Page 27 of Surprise Quadruplets for the Mob

“Thank you,” she whispers. “It was a long time ago, but it still hurts. That’s why he’s been so supportive of your organization, always writing those big checks every year in memory of my Sasha.”

My mind reels at this revelation. Was he the mysterious megadonor all along? I somehow get the feeling that he is. “Wow,” I breathe, the weight of this new information settling on me. “I don’t know what to say.” He’s literally been the reason we were able to get so far, so fast with the organization.

“Say nothing,” Nadia advises gently. “Maksim does not like to draw attention to his good deeds, especially when they involve matters close to his heart.”

“Can I ask you something else, Nadia?” I inquire, my voice hesitant.

“Of course, Abby,” she replies with a kind smile, encouraging me to continue.

“About Maksim’s work. What exactly does he do? And why does he have such a tough exterior?”

Nadia’s expression changes almost instantly. Her eyes flicker with a hint of unease, and her lips press into a thin line. I realize that I might have crossed a line, but I can’t help it. The curiosity gnaws at me.

“Abby,” Nadia starts softly, shifting in her seat. “Maksim’s line of work is not something I can discuss freely. But I will say this, his profession demands strength and resilience. It is not an easy life, and it has hardened him in many ways.”

I bite my lip, trying to process the little information she’s given me. She’s being evasive, and I don’t want to push her further, but I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to this story than meets the eye. If I’m honest with myself, I do think I know. My previous fear that he was involved in the Bratva comes circling back through my thoughts, and I can’t help but replay his response to my accusing him of murdering Booker. The way he insisted it wasn’t him and ‘his guys’ who did it, that they only beat the man up for information.

Anyone else would have balked at the very notion of murder—or being accused of it. Maksim just insisted thatthismurder wasn’t his.

But it’s as if my brain refuses to accept that the father of my babies, and the Bratva, are in any way connected. Like I need it to be confirmed, and until somebody says it out loud, it couldn’t possibly be true.

“Is he involved in something dangerous?” I whisper, my pulse quickening at the thought.

“I am sorry, Abby, but I cannot speak about it. Just know that he is doing everything in his power to keep you and your babies safe,” Nadia responds, her tone firm but gentle.

“Alright,” I mumble, my stomach knotting with anxiety. “Thank you for answering my questions,” I finally manage, forcing a smile. “And for the breakfast.”

“Of course,” she says, rising from her chair. “If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Will do,” I say, watching as she leaves the room.

I sit in the silence of my temporary sanctuary, feeling the weight of Maksim’s unspoken secrets bearing down on me. Each revelation about him only seems to deepen the mystery that surrounds his life. Despite the gratitude I feel for his protection and support, I know I must tread carefully if I want to keep my babies and myself safe in this uncertain situation.

Chapter 16

Maksim

Ipeek inside Abby’s room, the sound of four crying babies echoing through the space. She and Nadia are busy trying to soothe them, but it clearly isn’t going well.

“Can I try holding them?” I ask, surprising both of them with my offer.

Abby looks at me, her eyes filled with uncertainty. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, let me help,” I insist, feeling the need to be useful in this situation. “I can at least take one or two of them. There’s…so many.”

Abby snorts softly and sends me a wry smile. “Four seems like a small number, doesn’t it, until it’s four crying newborns.” She hesitates for a moment and her tiny smile falters, before she carefully places Alexander in my arms. Nadia does the same with Sofia, both women watching me closely as they step back.

Slowly, gently, I sit down and hold the two little ones in my lap while the women help position the babies’ heads carefully to ensure their comfort. I’ve never been particularly good with children, but I helped create these tiny lives. They’re a part of me. My blood. My family.

“Shh, it’s okay,” I murmur softly, rocking them back and forth. To everyone’s surprise, including my own, the crying tapers down into quiet whimpers, and when the women pick up one baby each it’s as if the mood shifts through the babies inmy arms and into the others. The room goes quiet in less than a minute, save for the gentle cooing of the now content babies.

“Wow, that was impressive,” Abby admits, a hint of warmth in her voice that I haven’t heard since the night Booker died.

I look up from the two in my arms, feeling a sense of pure awe sweep through my chest. “Do you think they know I’m their father?” My eyes jump between the two women, both of whom are looking at me with gentle smiles now.

“Oh, Maksim,” Abby says, and she takes a step towards me, her expression melting into something tender before she appears to stop herself, and looks down. “Yes, I do.”

I smile, feeling my lips stretch in a full, broad, happy grin, more than a little proud of myself and feeling a sense of connection with these babies that I didn’t fully expect. Not so soon, anyway. “Or maybe I just got lucky today.”

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