Page 31 of Surprise Quadruplets for the Mob

“Don’t dismiss them so easily,” I warn. “They clearly know what they’re doing digitally. Maybe they didn’t have had time for the transfers.”

“Pff.”

“Any leads?” I ask Lev, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand.

“Nothing concrete yet,” he replies, his brow furrowed in frustration. “But we did hear that some members of the Irish Mafia were spotted near Maggie’s office around the time of the attack.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Those bastards have been itching for a fight ever since our last run-in.” I slam my fist on the desk, the impact resonating throughout the room.

“True, but we can’t be sure it was them without more evidence,” Lev cautions, his eyes dark with concern. “We’re still digging, Maksim.”

“Dig faster,” I snap, impatience gnawing at me. “I want those responsible for this shitshow found and dealt with. And I want Abby’s sister kept safe. No more fuck ups.”

The room falls silent, the tension thick enough to slice through.

Alyosha finally speaks up, his voice cutting through the charged atmosphere. “We’re pulling video feeds from nearby businesses and digging deeper into the web for any chatter related to the attack. We’ll find who did this, Maksim.”

“Good,” I mutter, my mind racing with possibilities. Not only is Abby and her sister’s safety at risk, but so are the lives of everyone involved in our organization. These fuckers crossed aline, and they’ll pay dearly for it. I clench my fists, barely able to contain my rage.

“Lev, Alyosha,” I order, my voice cold and steady, “I want you both on this, full force. Don’t leave any stone unturned. Keep a close eye on Maggie and anyone else associated with the foundation. Got it?”

“Of course, Maksim,” Lev replies, his face set in grim determination. “You know we’ve got your back.”

Alyosha nods, his eyes flashing with a steely resolve that reassures me slightly. “We’re already working around the clock, boss. We won’t let you down.”

“See that you don’t.” My gaze travels between the two of them, making sure they understand the gravity of the situation. “Because if anything happens to Abby, Maggie, or my kids, heads will fucking roll.”

“Understood,” they both say in unison, their expressions hardening with the weight of my words.

“Keep me updated on every single detail,” I demand, my heart hammering in my chest as I imagine the worst-case scenarios. The thought of losing Abby or Maggie or any of my loved ones sends waves of cold fury crashing within me. “And make sure this never happens again.”

“Absolutely, boss,” Alyosha confirms, his tone resolute. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, I promise.”

“See that you do.” I nod, my jaw clenched as I envision every possible outcome of this mess. Whoever did this will pay, and if it’s the Irish Mafia, they’d better start praying now. Because once I get my hands on them, there’ll be no mercy.

Chapter 17

Abby

I’m never alone anymore. It’s one of the double-edged swords that comes with being a single parent to four babies. The babies are sleeping right now, though, so I’m taking one of the rare opportunities to slip away and shower.

The adjoining bathroom is simple but surprisingly luxurious. This whole house is old and needs some repairs, but it’s obvious it was the height of luxury at one time. With marble tiles and an enormous claw-footed tub, this bathroom is a throwback to that time. I can’t risk taking too long in the tub this morning, though, so I reluctantly bypass it for the shower instead. Which is still nice enough, with one of those huge shower heads and a bench to the side where it’s actually really easy to sit and shave my legs.

I turn on the hot water and give it a few seconds to heat up, then step underneath the big shower head and close my eyes. God, this feels good. I sort of remember the pre-motherhood days when a shower didn’t feel like a luxury, but those memories are a little fuzzy. Now, the ability to wash the day’s grime and sweat off my body is like a reward for surviving another twenty-four hours.

I lean back against the cool tile and close my eyes, letting the rivulets of warm water run down my body. It’s so steamy and relaxing that it doesn’t take long for one of my hands to find its way to my breast, gently squeezing and massaging the tender flesh.

My nipples are especially sensitive these days, and I can’t resist tweaking one between my thumb and forefinger, gasping at the sensation. My other hand slides lower until it’s between my legs, gently slipping between my folds. The familiar ache starts building inside me, but it’s not nearly enough. I need more.

I know I don’t have much time, but I can’t help myself. This might be the only few minutes of privacy I get all day, and I need this release. I need it like I need air. So I keep rubbing myself, imagining it’s someone else’s hands on me.

No, not just someone. Maksim’s hands. His strong, muscular hands on me, touching me, exploring every inch of my skin. I can almost feel his lips on mine, kissing me passionately while he plays with my nipples and works his way down to my clit.

My fingers pick up speed, and I’m getting lost in the fantasy. I moan his name, arching my back and sucking in a sharp breath as the cool tiles contrast with the hot water. He always knows just how to touch me, just what to say to make me lose control.

“God, Maks,” I whimper, feeling the wave of pleasure starting to crest. I’m already so close.

Will we ever be able to be intimate again? Will I trust him enough to touch me like this? Like he did that night when we were first together?

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