Page 57 of Surprise Quadruplets for the Mob

I blink, not knowing what to do for a second. Then I realize he’s letting me go. He’s actually going to let me get the children and go. I have five minutes, and I can’t waste a single second.

“Oh, and, Abby,” he calls out as I bolt for the door. “If I ever find out you’ve scammed anyone else after today, or if you try to get the police involved in any way…well, you know what will happen.”

I swallow hard, and don’t reply. There’s nothing I could say right now that he’d believe, anyway.

Chapter 26

Maksim

Lying in bed with my eyes closed before the sun comes up, it’s almost easy to forget I’m alone. How can I be alone when Abby has been the focus of my thoughts and dreams for the past few hours?

Longer than that, really. I haven’t stopped thinking about her since I watched her walk out the door with our—herbabies.

I’ve gone back and forth through all the stages of grief, but I keep getting hung up on denial. It’s easier to think this is all a bad dream. That I’ll wake up and everything will be fine. Abby will be sleeping beside me, and the babies will be tucked away in their cribs.

But that’s not how this is going to end. This is a nightmare, and the only thing to do is wake up. The sooner, the better.

I’m still so angry, so full of rage, that I’m not sure what to do with myself. What the hell am I supposed to do? Go about my life like nothing happened? Go back to pretending like everything is normal?

Nothing is normal anymore. My whole world has turned upside down. It feels like I’ve lost everything. My heart. My mind.

I just don’t understand how she could’ve lied about everything. The money, the foundation, Booker, the kids. Literally everything.

I’ve held those babies in my arms. I’ve changed their diapers and bathed them and looked into their tiny little faces. I convinced myself that they looked like me, had my father’s chin, my nose. I created an entire fantasy surrounding those babies, one that sunk its roots right into my heart.

And the sex, the heat and passion, the intensity of it all. That wasn’t fake. That wasn’t her just playing along, or at least it doesn’t feel like it. I can’t wrap my head around the fact that she’s so good at this, so skilled at deception and manipulation.

How many times have I opened up to her, shared my thoughts and fears and desires with her? How many times have I poured out my soul, only to find out it was all a lie?

I just don’t understand.

Heaving an irritated sigh, I roll out of bed and head for the shower. I need to wake up. I need coffee. I need to pull myself together and get down to business.

Why does that all seem so fucking impossible right now? Why does it all feel like such a waste?

The hot water cascades over me and I rest my forehead against the cool tiles, trying to get my shit together.

“It’s okay,” I mutter, my voice sounding strange in the empty bathroom. “It’s going to be okay.”

But it’s not. I’m not. I’m never going to be the same again.

The pain is overwhelming, and for a moment, I think I might actually die. The sadness and despair are too much. It’s like being swallowed by a black hole, and there’s no way out. No light at the end of the tunnel. Just darkness.

All I wanted, for however brief a time it lasted, was for the hope and joy our little family represented.

I can’t breathe. My chest feels tight, my lungs burning. I can’t think.

“Fuck,” I growl, punching the wall and splitting the skin on my knuckles. “Fuck. Fuck.”

I don’t care about the pain. I deserve it for being so fucking gullible.

I keep punching until the blood is dripping down my arm, staining the floor of the shower. It doesn’t help. It doesn’t ease the pain.

I shut off the water and step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my waist. The mirror is fogged, but I can see my reflection clearly enough.

My eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, and there are dark circles under them. My hair is a mess, and my skin is pale. I look like shit.

“Get it together,” I tell myself, but it’s easier said than done.

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