Page 52 of The Mafia's Quintuplets

"This is remarkable technology," I say, my professional interest momentarily eclipsing my maternal emotions.

Dr. Reisner adjusts settings on the machine, her focus absolute. "There are only three machines like this in the Northeast. Your partner pulled significant strings to get you immediate access."

I don't correct her assumption about my relationship with Mak, instead watching in awe as she captures images of tiny heart chambers, measuring valve openings and blood flow patterns with meticulous precision. She moves methodically through each baby, occasionally requesting minor position adjustments from me to obtain better angles.

"Three boys, two girls, based on previous scans?" She shifts the transducer to focus on Baby C.

"That's what Dr. Phillips indicated, yes."

"I concur with that assessment." She taps instructions to the technician, who captures additional images. "All genitalia appear consistent with those determinations."

The appointment stretches to nearly three hours as Dr. Reisner examines each baby from multiple angles, measuring and documenting with exhaustive thoroughness. Despite the discomfort of lying still for so long, I remain fascinated by the detailed images and the doctor's expert analysis. My NICU training helps me understand the significance of each measurement and each assessment of blood flow and valve function.

When she finally finishes and helps me clean the gel from my skin, I brace myself for potential bad news. Multiple pregnancies carry increased risks for congenital defects, a reality I've witnessed firsthand in my nursing career.

Dr. Reisner reviews the images on her tablet once more before meeting my gaze. "All five fetuses show normal cardiac development for this gestational age. Chamber formation, valve structure, great vessels—everything appears within normal parameters."

Relief floods through me, momentarily weakening my limbs. "No signs of defects at all?"

"None that are detectable at this stage." She removes her glasses, rubbing the bridge of her nose briefly. "That doesn't guarantee perfection, Ms. Lamb. Some structural issues may only become apparent in later development. We should repeat this assessment at twenty weeks."

"Of course." I nod, medical realism tempering my relief. "But this is good news."

"Very good news." A smile briefly softens her professional demeanor. "Particularly for quintuplets, who typically face higher incidences of abnormalities. All five appear remarkably healthy and well-developed for sixteen weeks."

She provides me with printed images of each baby, along with USB drive containing the complete scan data. I accept them with trembling hands, overwhelmed by seeing my children's hearts beating in asynchronous rhythm—five distinct life forces already forming their own patterns within me. The medical professional in me recognizes the technical significance of normal cardiac development, but the mother in me sees something far more profound.

Orlov waits outside the examination room, his vigilant posture never relaxing despite the secure environment. Two more security men flank the elevator, their attention constantly scanning the reception area. Yakov is with the SUV, I assume, since he didn’t come in.

"Everything go okay?" He steps closer, his normally impassive face showing a hint of genuine concern.

I nod, still processing the emotional impact of seeing my babies in such detail. "All five are developing normally. Healthy hearts."

His shoulders relax marginally. "Good news. Mr. Vorobev will be pleased."

On the clinic's steps, I pause to text Zina, who had stayed behind with a cold. The bright spring day feels deceptively normal after weeks confined to the estate grounds. People hurry past on the sidewalk, absorbed in their own lives, unaware of the armed men forming a perimeter around me or the bulletproof vehicle waiting at the curb.

I snap a picture of the ultrasound and apply a digital frame to the photo Dr. Reisner provided, all five heartbeats captured in a single remarkable image, and type:"All healthy! Three boys, two girls confirmed. Missing you today. x"

This momentary distraction, this brief illusion of being a normal day, is all it takes for chaos to erupt.

On the way back to the car, a nondescript van screeches to a halt beside our convoy. I glance up from my phone as the side door slides open violently. Armed men pour out, their faces covered with balaclavas, weapons already firing. Our security team responds immediately, but the attackers move with military precision, overwhelming the outer perimeter of guards within seconds.

Everything happens too fast to process. Orlov shouts something I can't understand over the gunfire, pushing me toward our vehicle. Before we reach it, a man breaks through the security cordon and grabs my arm roughly, dragging me toward the van as I struggle against his grip.

Panic surges through my body as I think of my babies. My hands instinctively cover my belly even as I kick and scream. The attacker's grip tightens painfully on my arm as he hauls me backward. I fight with desperate strength, but he's too powerful, too determined.

Just as he lifts me bodily from the ground, another vehicle arrives with a squeal of tires. I recognize Mak's personal car instantly. He emerges like vengeance personified, his expression eerily calm as he walks directly into the firefight without hesitation or body armor. In the middle of a crowded street filled with terrified bystanders diving for cover, he raises his gun and shoots my attacker point-blank in the head.

The sound seems to echo through the chaos. Blood sprays across my face and clothes as the man crumples, releasing me suddenly enough that I stumble backward. Mak catches me before I fall, scanning my body for injuries, but his eyes are wild with a fear I've never seen in him before.

"Are you hurt? Are the babies okay?" His voice sounds rough, strained beyond recognition.

I can't form words as I stare at the dead man whose blood now soaks my maternity dress. Mak pulls me against his chest, shielding me from the continuing gunfire as his men eliminate the remaining attackers.

When he pulls back to look at me, perhaps expecting gratitude for the brutality he just performed in my honor, his expression falters. I'm trembling uncontrollably, my eyes wide with horror, my breath coming in shallow gasps that can't seem to pull enough oxygen into my lungs.

Around us, civilians scream and run while police sirens wail in the distance. A woman lies injured on the sidewalk, caught in the crossfire. An elderly man cowers behind a newspaper stand, his face ashen with terror. The street has transformed into a war zone in mere seconds.

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