Page 10 of The Mafia's Quadruplets

Ilean back in my leather chair, replaying Claire’s shifting expressions. The anger in her eyes, the defiance in her posture, and finally, the resignation that settled over her features. A twinge of something unfamiliar tugs at me.

Guilt? I push it away, burying it deep. This is business, nothing more.

“It’s about the money,” I mutter to myself, running a hand through my hair. “That’s all.”

But even as I say the words, I know they’re not entirely true. There’s something about Claire that challenges me in a way I’m not accustomed to. Her fierce loyalty to her family, her willingness to sacrifice herself for them… It’s admirable, if also a little misguided.

A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts. “Come in,” I call out, straightening in my chair.

Dmitri enters, his face impassive as always. “Boss, there’s something you should know about the Bennett girl.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“After you dismissed her, she got sick in the bathroom. Heaved her guts out. She said she wasn’t pregnant, but who knows.”

The information upsets me more than I’d expect, but not because I think she’s pregnant. She doesn’t strike me as a liar. More realistically, she’s stressed to the point of sickness about our little deal.

I picture Claire, bent over and retching, her body rebelling against our agreement. The guilt resurfaces, sharper this time. I clench my jaw, forcing it back down.

“I see,” I say, keeping my voice neutral. “Anything else?”

Dmitri shakes his head. “That’s all for now. Do you want an update on the Petrov situation after the docks incident?”

I nod, grateful for the change of subject. “Yes, give me a full report.”

As Dmitri launches into the details of our latest clash with the Petrov Syndicate, I try to focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Claire. I imagine her hands on me, kneading away the tension in my muscles. The thought sends a jolt of heat through my body.

I recall her condition, no “happy endings.” A smirk tugs at my lips. I’ve never expected that anyway, certainly not from someone in her position. Still, I can’t deny the attraction I feel. If things were to turn physical between us... I wouldn’t object.

“Valerian?” Dmitri’s voice cuts through my wandering thoughts. “Did you hear what I said about Matvey’s new shipment?”

I blink, forcing myself back to the present. “Sorry, Dmitri. Could you repeat that?”

As he continues his report, I make a conscious effort to listen, but even as I nod and ask questions, part of my mind remains fixed on Claire. On the way her eyes flashed with defiance, on the curve of her lips as she agreed to my terms.

I shake my head slightly, trying to clear it. This is dangerous territory. Claire is here to work off her brother’s debt, nothing more. I won’t complicate things by allowing my attraction to cloud my judgment.

And yet... the image of her persists. The way she stood up to me, refusing to be intimidated even in the face of my power. It’s refreshing. Intriguing.

“That’s all for now, boss,” Dmitri concludes. “Anything else you need?”

I wave him off. “No, that’s fine. Keep me updated on any developments with Petrov.”

As the door closes behind him, I lean back in my chair once more and try to work, lighting a cigar to pacify my nerves. My gaze drifts to the clock on the wall. It’s taking too long for it to be time for my first massage appointment with Claire. Despite my best efforts, a thrill of anticipation runs through me.

I stand, adjusting my suit jacket. As I move toward the door, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. My expression is composed, revealing nothing of the turmoil beneath the surface.

Good. That’s how it needs to stay.

“Remember,” I tell my reflection sternly, “This is about the debt. Nothing more.”

But even as I say the words, I know they’re a lie. Claire Bennett has already become more than just a means to collect on her brother’s gambling losses. She has become a pretty little present with a bright pink bow.

And I bet the inside is even pinker…

I stridethrough the halls of my mansion across the imported Carrara marble. My mind drifts to Claire’s face, and the slight lift of her chin when she stood up to me. Most people cower. She didn’t, at least not until I threatened to make her parents pay the debt. Even then, she capitulated, but she didn’t quiver with fear.

Movement catches my attention as the familiar silhouette of my head butler appears from the east wing. “Anatoly,” I call out, my voice carrying through the cavernous space.

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