Page 17 of The Mafia's Quintuplets

With a small sigh of defeat, I move to the bathroom, closing the door silently before calling Leonid. He answers on the first ring, voice alert despite the hour.

“Status?” I keep my voice low.

“Everything contained,” he says efficiently. “Fedor hasn’t pushed beyond initial inquiries, and the Kazanovs returned to their territory last night without incident. There’s shipment documentation that requires your digital signature.”

“Come to my office at ten.” I pause, considering my next words carefully. “The woman. Arrange discreet transportation when she wakes. No detail, and no follow-up. Arrange a transportation company that knows nothing about me, and we haven’t used before.”

“Understood.” Leonid’s tone reveals nothing. “And you?”

“I’ll return separately. Have Pavel bring the car to the VIP entrance at 6 a.m., or as close to then as possible.”

The call ends as efficiently as it began. I splash cold water on my face, the shock helping to crystallize my thoughts. Last night was an unexpected, momentary escape from the weight of being Makari Vorobev, but daylight brings clarity and with it, the understanding that some indulgences can’t be sustained.

I dress silently, retrieving scattered clothing from across the suite. My movements are the same as always. I’m following the routine of a man accustomed to leaving before dawn, to severing connections before they form.

Yet something feels different this time.

Something resists the clean break my lifestyle demands.

Back in the bedroom, I watch Willemina sleep for another long moment. The sheet has slipped, revealing one shoulder and the gentle curve of her breast. I adjust the covering, an oddly protective gesture that surprises me even as I perform it.

It would be easy to wake her, to spend another hour exploring the connection that sparked so unexpectedly between us. I could delay my return, push away reality for a few more precious moments in this temporary sanctuary we’ve created. I could pretend to be just Maxim, a businessman with no blood on his hands, no enemies plotting his downfall, and no empire built on suffering for a little longer.

That would be selfish, maybe even dangerous. The longer this fantasy continues, the more complicated the inevitable ending becomes. It’s better to cut cleanly now, before deeper attachments form. Better for her, certainly. Perhaps for me as well, though the sickeningly hollow feeling in my chest suggests otherwise.

I take a rose from the arrangement centered on the dining table, placing it gently on the pillow beside her. Placing the rose feels like goodbye, the gesture simultaneously meaningful and inadequate. It’s merely a token acknowledgment of something that deserves more than I can safely give.

I just hope she doesn’t hate me after this.

I call down to the club to arrange someone to come in early and have breakfast ready for her at nine, remembering how she mentioned being ravenous after night shifts. Small courtesies that are insignificant in the scope of my resources, yet important in ways I can’t fully articulate.

My finger hovers over a tray of stationary. I’m tempted to leave a note, or perhaps my private number, but what would that accomplish? A prolonged deception? An inevitably messy ending when truth surfaces? Or worse, putting her in danger simply by association with me?

In my world, there can be a price others pay for their connection to Makari Vorobev. I won’t add Willemina to the list of potential targets in the endless war I wage. Her life—saving the smallest and most vulnerable—matters too much to be compromised by my darkness.

Decision made, I step away from the desk without writing a word. Better a clean break, and a single night of memory untainted by complications or danger. Better she think me a callous businessman who took what was offered then disappeared. That script, at least, carries no risk to her.

I check my watch and discover it’s five minutes after six. Pavel will be arriving soon or is already waiting. I take one last look at Willemina, memorizing the perfect curve of her lips, and the way her hand curls beneath her cheek.

Taking a slow breath, I silently exit the suite, locking the door behind me.

Once in the elevator, I remember a snippet of conversation from last night, when she mentioned loving plants and hating flowers, because they’re already dead. On impulse, I send a text to my IT person instructing her to track down Willemina’s address and direct her to order the delivery of an anonymous living rosebush. The feels more significant than the dead flower I left, and I close the messaging app, determined to close out this experience with her in the same way.

Now, it’s over.

The private elevator descends smoothly, each floor taking me farther from the brief sanctuary above, drawing me back into the reality I’ve crafted for myself. By the time the doors open onto the discreet side entrance of Eclipse, I’ve locked away the man who held Willemina through the night. My shoulders straighten, jaw tightens, and I force my expression to its customary detachment.

Pavel waits with the car, opening the door without comment as I approach. His discretion is absolute and is one of many reasons he remains in my employ while others have been disposed of for lesser failings.

“The residence,” I say as the door closes, sealing me in leather-scented isolation.

The city passes beyond tinted windows, but the streets are beginning to stir with activity. Delivery trucks, early commuters, and night shift workers head home. It’s the humble, ordinary rhythm of lives unburdened by the weight I carry.

My phone vibrates again with another message from Fedor:Where are you? Urgent situation developing with the Colombians.

I ignore it, focusing instead on the encrypted documents Leonid has sent regarding the incoming shipment. The distraction of business is welcome, drawing my mind away from green eyes and soft skin and conversations that felt genuine in ways my daily interactions never do.

When we reach the estate, security personnel snap to attention as the gates open. Nothing appears out of place, yet I scan the perimeter automatically, assessing potential threats with the instinct of a predator in contested territory. Only when I’m certain all is secure do I exit the vehicle.

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