Page 26 of The Mafia's Quadruplets

“We love you too, sweetheart,” whispers Mom.

After hanging up, I press my forehead against the windowpane. Outside, the city sparkles, beautiful and oblivious to the dull throb in my chest, to all the words trapped behind my teeth about Valerian, about debts and danger and decisions I never wanted to make.

I set down the phone and move to the en-suite bathroom, going through the motions of my nightly routine. The face in the mirror looks tired and older somehow. I splash cold water on my cheeks, trying to wash away the stress of the day.

Back in the bedroom, I change into a soft nightgown and slide between the luxurious sheets. The bed is impossibly comfortable, but sleep eludes me. I toss and turn, my mind racing.

When I finally close my eyes, it’s not the comforting faces of my family I see. Instead, Valerian’s intense gaze fills my vision. The memory of his voice, low and commanding, sends an involuntary shiver through me.

I snap open my eyes, heart pounding. What is happening to me? This man, this dangerous, enigmatic man, has somehow wormed his way into my thoughts. The way he looks at me, like he can see right through me, both terrifies and exhilarates me.

I roll onto my side, hugging a pillow to my chest. The rational part of my brain screams at me to be careful, to remember why I’m here, but another part, a part I’m not entirely comfortable acknowledging, whispers of possibility.

Valerian Rostova is a puzzle I can’t seem to solve. One moment he’s all cold efficiency, the next there’s a flash of something almost...tender. The dichotomy is maddening, and I want to unravel the mystery.

I groan, burying my face in the pillow. This is dangerous thinking. Valerian is my employer, nothing more. I’m here to pay off Jay’s debt and protect my family. Anything else is just too complicated.

I give up on sleep, tossing back the luxurious sheets and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. The plush carpet cushions my bare feet as I pad toward the door, my nightgown swishing softly around my knees.

The hallway is dimly lit as I make my way to the kitchen. My mind races with thoughts of Jay, my parents, and the impossible situation in which we’ve found ourselves. The cool tile of the kitchen floor makes me shiver when I step on it with my bare feet.

I move on autopilot, retrieving a saucepan from a nearby cupboard and filling it with milk. The gentle clinking of the pan against the stove top breaks the silence of the night. As the milk starts to simmer, bubbles rising lazily to the surface, I reach for the cocoa powder, my movements slow and distracted.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Valerian’s deep voice startles me. The saucepan slips from my grasp, splashing hot milk across my hand. I gasp, more from surprise than pain. Then the pain hits.

“Shit,” he mutters, crossing the kitchen in two long strides. He gently grasps my wrist, guiding my hand under a stream of cold water from the tap. The sudden temperature change makes me hiss. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I shake my head, unable to form words as the pain in my hand intensifies. Valerian’s touch is surprisingly gentle when he examines the reddening skin.

“It doesn’t look too bad,” he says after a moment, “But we should keep it cold for a while longer.” He reaches for a clean dishtowel, wrapping it around a handful of ice cubes. With careful movements, he presses the makeshift cold compress against my hand.

“Hold that there,” he says firmly. “I’ll clean up and make the cocoa.”

I nod mutely, watching while he moves around the kitchen with surprising efficiency. He mops up the spilled milk, rinses the saucepan, and starts the process anew. The familiar scent of warming milk and cocoa soon fills the air.

“I’m sorry for storming out earlier,” I say softly, breaking the silence. “When you told me I could express my true emotions about the situation... I guess I wasn’t ready to face them.”

He glances over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. “You don’t need to apologize. Your reaction was understandable.”

I shift the cold compress on my hand, wincing slightly. “It’s just... since Jay has done so much damage to our family, I’ve always tried to be the strong, sensible one. I didn’t want my parents to worry about both their kids.”

Valerian turns back to the stove, stirring the cocoa. “I understand that feeling.”

He pours the cocoa into two mugs, then reaches for a bottle on a high shelf. The amber liquid splashes into both cups. “A little something to help you sleep,” he explains, handing me a mug.

I take a small sip, the rich chocolate flavor mingling with the burn of alcohol. “Thank you.”

He just slouches against the counter, his own mug cradled in his hand. He seems to be wrestling with something internally. Finally, he takes a deep breath. “I had a cousin,” he says hesitantly, as if he’s really not sure he wants to speak. “Ivan. He lived in Moscow and got himself into trouble with abratvagroup there.”

I blink in surprise, both at the unexpected revelation and the pain I hear in Valerian’s voice. “What happened to him?” I ask softly.

Valerian’s jaw tightens. “He didn’t come to me for help. Ended up dead when he got too deeply in debt. His vice was drugs.”

The kitchen falls silent save for the soft ticking of a clock on the wall. I struggle to find the right words, struck by the raw emotion in Valerian’s voice. “I’m so sorry,” I finally manage. “That must have been awful for you.”

The surprise on his face would be amusing if the atmosphere weren’t so grim. He seems to realize how much he’s revealed as a flicker of vulnerability crosses his face before it’s quickly masked. “I haven’t shared that with anyone outside my inner circle.” He still speaks softly. “I still carry guilt from being unable to save Ivan, but the truth is, I could do nothing for him while the addiction had him in its grip.”

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