Page 82 of The Mafia's Quadruplets

“Guest?” Gavriil spits the word like a curse. “She’s nothing but leverage against Rostova.”

Boris’s eyes narrow. “She’s whatever Matvey says she is, and right now, she’s off-limits to you.” He turns back to me as he puts the keys in his pocket. “Come. I’ll escort you back to your cell myself.”

I hesitate, glancing between Boris and Gavriil.

“Now, Miss Bennett,” says Boris, a hint of impatience creeping into his tone.

Taking a deep breath, I step toward him. As we pass Gavriil, he grabs my arm. “I’ll still get you.”

Boris’s hand clamps down on Gavriil’s wrist, applying pressure until he releases me with a grimace of pain.

“You’ll stay away from her,” he says, his voice like ice. “Unless you’d like to explain to Matvey why you’re disregarding his orders?”

Gavriil’s jaw clenches, but he backs down, glaring daggers at both of us.

As Boris leads me away, the keys jingle in his pocket, a reminder that my fate is still very much in the hands of Matvey Petrov and his men.

I wrap my arms around myself, trying to quell the trembling in my limbs. The adrenaline is fading, leaving me exhausted and aching. Beneath the fear and fatigue, a small spark of hope flickers to life. I’m still alive, and as long as I’m breathing, there’s a chance I’ll find a way out of this nightmare.

Boris’s grip on my arm is firm but not painful as he guides me back through the complicated corridors of Eastern State Penitentiary. My bare feet pad silently on the cold concrete. We turn a corner, and I recognize the hallway leading to my cell. My heart sinks as the reality of my situation crashes over me once again. So close to escape yet still trapped.

He pulls out the keys he took from me earlier, the jingling sound mocking my failed attempt at freedom. He starts to unlock the cell door, but Gavriil clearly left it unlocked when he rushed after me. The rusty hinges groan in protest when he swings it open. “In you go, Miss Bennett,” he says, his voice devoid of emotion.

I step inside, wrapping my arms around myself as he closes and locks the door behind me. The click of the lock sliding into place echoes with a sense of finality.

Boris lingers for a moment, his cold eyes studying me through the bars. “I suggest you make yourself comfortable. You’ll be here for a while.”

“Until when?” I ask, hating how small my voice sounds.

A humorless smile tugs at Boris’s lips. “Until Matvey decides otherwise.”

With that, he turns and walks away, his footsteps fading into the distance until I’m left alone with nothing but the sound of my own ragged breathing.

I sink onto the cement bench, wincing as the hardness digs into my back. The cell is exactly as I left it, a cramped space with peeling paint, a rusted sink, and a toilet I’m not entirely sure works. The single barred window high on the wall offers a tantalizing glimpse of the outside world, but it’s far too small for escape.

My hands sting, and I look down to see them scraped and dirty from my desperate flight through the prison. My feet sting too, so I hobble over to the sink, unsurprised to find it doesn’t work. Someone put out a bottle of hand sanitizer, but I skip that for now, not wanting the scrapes to hurt even more.

Slumping against the wall, I press a hand to my stomach in a protective gesture that’s becoming second nature. “I’m sorry,” I whisper to the tiny lives growing inside me. “I tried.”

Tears prick at my eyes, but I blink them back furiously. I can’t afford to break down when there’s still hope. “We’re going to get out of here,” I whisper. “I don’t know how yet, but we will, and when we do...” I trail off, thinking of Valerian. He’s coming for me. I know it with every fiber of my being. “When your fathergets here,” I continue, my voice growing stronger, “We’ll make sure this is the last place Matvey Petrov ever hides.”

The words hang in the air, a vow and a threat rolled into one. I’m not the same woman I was when I first met Valerian. I’ve changed and grown stronger. I stand up, ignoring the ache in my muscles, and begin to pace the small space. I analyze every detail of my surroundings. There has to be something I’ve missed, or some weakness I can exploit.

The window catches my attention again. It’s too small for me to fit through, but maybe I could use it to signal for help somehow. I drag the rickety metal bed frame beneath it, wincing at the scraping sound it makes against the concrete floor.

Standing on tiptoe on the bed, I can just reach the bottom of the window. My fingers brush against the cool metal bars, testing their strength. They’re old and rusted, but still solid. I try to peer out, but the angle is awkward, and all I can see is a patch of gray sky.

A sudden wave of dizziness washes over me, and I grip the windowsill to steady myself. The lack of food and water, combined with the stress of the past few hours, is taking its toll. I carefully climb down from the bed, my legs shaky.

I sink back onto the ratty mattress, frustration bubbling up inside me. I’m trapped, exhausted, and completely at Matvey’s mercy. The enormity of my situation threatens to overwhelm me. “No,” I say aloud, my voice echoing in the small space. “I can’t give up.”

I force myself to take deep breaths, focusing on the rise and fall of my chest. As my heartbeat steadies, I try to channel Valerian’scalm, calculating demeanor. What would he do in this situation? I may be locked in here, but my mind is free to strategize.

A noise in the corridor snaps me back to the present. Footsteps approach, accompanied by the jingle of keys. I tense, preparing myself for whatever—or whoever—is coming. The cell door creaks open, and a figure steps inside. It’s not Boris or Gavriil, but a woman I haven’t seen before. She’s tall and willowy, with sharp cheekbones and eyes that seem to see right through me.

“Claire Bennett,” she says, her accent thick and distinctly Eastern European. “I’m Dr. Ivanova. I’m here to check on you and confirm your...condition.”

I eye her warily, not moving from my spot on the bed. “My condition?”

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