Page 66 of The Mafia's Quadruplets

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Claire

Iwake nestled in Valerian’s arms, feeling rested for the first time in days. My mind is calm, if only for a moment. Then nausea hits me like a wave, forcing me to breathe through it. I try to stay still, not wanting to disturb Valerian.

His eyelids flutter open before I can compose myself. I greet him with a playful kiss on the lips, hoping to distract from my discomfort. He smirks, still half-asleep, but his grip around me tightens, pulling me closer.

“Morning,” he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.

I can tell he’s noticed something’s off. His brow creases slightly as he studies my face. Before he can ask questions I’m not ready to answer, I lean in for another kiss. This one is deeper and more insistent. I pour everything I’m feeling into it—my fear and uncertainty, but also the undeniable connection growing between us. For some reason, it eases the nausea too.

Valerian responds immediately, one hand cupping the back of my head while the other splays across my lower back. His touch sends sparks through my body, momentarily chasing away the nausea entirely. I lose myself in the kiss, in the warmth of his body against mine, and the little bubble in which we’ve immersed ourselves, even if it is temporary.

When we finally break apart, both breathing heavily, his eyes are dark with desire. “Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?”

I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. “Do I need a reason to kiss you good morning?”

His lips quirk up in a half-smile. “I suppose not.” His trails his fingers down my arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “How did you sleep?”

“Better than I have in a while.” It’s true. Despite everything weighing on my mind, being in Valerian’s arms had allowed me to truly rest.

He nods, seemingly pleased. “Good. You needed it.”

I stretch, careful not to jostle my stomach too much. “What time is it?”

He glances at the clock on the nightstand. “Just after eight. We don’t have to be anywhere for a few hours.”

The suggestion in his words makes me tremble with longing for a few uninterrupted hours with Valerian... Part of me wants nothing more than to lose myself in him again and forget about the complications waiting for us outside this room, but the rational part of my brain knows we need to talk.

“Valerian,” I start, then hesitate. How do I even begin to broach this subject?

He must sense my internal struggle because his expression softens. “What is it, Claire? You can tell me anything.”

I open my mouth to tell him about the pregnancy, but the words stick in my throat. My mouth gets dry while I search for the right way to break the news. Instead, I hear myself saying, “I can’t stop thinking about Jay in the hospital.”

His expression softens as he pulls me closer, gently combing his fingers through my hair. The tender gesture makes my eyes sting with unshed tears.

“It was awful seeing him like that, so vulnerable and hurt.” I pause, gathering my courage before asking the question that occurred to me yesterday. “Do you think it was random prison violence?” Part of me hopes for a simple yes. Random violence would be terrible, but somehow less frightening than the alternative.

Valerian’s hesitation speaks volumes. His hand stills in my hair while he searches for the right words.

“No,” he says finally, sounding grave. “I am sure it was the Petrov Syndicate.” His accent thickens slightly with emotion. “The only question remaining is why...”

The question hangs between us. My stomach churns, and not just from morning sickness. If the Petrovs are targeting Jay, what does that mean for the rest of us? For the babies growing inside me? Is it indirectly my fault, since I’m a weak point for Valerian, or are they trying to collect on what they see as their investment in him that he screwed up by getting sent to prison?

Valerian must sense my distress because he cups my face in his hands, forcing me to meet his intense gaze. “I’ve tightened security,” he says, his voice steady and reassuring. “No one will harm you or your family. I promise.”

I want to believe him. I want to sink into the safety of his arms and forget about the dangers lurking outside, but my secret presses down on me, making it hard to breathe. “Thank you,” I manage to say, forcing a smile. “I know you’ll do everything you can to keep us safe.”

Valerian nods, his expression serious. “Always.”

We rest in silence for a moment. I should tell him about the pregnancy. He deserves to know. Yet the thought of bringing four innocent lives into this world of violence and danger makes my heart ache, and I don’t know what to do.

“How about breakfast?” I ask suddenly, desperate for a distraction. “I’m starving.”

Valerian’s eyebrows raise slightly at my abrupt change of subject, but he doesn’t comment. “Of course,” he says, rising from the bed. “What would you like?”

As we get up and start our morning routine, I promise myself I will tell Valerian everything. Just not today. Today, I need to process, to plan, and to figure out how to navigate this new reality. I watch Valerian as he moves around the room, his powerful presence both comforting and intimidating. He catches me staring and gives me a questioning look.

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