Page 69 of The Mafia's Quadruplets

His gaze moves to the cash, then back to my face. He hesitates, clearly debating whether he should push back.

I don’t move. Just wait.

The moment stretches. Then, like I knew he would, he takes the money and steps back. “Yeah… sure. Five minutes.”

I push open the door and step inside. Jay looks up from the hospital bed. He’s a fucking mess, his right eye swollen shut, his cheek split, bruises blooming in violent colors along his jaw and temple. His arms are limp at his sides, bandages wrapped around one wrist, an IV taped down on the back of his hand, and the hospital gown hides the sutures probably still in his skin from his surgery.

For a second, he just stares at me. His breathing goes shallow, and I see relief flashing across his face. Then it’s gone, replaced by guilt, fear, and shame.

I close the door behind me and take slow, measured steps toward the bed. I don’t speak.

He shifts, wincing as he tries to sit up. “Valerian.” His voice is hoarse, like his throat is raw from something, maybe a tube or maybe screaming when he was being beaten.

I drag the chair closer, scraping the metal legs against the linoleum. Lowering myself into it, I stretch out my legs, resting my elbows on my knees. “We need to talk.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “Yeah,” he croaks.

I watch him for a moment. Let him squirm.

Then, finally, I speak. “Tell me what happened.”

His fingers curl into the blanket as his gaze darts around the room, looking anywhere but at me. “The Petrov Syndicate guys jumped me. I owed them money.”

I exhale slowly through my nose, tilting my head.

Lies.

“You owed them money.” The words roll off my tongue like silk, each syllable dripping with disbelief. A fluorescent light buzzes overhead, casting harsh shadows across his bruised face.

He nods so fast his head bobs like a puppet’s. “Yeah, I?—”

“How much?” The question cuts through his stammering.

His mouth works silently, like a fish gasping for air. Beads of sweat form along his hairline despite the hospital room’s chill. “I... I don’t know exactly.” The words come out in a whisper.

I raise an eyebrow, letting the silence stretch between us. The steady beep of his heart monitor quickens. “You don’t know?” My fingers drum against my knee, a quiet rhythm that makes him flinch with each tap.

He fidgets against the stark hospital pillows, his bruised fingers picking at a loose thread on the thin blanket. Sweat darkens the collar of his hospital gown. “It was a lot.”

The antiseptic smell burns my nose as I study him, letting the rhythmic beeping of machines fill the uncomfortable silence between us. When I finally lean forward, the plastic chair creaks beneath me. “If this was just about money, you’d still be paying it off, Jay.” My voice cuts through the air with glacial precision. “Petrov doesn’t put people in hospital beds for debt. He makes them work it off.”

Jay’s jaw tightens, the muscles bunching beneath his purple-mottled skin. He turns toward the window where city lights twinkle against the night sky, a view that costs extra in this private room. “They wanted me to join their gang,” he mutters, the words barely audible over the steady drip of his IV.

I let out a short, humorless breath. “Did they?”

He nods. “Yeah. They?—”

I cut him off with a scoff, each word dripping with disdain. “Petrov’s men inside, who are all medium-security or higher, wanted a low-level, first-time offender in their crew?” The fluorescent hospital lights buzz overhead as I step closer to his bed. “Try again.”

Jay clutches the thin hospital blanket, digging his fingers into the fabric. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple. “Valerian, I…”

“Try again.” The words slice through the air between us.

His chest heaves with a shaky exhale. His good eye, the one not swollen shut from the beating, squeezes closed like he’s trying to block out the truth. “They wanted me to do something,” he whispers, the words trembling past his split lip. “I couldn’t.”

There it is. I remain still as stone, my expression unchanged. The steady beep of his heart monitor fills the silence stretching between us.

Then, with ice in my voice, I ask, “What?”

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