down to eat, she takes a bite and closes her eyes in appreciation. “This is incredible, Valerian. You’ve been holding out on me.”

Her praise warms me in a way I’m not accustomed to. “I’m glad you like it.”

My phone vibrates in my pocket, shattering the peaceful moment. I consider ignoring it, but years of instinct take over. I pull it out, glancing at the screen.

“Dmitri,” I say, my tone apologetic. “I need to take this.”

Claire nods, understanding in her eyes. “Of course.”

I step away from the table, bringing the phone to my ear. “What is it?”

Dmitri’s voice comes through, tense and urgent. “Boss, we’ve got a situation at the prison. Our guard on the inside reports Jay’s being harassed by Petrov’s men.”

My fingers tighten around the phone. “How bad?”

“Nothing physical yet, but they’re making threats. The problem is, Jay won’t talk to the authorities. Even when the warden tried to question him, he claimed everything was fine. He won’t open up to our guy I’ve arranged to be in the minimum-security wing to be his confidante, cellmate, and bodyguard either. He doesn’t really trust anyone.”

I curse under my breath. “Stubborn idiot. He’s going to get himself killed.”

“What do you want us to do?”

I pause, considering our options. “Increase observation. I want eyes on Jay at all times, and find out what Petrov’s playing at. This isn’t a coincidence.”

“Understood, boss. I’ll handle it.”

I end the call. The peaceful lunch with Claire seems a distant memory now, replaced by the harsh reality of my world.

I return to the table, where she waits, concern on her face. “Is everything okay?”

I debate how much to tell her. The truth could frighten her, but lies will only breed distrust. “There’s been a development with your brother,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “It seems he’s having some...difficulties in prison.”

Her fork clatters against her plate. “What kind of difficulties? Is he hurt?”

“No, not hurt, but he’s being harassed by some other inmates. The problem is, he won’t report it to the authorities.”

Claire’s face pales. “Why wouldn’t he say anything? That doesn’t make sense.”

I lean forward. “Because he’s afraid. These aren’t ordinary inmates. They’re connected to a rival organization, the Petrov Syndicate.”

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