Page 21 of The Mafia's Quintuplets

“So when are you seeing him again? Did you get his number? Please tell me you got his number.”

I shake my head slowly. “It was just one night. He was gone when I woke up.” I gesture toward the rosebush. “He arranged breakfast and a car home, and that was delivered a little while about, but there was no contact information.”

“That motherfucker.” Gisele’s protectiveness flares instantly. “Classic hit-and-run.”

“No, it wasn’t like that.” I defend him instinctively, surprising myself. “I told him I only wanted one night, no expectations. He respected that.”

She eyes me skeptically. “And you’re okay with that? Really?”

Am I? The question pierces through my careful compartmentalization. I told him one night was all I wanted, yet waking alone left me hollow in ways I hadn’t anticipated.

“It’s for the best,” I say finally. “We live in completely different worlds. It was a fantasy, not reality.”

Gisele sighs dramatically. “Sometimes, fantasy is worth pursuing, you know. Not everything needs to be practical and sensible like your precious nursing rotations.”

The words sting more than they should. “My work matters, Gisele.”

“So does living, Wil.” Her tone softens. “I’m not saying abandon your career for some rich guy. I’m saying you deserve both. Purpose and passion. When’s the last time you let yourself really want something just for you?”

The question hangs between us, uncomfortably accurate. When did I last pursue something solely for personal fulfillment rather than practical necessity? Before my mother died, perhaps, when the future seemed full of possibilities rather than responsibilities.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say finally. “He’s gone, didn’t leave his number, and clearly wanted the same thing I said I wanted. One night, no complications.”

Gisele studies me with uncharacteristic insight. “But what if you were wrong about what you want?”

I turn away, unwilling to explore that possibility. “I have a shift tonight, so I should rest.” Truthfully, I still feel well-rested after sleeping in his arms, but I will need a nap before tackling a twelve-hour shift later.

Recognizing my retreat, Gisele rises with a resigned sigh. “Fine, avoid the question, but this conversation isn’t over. Just postponed.” She squeezes my shoulder gently. “For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you for doing something spontaneous, even if you’re determined to file it away as a one-time experience.”

After she disappears into her room, I sit alone with thoughts I’ve been avoiding. What if she’s right? What if one night with Maxim revealed something I’ve been denying. That my carefully constructed life, for all its purpose and structure, lacks something essential?

I walk to the plants and touch one of the buds gently, its velvet texture like a tactile memory of a man I’ll never see again. I’ll return to the NICU, to tiny patients who need my skills and focus. I’ll resume my routines, my responsibilities, and my predictable existence. The night with Maxim will gradually fade into memory, an anomaly rather than a turning point. Right?

Yet as I prepare for bed, setting my alarm, I can’t shake the feeling that something fundamental has shifted within me. A door opened that can’t be fully closed again, revealing possibilities I’ve long denied myself. Sleep comes slowly, my body remembering the weight and warmth of another even as my mind insists on forgetting.

9

Mak

Isign the last document with a flourish, sliding the stack across my desk to Fedor. “The shipment details are finalized. Have Mikhail oversee the dockside transfer personally.”

Fedor collects the papers, scanning the modifications I’ve made to his original plan. His disapproval is evident in the tight set of his jaw, though he knows better than to voice it directly. “You’ve reduced the quantity by thirty percent.”

“The Colombians overestimate their distribution capacity,” I say, keeping my tone neutral. “Better to supply what they can actually move than create stockpiles that attract attention.”

“They won’t like it.”

“They don’t need to like it. They need to pay for it and distribute it efficiently.” I lean back in my chair, signaling the end of discussion. “Anything else?”

He hesitates, clearly weighing his words. “The Kazanovs were disappointed by your early departure last night. They felt it showed...disrespect.”

The accusation hangs in the air between us. In our world, perceived disrespect is often a prelude to conflict. Under normal circumstances, I would never have abandoned a strategic meeting for personal interests. It was a lapse in judgment that demonstrates how deeply Willemina disrupted my usual calculations.

“The Eclipse acquisition is a done deal regardless of their feelings. We already signed the paperwork and got the keys. Word will soon reach them,” I say dismissively. “Send a case of their preferred vodka with my regards. That should smooth any ruffled feathers.”

Fedor lingers, studying me with barely concealed curiosity. “The woman… Was she worth potentially compromising a territorial agreement?”

My expression hardens automatically, temperature in the room dropping several degrees with my change in demeanor. “You’re overstepping, cousin.”

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